2 N:~:~~~~~~~~~~~I~:~i ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I ii a,~~ y X.*$jf jt't'1i 1>'o o- a, t'::i {:dfii = dI.3:: ti: IAI: -- -: --- ---- -i -i --- -- ii d i _~;0-v iI 0D';;~B/ ff i:'TE ii~ff IPt00::Q:: V:0:::: i~ ilt fi i=:-'=0:f:E i\::DteV -: i::' -~~ii.,i' fr 0-.-s i'0S'. fffl00i- jr'' D' I r 0. ffX ------------— ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~-::: —:ii_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ — -----./ -Z d:1::::-1,' T -, -./ / / D:-ti);-'t'Ft Vi'l'6..;-' rI;:<,/>r.' T HE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE THE TEXT REGULATED BY THE RECENTLY DISCOVERED FOLIO OF 1632, CONTAINING EARLY MANUSCRIPT EMENDATIONS WITH A HISTORY OF TI-IE STAGE, A LIFE OF TI-HE POET, AND AN INTRODUCTION TO EACH PLAY BY J. PAYNE COLLIER, ESQ. F.S.A. TO WHICH ARE ADDED, GLOSSARIAL AND OTHER NOTES AND THE READINGS OF FORMER EDITIONS,, I EDFIELD: 110 AND 112 NASSAU-STREET, NEW-YORK. 1853. ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year One Thousand Eight Hundred and Fifty-three, BY J. S. REDFIELD, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. A. CUNNINGHAM, S. W. BENEDICT, STEREOTYPER, PRINTER, No. 183 William-street, New-York.. No. 16 Spruee-etreet, New-York. AMERICAN PREFACE. IN the present edition of the Works of Shakespeare, the text of the plays has been taken from that published in London by J. Payne Collier, a few months since, embodying the manuscript emendations recently discovered by him in a copy of the second folio edition published in 1632. The text of the Poems, the Life of Shakespeare, the account of the early English Drama, and the separate prefaces to the plays are from the octavo edition in 1844, by the same editor. As the latest edition contained no notes and those in his previous one were, to some extent, superseded by the alterations in the text, and were unsuited from their length to the requirements of a copy in a compact form, it was deemed advisable that new notes should be prepared. This has been undertaken for the present work. It has been the aim by close condensation to convey a greater amount of information directly illustrative of the text than has ever been presented in a similar form. For information on an important portion of the task, that of indicating the variations between the quarto (where such are in existence) and folio copies of the plays, reliance has been placed almost entirely on Mr. Collier's first edition. That gentleman had free access to all the early copies in the libraries of the Duke of Devonshire and Lord Francis Egerton, better known to American readers as Earl of Ellesmere; collections formed at great labor and expense, and far more complete than any previously brought together in public or private repositories. The notes illustrative of obsolete words, expressions and customs, have been derived from the edition of Mr. Collier already referred to, Mr. Knight's Pictorial Shakspere, the works of Dyce, Douce, Halliwell, Hunter, Richardson, and the American editions of Messrs. Verplanck and Hudson, with such aid as a long acquaintance with the Dramatic and general Literature of the age of Elizabeth and James could furnish. Notes, pointing out or commenting upon the sentiments expressed in the text, have been purposely avoided, it being presumed that the reader having been furnished with every material for the employment of a correct taste and judgment, will prefer to exercise these faculties for himself. Conr nent of this description, which has often been carried to an impertinent or tedious extreme, has also been avoided in noting the variations between the text of the 4 PREFACE. present and that of previous editions. The reader has been placed in possession of the old by the side of the new readings, and left to an unbiassed choice between them. The frequent recurrence of notes of this description rendered necessary the simple abbreviation off. e. for former edition, the edition referred to being that of Collier, published in 1844, and almost universally received as tie established text, until the discovery by the same editor of the celebrated copy of the folio of 1632. No other abbreviations occur in the notes, unless the mention of the first, or folio of 1623, as " the folio," be so regarded. It may be proper to state that the notes, unless where otherwise expressed, refer to the word preceding the corresponding numbers in the text. As an interesting illustration, a characteristic fac-simile of a portion of a page of the corrected folio, 1632, is appended. The head of the Poet, which forms the frontispiece, is a faithful copy of the engraving by Martin Droeshout, which is printed on tie titlepage of the folios, of 1623, and 1632, and upon which Ben Jonson wrote the celebrated lines testifying so decidedly to the faithfulness of the likeness-a stronger guarantee than any other portrait of the Dramatist can claim. G. L. D. NEW YORK, September, 1853. dus Q qimnt. ScenaPrima.,Enter (harles,A4l7on, ta urguide,TdIiard, ancd TPucel. Char. Hai Yorke and SomerieL brought rcfcue in, We fhould bavefound a bloody day ofthis. Baf. How the yong whelpe'ofT7'aIbuvsraging wood, Did flcfh hispuny-Iword in Frenlchmens blood. PSAc. Once I encountrcd him,and thus I faid: Thou Maiden yoath,be vanquifht by a Maide. But with a provd Majefticall bigh fcorne Heanfwer'd thus: Yong Talbot was not borne' To bethcpillageo a Giglot Wench, He left me proudly,as unworthy fight. Biur. DoubtleJfe he would have made a nioble Knight: See where he lyes inherced in the armes Of the mnrtuovdy Nurffer ofhis harnes. Baft. Hew them to peeccs. black their bones affunder, Whofe life was Englands glory,Gallia's wonder (har. Ohno forbeare:For that which wehave fled During the life,let aslnot Wrong itdead. Enter.Lu. - t I'. Herald,condu& me to the Dolphins Tent, To know who hath obthTid the glory of the day. Char. On what fubmifTive mefageart thoufent? Luy. Submifion DolphinTisamc cre French word: We Englifh' Warriours Wot not whatitmeanes. I come to know what Prifoners thou baft tane, And to furvey the bodiesofthe dead. Char. For prifoners askft thou? Hell our prifon is. But tell meevhom thou feek-,S, Lnc. But where's the great Alcidesof the field, Valiant Lord 47abotEarie of Shrewsbury? Created for his rare fucceffe in Armes, G6ezfat offtr^ZeWVfd Utfrse, Lord Talbt of Goodrigand Vrchibifld Lord Stra*e of clackmere, Lordt erdon ofeA L Lord Cron Pell of Wingefeld,Lor4 F~xrnivall of Shefeild, Knight oftheNoble Order of S. George, Worthy S. MAicael,and the qolden Fleece, Great Marfiall to o ur King BenrJ the fixt, Ofall his Warres within the Realme ofPranee. D EDI C A TI 0 N.'o the most Noble and Incomparable Pair of Brethren. William Earl of Pembroke, &c. Lord Chamberlain to the King's most Excellent Majesty. And Philip Earl of Montgomerey, &e. Gentleman of his Majesty's Bedchamber. Both Knights of the most Noble Order of the Garter, and our singular good Lords. Right Honourable, Whilst we study to be thankful in our particular for the many favours we have received from your Lordships, we are fallen upon the ill fortune, to mingle two the most diverse things that can be, fear, and rashness; rashness in the enterprise, and fear of the success. For, when we value the places your Highnesses sustain, we cannot but know their dignity greater, than to descend to the reading of these trifles: and, while we name them trifles, we have deprived ourselves of the defence of our Dedicaicon. But since your Lordships have been pleased to think these trifles something, heretofore; and have prosecuted both them, and their Anthor living, with so much favour, we hope, (that they outliving him; and he not having the fate, common with some, to be executor to his own writings) you will use the like indulgence toward them, you have done unto their parent. There is a great difference, whether any book choose his patrons, or find them; this hath done both. For, so much were your Lordships' likings of the several parts, when they were acted, as before they were published, the volume asked to be yours. We have but collected them, and done an office to the dead, to procure his orphans, guardians; without ambition either of self-profit, or fame: only to keep the memory of so worthy a friend, and fellow alive, as was our SHAKESPEARE, by humble offer of his plays, to your most noble patronage. Wherein, as we have justly observed, no man to come near your Lordships but with a kind of religious address, it bath been the height of our care, who are the presenters, to make the present worthy of your Highnesses by the perfection. But, there we must also crave our abilities to be considered, my Lords. We cannot go beyond our own powers. Country hands reach forth milk, cream, fruits, or what they have; and many nations, (we have heard) that had not gums and incense, obtained their requests with a leavened cake. It was no fault to approach their gods, by what means they could; and the most, though meanest, of things are made more precious, when they are dedicated to temples. In that name therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your Highnesses these remains of your servant SHAKESPEARE; that what delight is in them, may be ever your Lordships', the reputation his, and the faults ours, if any be committed, by a pair so careful to shew their gratitude both to the living, and the dead, as is Your Lordships' m'ost bounden, JOIIN HEMIINGE, H-ENRiY CONDELL. TO THIE GREAT VARIETY OF READERS. From the most able, to him that can but spell: there you are numbered. We had rather you were weighed. Especially, when the fate of all books depends upon your capacities; and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. Well, it is now public, and you will stand for your privileges, we know: to read, and censure. Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend a book, the stationer says. Then, how odd soever your brains be, or your wisdoms, make your licence the same, and spare not. Judge your sixpen'orth, your shilling's worth, your five shillings' worth at a time, or higher, so you rise to the just rates, and welcome. But, whatever you do, buy. Censure will not drive a trade, or make the jack go. And though you be a magistrate of wit, and sit on the stage at Blackfriars, or the Cock-pit, to arraign plays daily, know, these plays have had their trial already, and stood out all appeals; and do now come forth quitted rather by a decree of court, than any purchased letters of commendation. It had been a thing, we confess, worthy to have been wished, that the Author himself had lived to have set iorth, and overseen his own writings; but since it hath been ordained otherwise, and he by death departed fiomn that right, we pray you do not envy his friends the office of their care, and pain, to have collected and published them; and so to have piublished them, as where (before) you were abused with divers stolen, and surreptitious copies, mnaimed, and deformed by the frauds and stealths of injurious impostors, that exposed them; even those, are now offered to your view cured, and perfect of their limbs, and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceived them. Who, as he was a happy imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together; and what he thought, he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received froml him a blot in his papers. But it is not our province, who only gather his works, and give them you, to praise him. It is yours that read him. And there we hope, to your divers capacities, you will find enough, both to draw, and hold you; for his wit can no more lie hid, than it could be lost. Read him, therefore; and again, and again: and if then you do not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger, not to understand him. And so we leave you to other of his friends, who, if you need, can be your guides: if you need them.pot, you can lead yourselves, and others. And such readers we wish him. JOHN IIHEINGE. HENRY CONDELL. COMMENDATORY VERSES. Upon the Effigies of my worthy Friend, the Author, Nr shall I e'er believe or think thee dead, Master William Shakespeare, and his Works. (Though miss'd) until our bankrupt stage be sped (Impossible) with some new strain t' out-do Spectator, this life's shadow is: —to see Passions of Juliet, and her Romeo; The trueer image, and a livelier hie, c Or till I hear a scene more nobly take, Turn reader. But observe his comic vein,han hen thy half-sword parleying Romans spake Than when thy half-sword parleylug Romans spake Laugh; and proceed next to a tragic strain, vol s rest, Then weep:,0,-Wben t.ou find'st two contraries, Till these, till any of thy volume's rest, Then weep: so,-when thou find'st two contraries, Shall with more fire, more feeling, be express'd, Two different passions from thy wrapt soul rise, — Be sure, Shake-spere,) thou canst never die, Be sure, (our Shake-speare,) thou canst never die, Say, (who alone effect such wonders could) crond ith laurel, live eternally. Rare Shake-speare to the life thou dost behold.. DIGaE. L. DIcosE. An Epitaph on the admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shake- To the Memory of M. W. Shake-speare. speare.' We wonder'd (Shake-speare) that thou went'st so soon What need my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones, From the world's stage to the grave's tiring-room: The labour of an age in piled stones; We thought thee dead; but this thy printed worth Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Tells thy spectators, that thou went'st but forth Under a star-ypointing pyramid To enter with applause. An actor's art Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, Can die, and live to act a second part: What need'st thou such dull witness of thy name? That's but an exit of mortality, Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, This a re-entrance to a plaudite. I M.? Hast built thyself a lasting monument: For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, To the Memory of my beloved, the Author, Mr. William Thy easy numbers flow; and that each partShakespeare, and what he hath left us. HIath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, ilath, from the leaves of thy unvalued.book, To draw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy name, Those Delphic lines with deep impression took; dra o enI (Shakespeare) on thy name, Then thou, our fancy of herself bereaving, Am I thus ample to thy writings to be suchfame Dost make us marble with too much conceiving; A s nei ther man, nor muse, can e too muc And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie,Asnether man nor muse, can praise too much; That kind s for such a tomb would wish to die'T is true, and all men's suffrage; but these ways Thatkngsfr suhatom wold ih Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise: For seeliest ignorance on these may light, To the Memory of the deceased Author, Master W. Shake- Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; speare. Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance Shake-speare, at length thy pious fellows give The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; The world thy works; thy works, by which outlive Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, Thy tomb thy name must: when that stone is rent, And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise: And time dissolves thy Stratford monument, These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore, Here we alive shall view thee still: this book, Should praise a matron; what could hurt her more X When brass and marble fade, shall make thee look But thou art proof against them; and, indeed, Fresh to all ages; when posterity Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need. Shall loathe what's new, think all is prodigy I, therefore, will begin —Soul of the age, That is not Shakespeare's, every line, each verse, The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage, Here shall ievive, redeem thee from thy hearse. My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Nor fire, nor cankering age, as Naso said Chaucer, or Spenser; or bid Beaumont lie Of his, thy wit-fi-aught book shall once invade: A little further, to make thee a room4: 1 An Epitaph on the admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shakespeare.] When, some new day, they would not brook a line These lines, like the preceding, have no name appended to them in Of tedious, though well-labour'd, Cataline; the folio, 1632, but the authorship is ascertained by the publication Sejanus too, was irksome: they priz'd more of them as Milton's, in the edition of his Poems in 1615. 8vo. We Honest' Iago, or the jealous Moor. give them as they stand there, because it is evident that they were And though the Fox and subtil Alchymist, then printed from a copy corrected by the author: the variations are Long intermitted, could not quite be mist, interesting, and Malone pointed out only one, and that certainly the Though these have sham'd all th' ancients, and might raise least important. Instead of' weak witness" in line 6, the folio 1632 Their author's merit with a crown of bays, has " dull witness:" instead of " live-long monument, in line 8, the Yet these sometimes, even at a friend's desire, folio has " lsting monument: instead of" heart, in line 10, the Acted, have scarce defray'd the sea-coal fire folio has'part," an evident misprint: and instead of itself be- And door-keepers: when, let but Falstaff come, reaving," in line 13, the folio has " herself bereaving." The last is Hal, Poins, the rest,-you scarce shall have a room, the difference mentioned by Malone, who also places "John Milton" All is so pester'd: let but Beatrioe at the end, as if the name were found in the folio of 1632. And Benedick be seen, lo! in a trice 2 Than when thy half-sword parleying Romans spake:] Leonard The cock-pit, galleries, boxes, all are full, Digges prefixed a long copy of verses to the edition of Shakespeare's To hear Malvolio, that cross-garter'd gull. Poems in 1640, 8vo, in which he makes this passage, referring to Brief, there is nothing in his wit-fraught book, "Julius Caesar," more distinct; he also there speaks of the audiences Whose sound we would not hear, on whose worth look," &c Shakespeare's plays at that time drew, in comparison with Ben. Jon- 3 Perhaps the initials of John Marston. son's. This is the only part of his production worth adding in a note. 4 Referring to lines by William Basse, then circulating in MS., "So have I seen, when Cresar would appear, and not printed (as far as is now known) until 1633, when they were And on the stage at half-sword parley were falsely imputed to Dr. Donne, in the edition of his poems in that Brutus and Cassius, 0, how the audience year. All the MSS. of the lines, now extant, differ in minute parWere ravish'd! with what wonder they went thence! ticulars. iv COMMdENDATORY VERSES. Thou art a monument without a tomb; In that deep dusky dungeon to discern And art alive still, while thy book doth live, A royal ghost from churls; by art to learn And we have wits to read, and praise to give. The physiognomy of shades, and give That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses; Them sudden birth, wondering how oft they live; I mean, with great but disproportion'd muses What story coldly tells, what poets feign For, if I thought my judgment were of years, At second hand, and picture without brain, I should commit thee surely with thy peers; Senseless and soul-less shows: to give a stage And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, (Ample, and true with life) yoice, action, age, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line: As Plato's year, and new scene of the world, And though thou hadst small Latin, and less Greek, Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd: From thence to honour thee, I would not seek To raise our ancient sovereigns from their hearse, For names; but call forth thundering Eschylus, Make kings his subjects; by exchanging verse Euripides, and Sophocles, to us, Enlive their pale trunks, that the present age Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage: To live again, to hear thy buskin tread Yet so to temper passion, that our ears And shake a stage: or, when thy socks were on, Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears Leave thee alone, for the comparison Both weep and smile; fearful at plots so sad,.Of all that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome, Then laughing at our fear; abus'd, and glad Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. To be abus'd; affected with that truth Triumph, my Britain! thou hast one to show, Which we perceive is false, pleas'd in that ruth To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. At which we start, and, by elaborate play, He was not of an age, but for all time; Tortur'd and tickled; by a crab-like way And all the muses still were in their prime, Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort When like Apollo he came forth to warm Disgorging up his ravin for our sport:Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm. -While the plebeian imp, from lofty throne, Nature herself was proud of his designs, Creates and rules a world, and works upon And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines; Mankind by secret engines; now to move Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, A chilling pity, then a rigorous love; As since she will vouchsafe no other wit. To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire; The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, To steer th' affections; and by heavenly fire Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; Mould us anew, stol'n from ourselves:But antiquated and deserted lie, This, and much more, which cannot be express'd As they were not of Nature's family. But by himself, his tongue, and his own breast, Yet must I not give Nature all; thy art, Was Shakespeare's fieehold; which his cunning brain My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part: Improv'd by favour of the nine-fold train; For though the poet's matter nature be, The busldn'd muse, the comic queen, the grand His art doth give the fashion; and that he, And louder tone of Clio, ninmble hand Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, And nimbler foot of the melodious pair, (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat The silver-voiced lady, the most fair Upon the muses' anvil; turn the same, Calliope, whose speaking silence daunts, (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame; And she whose praise the heavenly body chants; Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn, These jointly woo'd him, envying one another, For a good poet's made, as well as born: (Obey'd by all as spouse, but lov'd as brother) And.such wert thou. Look, how the father's face And wrought a curious robe, of sable grave, Lives in his issue; even so the race Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave, Of Shakespeare's mind, and manners, brightly shines And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white, In his well-turned and true-filed lines; The lowly russet, and the scarlet bright: In each of which he seems to shake a lance, Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted spring; As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. Each leaf match'd with a. flower, and each string Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were, Of golden wire, each line of silk; there run To see thee in our water yet appear; Italian works, whose thread the sisters spun; And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice That so did take Eliza, and our James. Birds of a foreign note and various voice: But stay; I see thee in the hemisphere Here hangs a mossy rock; there plays a fair Advanc'd, and made a constellation there: But chiding fountain, purled: not the air, Shine forth, thou star of poets; and with rage, Nor clouds, nor thunder, but were living drawn; Or influence, chide, or cheer, the drooping stage; Not out of common tiffany or lawn, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd -like But fine materials, which the muses know, night, And only know the countries where they grow. And despairs day, but for thy volume's light. Now, when they could no longer him enjoy, BEN JosONS. In mortal garments pent,-death may destroy, They say, his body; but his verse shall live, On wuorthy Miaster Shakespeare, awnd his poems. 1 And more than nature takes our hands shall give: A mind reflting as p, w e car In a less volume, but more strongly bound, A mind reflecting ages past,hose clearShakespeare shall breathe and speak; with laurel And equal surface can make things appear, crown'd Distant a thousand years, and represent Which never fades; fed with ambrosian meat, Them in their lively colours, just extent: In a well-lined vesture, rich, and neat. To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates, So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it; Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it. Of death and Lethe, where (confused) lie The friendly admirer of his endowments. Great heaps of ruinous mortality: I. M. S. 1 On worthy Master Shakespeare, and his Poems.] These lines are may have been appended to the other copy of verses by him prefixed subscribed I. M. S. in the folio 1632,' probably Jasper Mayne," says to the folio of 1632, in order that his initials should stand at the end Malone. Most probably not, because Mayne has left nothing behind of the present. We know of no other poet of the time capable of him to lead us to suppose that he could have produced this surpassing writing the ensuing lines. We feel morally certain that they are by tribute. I. M. S. may possibly be Iohn Milton, Student, and no name Milton. COMM[ENDATORY VERSES. v Upon the Lines, and Life, of the famous Scenic Poet, The following are Ben Jonson's lines on the Portrait of Master W. Shakespeare. Shakespeare, precisely as they stand on a separate leaf Those hands which you so clapp'd, go now and wring, opposite to the title-page of the edition of 1623, and You Britons brave; for done are Shake-speare's days: which are reprinted in the same place, with some trifling His days are done that made the dainty plays,. variation of typography, in the folio of 1632. Which made the Globe of heaven and earth to ring. TO THE READER. Dried is that vein, dried is the Thespian spring, This Figure, that thou here seest put, Turn'd all to tears, and Phcebus clouds his rays; It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; That corpse, that coffin, now bestick those bays, Wherein the Graver had a strife Which crown'd him poet first, then poet's king. With Nature, to out-do the life: If tragedies might any prologue have, 0, could he but have drawn his wit All those he made would scarce make one to this; As well in brass, as he hath hit Where fame, now that he gone is to the grave, His face; the Print would then surpass (Death's public tiring-house) the Nuntius is: All, that was ever writ in brass. For, though his line of life went soon about, But since he cannot, Reader, look The life yet of his lines shall never out. Not at his picture, but his book. HUGE] HOLLAND. B. I.] THE NAMES OF THE PRINCIPAL ACTORS IN ALL THESE PLAYS. WILLIAMI SHAKESPEARE. RIC.ARD COWLY. NIcHOLAS TOOLEY. RICHARD BURBADGE. JOHN LOWINE. WILLIAM EcoLESTONE. JOHN HEMNINGS. SAMUEL CRosSE. JOSEPH TAYLOR. AUGUSTINE PHILLIPS. ALEXANDER COOKE. ROBERT BENFIELD. WILLIAM KEMPT. SAMUELL GILBURNE. ROBERT GOUGHE. THIOMAS POOPE. ROBERT ARMIN. RICHARD ROBINSON. GEORGE BRYAN. WILLIAM OSTLER. JOHN SHANCKE. HENRY CONDELL. NATHAN FIELD. JOHN RICE. WILLIAM SLYE, JOHN UNDERWOOD. ______.........._........ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ m "~:' —.:-......m~....:k.........':-'i~n:,.-'-:._.:::.:::::-e:::....'=+:::-~:~:;.':~~.!*-z:~:-:'::~' = -= A CATALOGUE OF ALL THE COMEDIES, HISTORIES, AND TRAGEDIES CONTAINED IN THIS BOOK. PAGE THE TEMPEST........ o. 1 THE TWO GENTLEMEI OF VERONA........ 20 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR...... 39 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.......... 62 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.... 86 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING...102 LOVERS LABOUR 7S LOST...... 124 MIDSUMMER NIGHT7S DREAM......... 148 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 166 AS YOU LIKE IT.......... 188 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 210 ALL 7S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 232 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL... 257 THE WINTER7S TALE....... 278 HISTORIES. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN.... 305 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD II....... 327 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING HENRY IV.... 351 THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV... 377 THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V.......... 405 THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI....... 432 THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI.. 456 THE THIRD PART OF -ING HENRY VI......... 483 THE TRAGEDY OF RICHARD III.. 509 THE FAMOUS HISTORY OF HENRY VIII.... 541 TRAGEDIES. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.. 568 THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS.. 597 TITUS ANDRONICUS............ 627 ROMEO AND JULIET......... 649 TIMON OF ATHENS........ 676 THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CESAR. 697 THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH......... 719 THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET.... 739 THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR.... 772 THE MOOR OF VENICE H O...... 802 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA......... 831 THE TRAGEDY OF CYMBELINE........860 PERICLES; PRINCE OF TYRE...... 890 POEMS.............. 911 HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA AND STAGE TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. IN order to make the reader acquainted with the origin of which it relates, and of the persons concerned in them. The the English stage, such as Shakespeare found it when he title of the piece, and the year in which the events are supbecame connected with it, it is necessary to mention that a posed to have occurred, are given at the close, where we miracle-play or mystery, (as it has been termed in modern are told that it is " The Play of the Blessed Sacraments," times), is the oldest form of dramatic composition in our and that the miracle to which it refers was wrought "in language. The stories of productions of this kind were the forest of Arragon, in the famous city of Araclea, in the derived fiom the Sacred Writings, from the pseudo-evan- year of our Lord God 1461." There can be no doubt that gelium, or from the lives and legends of saints and martyrs. the scene of action was imaginary, being fixed merely for Miracle-plays were common in London in the year 1170; the greater satisfaction of the spectators as to the reality and as early as 1119 the miracle-play of St. Katherine had of the occurrences, and as little that a legend of the idnd been represented at Dunstaple. It has been conjectured, was of a much older date than that assigned in the manuand indeed in part established', that some of these perform- script, which was probably near the time when the drama ances were in French, as well as in Latin; and it was not had been represented. until the reign of Edward III. that they were generally In its form it closely resembles the miracle-plays which acted in English. We have three existing series of miracle- had their origin in Scripture-history, and one of the characplays, all of which have been recently printed; the Towne- ters, that of the Saviour, common in productions of that ley collection by the Surtees Club, and those known as the class, is introduced into it: the rest of the personages Coventry and Chester pageants by the Shakespeare Society. engaged are five Jews, named Jonathas, Jason, Jasdon, The Abbotsford Club has likewise printed, from a man — Masphat, and Malthus; a Christian merchant called Arisscript at Oxford, three detached miracle-plays which once, torius, a bishop, Sir Isidore a priest, a physician from probably, formed a portion of a connected succession of pro- Brabant called " Mr. Brundyche," and Colle his servant4 ductions of that class and description. The plot relates to the purchase of the Eucharist by the During about 300 years this species of theatrical enter- Jews from Aristorius for 1001., under an assurance also tainment seems to have flourished; often. under the auspices that if they find its miraculous powers verified, they will of the clergy, who used it as the means of religious instruc- become converts to Christianity. Aristorius, having postion; but prior to the reign of Henry VI., a new kind of session of the key of the church, enters it secretly, takes drama had become popular, which by writers of the time away the Host, and sells it to the Jews. They put it to was denominated a moral, or moral play, and more recently various tests and torments: they stab " the cake " with a morality. It acquired this name from the nature and their daggers, and it bleeds, while one of the Jews goes purpose of the representation, which usually conveyed a mad at the sight. They next attempt to nail it to a post, lesson for the better conduct of human life, the characters but the Jew who uses the hammer has his hand torn off employed not being seriptural, as in miracle-plays, but alle- and here the doctor and his servant, Mr. Brundyche and gorcal, or symbolical. Miracle-plays continued to be repre- Colle, make their appearance in order to attend the wounded sented long after moral plays were introduced, but from a Jew; but after a long comic scene between the quack and remote date abstract impersonations had by degrees, not his man, highly illustrative of the manners of the time, now easily traced, found their way into miracle-plays: thus, they are driven out as impostors. The Jews then proceed perhaps, moral plays, consisting only of such characters, to boil the Host, but the water turns blood-red, and taking grew out of them. it out of the cauldron with pincers, they throw it into a A very remarkable and interesting miracle-play, not blazing oven: the oven, after blood has run out "at the founded upon the Sacred Writings, but upon a popular crannies," bursts asunder, and an image of the Saviour legend, and all the characters of which, with one exception, rising, he addresses the Jews, who are as good as their purport to be real personages, has recently been discovered word, for they are converted on the spot. They kneel to m the library of Trinity College, Dublin, in a manuscript the Christian bishop, and Aristorius having confessed his certainly as old as the later part of the reign of Edward crime and declared his repentance, is forgiven after a suitIV.2 It is perhaps the only specimen of the kind in our able admonition, and a strict charge never again to buy or language; and as it was unknown to all who have hitherto sell. written on the history of our ancient drama, it will not here This very singular and striking performance is opened, be out of place to give some account of the incidents to as was usual with miracle-plays, by two Vexillators, who 1 See Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. 0i. p. 131. 4 This name may possibly throw some light on. an obscure passage, 2 We are indebted for a correct transcript of the original to the zeal in a letter dated about 1535. and quoted in "The History of Enil. and kindness of Dr. J. H. Todd, V.P.,.S.A. Drain. Poetry, and the Stage," I. 131. where a person of the name of 3 In another part of the manuscript it is called "The Play of the Thomas Wyylley informs Cromwell, Earl of Essex, that he had written Conversion of Sir Jonathas, the Jew, by the Miracle of the Blessed a play in which; character called " Colle, clogger of Conscience, "was Sacrament;" but inferior Jews are converted, besides Sir Jonathas, introduced, to the great offence of the Roman Catholic clergy. who is the head of the tribe hi the " famous city of Araclea." viii HISTORY OF TiHE ENGLISH STAGE explain the nature of the story about to be represented, in of redress and correction," while her kingdom of England is alternate stanzas; and the whole performance is wound up intended by " Respublica," and its inhabitants represented by an epilogue from the bishop, enforcing the moral, which by "People:" the Reformation in the Church is distinguished of course was intended to illustrate, and impress upon the as" Oppression;" and Policy, Authority, and Honesty, are audience, the divine origin of the doctrine of transubstantia- designated "Avarice," "Insolence," and "Adulation." All tion. Were it necessary to our design, and did space allow this is distinctly stated by the author on his title-page, while of it, we should be strongly tempted to introduce some he also employs the impersonations of Misericordia, Vericharacteristic extracts from this hitherto unseen production; tas, Justitia, and Pax, (agents not unfrequently resorted to but we must content ourselves with saying, that the language in the older miracle-plays) as the friends of " Nemesis," the in several places appears to be older than the reign of Queen;/and as the supporters of the Roman Catholic religion Edward IV., or even of Henry VI., and that we might be in her dominions. disposed to carry back the original composition of the drama Nothing would be gained by a detiil of the import of the to the period of Wickliffe, and the Lollards. tedious interlocutions between the characters, represented, It was not until the reign of Elizabeth that miracle-plays it would seem, by boys, who were perhaps the children of were generally abandoned, but in some distant parts of the the Chapel Royal; for there are traces in the performance kingdom they were persevered with even till the time of that it was originally acted at court. Respublica is a widow James I. Mliracle-plays, in fact, gradually gave way to greatly injured and abused by Avarice, Insolence, Oppresmoral plays, which presented more variety of situation and sion, and Adulation; while People, using throughout a character; and moral plays in turn were superseded by a rustic dialect, also complain bitterly of their sufferings, species of mixed drama, which was strictly neither moral especially since the introduction of what had been termed play nor historical play, but a combination of both in the " Reformation" in matters of faith: in the end Justitia same representation. brings in Nemesis, to effect a total change by restoring the Of this singular union of discordant materials, no person former condition of religious affairs; and the piece closes who has hitherto written upon the history of our dramatic with the delivery of the offenders to conqlign punishment. poetry has taken due notice; but it is very necessary not to The production was evidently written by a man of educapass it over, inasmuch as it may be said to have led ulti- tion; but, although there are many attempts at humour, mately to the introduction of tragedy, comedy, and history, and some at variety, both in character and situation, the as we now understand the terms, upon the boards of our whole must have been a very wearisome performance public theatres. No blame for the omission can fairly be adapted to please the court by its general tendency, but imputed to our predecessors, because the earliest specimens little calculated to accomplish any other purpose entertained of this sort of mixed drama which remain to us have been by the writer. In all respects it is much inferior to the brought to light within a comparatively few years. The "Kynge Johan" of Bale, which it followed in point of date, most important of these is the " KInge Johan " of Bishop and to which, perhaps, it was meant to be a comunterpart. Bale. We are not able to settle with. precision the date In the midst of the performance of dramatic productions when it was originally written, but it was evidently per- of a religious or political character, each party supporting formed, with additions and alterations, after Elizabeth came the views which most accorded with the author's individual to the throne.1 The purpose of the author was to promote opinions, John Heywood, who was a zealous Roman Cathothe Reformation, by applying to the ircumnstances of his lie, and who subsequently suffered for his creed under own times the events of the reign of King John, when the Edward VI. and Elizabeth, discovered a new species of kingdom was placed by the Pope under an interdict, and entertainment, of a highly humorous, and not altogether when, according to popular belief, the sovereign was poisoned of an uninstructive kind; which seems to have been very by a draught administered to him by a monk. This drama acceptable to the sovereign and nobility, and to have resembles a moral play in the introduction of abstract im- obtained for the author a distinguished character as a court personations, and a historical play in the adaptation of a dramatist, and ample rewards as a court dependent.s portion of our national annals, with real characters, to the These were properly called "interludes," being short comic purposes of the stage. Though performed in the reign of pieces, represented ordinarily in the interval between the Elizabeth, we may carry back the first composition and feast and the banquet; and we may easily believe that representation of "Kynge Johan" to the time of Edward they had considerable influence in the settlement of the VI.; but, as it has been printed by the Camden Society, it form which our stage-performances ultimately assumed. is not necessary that we should enlarge upon it. Heywood does not appear to have begun writing until The object of Bale's play was, as we have stated, to after Henry VIII. had been some years on the throne; but, advance the Reformation under Edward VI.; but in the while Skelton was composing such tedious elaborations as reign of his successor a drama of a similar description, and his " Magnificence," which, without any improvement, merely of a directly opposite tendency, was written and acted. It carries to a still greater length of absurdity the old style has never been mentioned, and as it exists only in manu- of moral plays, Heywood was writing his "John Tib and script of the time,2 it will not be out of place to quote its Sir John," his "Four Ps," his "Pardoner and Friar," and title, and to explain briefly in what manner the anonymous pieces of that description, which presented both variety of author carries out his design. He calls his drama " Res- matter andl novelty of construction, as well as considerable publica," and he adds that it was "made in the year of our wit and drollery in the language. He was a very original Lord 1553, and the first year of the most prosperous reign writer, and certainly merits more admiration than any of of our most gracious Sovereign, Queen Mary the First." his dramatic contemporaries. He was supposed to speak the prologue himself, in the To the commencement of the reign of Elizabeth we may character of " a Poet;" and although every person he intro- refer several theatrical productions which make approaches, duces is in fact called by some abstract name, he avowedly more or less near, to comedy, tragedy, and history, and still brings forward the Queen herself as " Nemesis, the Goddess retain many of the known features of moral plays. " Tom 1 Bale died in Nov. 1563; but he is nevertheless thus spoken of, as Besides "KKing Johan," Bale was the a'thor of four extant dramatic still living, in B. Googe's " Eglogs, Epitaphes, and Sonnettes," pub- productions, which may be looked upon as miracle-plays, both in their lished, we have reason to believe, in the spring of that year: we have formn and characters: viz. 1. "The Three Laws of Nature, Aoses and never seen this tribute quoted, and therefore subjoin it. Christ-" 2. "God's Promises;" 3. "John the Baptist5;" 4, "The " Good aged Bale, that with thy hoary heares Temptation of Christ." He also wrote fourteen other dramas ofvariDoste yet persyste to turne the paynefull booke; ous kinds, none of which have come down to us. 0 hapye, man! that hast obtaynde such yeares, 2 In the library of Mr. Hudson Gurney, to whom we beg to express And leav'st not yet on papers pale to looke; our obligations for the use of it. Gyve over now to beate thy weryed braine, John Heywood, who flourished in the reign of Henry VIIT., is not And rest thy penne, that long hath labour'd soore: to be confounded, as some modern editors of Shakespeare have conFor aged men unfyt sure is suche paine, founded him, with Thomas HeIywood, who became a dramatist more And thee beseems to labour now no more: than half a century afterwards, and who continued a writer for the But thou, I thynke, Don Platoes part will playe, stage until near the date of the closing of the theatres by the Puritans. With booke in hand to have thy dying daye." John Heywood, in all probability, died before Thomas Heywood was born. TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. ix Tiler and his Wife" is a comedy in its incidents; but the only been cajoled and laughed at, mfkes up his mind to be allegorical personages, Desire, Destiny, Strife, and Patience, merry at the wedding of Goodluck and Custance. connect it immediately with the earlier species of stage- In all this we have no trace of anything like a moral entertainment. "The Conflict of Conscience," on the other play, with the exception, perhaps, of the character of hand, is a tragedy on the fate of an historical personage; Matthew Merrygreek, which, in some of its features, its but Conscience, Hypocrisy, Avarice, Horror, &c., are called love of mischief and its drollery, bears a resemblance to in aid of the purpose of the writer. "Appius and Virginia" the Vice of the older drama.4'Were the dialogue modernis in most respects a history, founded upon facts; but ised, the comedy might be performed, even in our own Rumour, Comfort, and Doctrine, are importantly concerned day, to the satisfaction of many of the usual attendants at in the representation. These, and other productions of the our theatres. same class, which it is not necessary to particularize, show In considering the merits of this piece, we are to recollect the gradual advances made towards a better, because a that Bishop Still's " Gammer Gurton's Needle," which, until more natural, species of theatrical composition.' Into miracle- of late, was held to be our earliest comedy, was written plays were gradually introduced allegorical personages, who some twenty years after " Ralph Roister Doister:" it was finally usurped the whole stage; while they in turn yielded not acted at Cambridge until 1566, nine years subsequent to real and historical characters, at first only intended to to the death of Udall; and it is in every point of view an give variety to abstract impersonations. Hence the origin inferior production. The plot is a mere piece of absurdity, of comedy, tragedy, and history, such as we find them in the language is provincial (well fitted, indeed, to the country ~the works of Shakespeare, and of some of his immediate where the scene is laid, and to the clownish persons engaged predecessors. in it) and the manners depicted are chiefly those of illiterate What is justly to be considered the oldest known comedy rustics. The story, such as it is, relates to the loss of a needle in our language is of a date not much posterior to the reign with which Gamimer Gurton had mended Hodge's breeches, of Henry VIII., if, indeed, it were not composed while he and which is afterwards found by the hero, when he is about was on the throne. It has the title of "Ralph Roister to sit down. The humour, generally speaking, is as coarse Doister," and. it was written by Nicholas Udall, who was as the dialogue; and though it is impossible to deny that master of Eton school in 1540, and who died in 15517.' It the author was a man of talents, they were hardly such as is on every account a very remarkable performance; and could have produced "Ralph Roister Doister." as the scene is laid in London, it affords a curious picture The drama which we have been accustomed to regard as of metropolitan manners. The regularity of its construction, our oldest tragedy, and which probably has a just claim even at that early date, may be gathered from the fact, to the distinction, was acted on 18th January, 1562, and that in the single copy which has descended to us' it is printed in 1565. It was originally called "Gorbodue;" but divided into acts and scenes. The story is one of common, it was reprintecdin 1571 under the title of "Forrex and every-day life; and none of the characters are such as peo- Porrex," and a third time in 1590 as " Gorboduc." The first pie had been accustomed to find in ordinary dramatic enter- three acts were written by Thomas Norton, and the last two tainments. The piece takes its name from its hero, a young by Thomas Sackville, afterwards Earl of Dorset, and it town-gallant, who is mightily enamoured of himself, and was performed "by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple." who is encouraged in the good opinion he entertains of his Although the form of the Greek drama is observed in own person and accomplishments by Matthew Merrygreek, " Gorboduc," and each act concluded by a chorus, yet Sir a poor relation, who attends him in the double capacity of Philip Sidney, who admitted (in his " Apology of Poetry") companion and servant. Ralph Roister Doister is in love that it was "full of stately speeches and well-sounding with a lady of property, called Custance, betrothed to phrases," could not avoid complaining that the unities of Gawin Goodluck, a merchant, who is at sea when the time and place had been disregarded. Thus, in the very comedy begins, but who returns before it concludes. The outset and origin of our stage, as regards what may bemain incidents relate to the mode in which the hero, with termed the regular drama, the liberty, which allowed full the treacherous help of his associate, endeavours to gain exercise to the imagination of the audience, and which was. the affections of Custance. He writes her a letter, which afterwards happily carried to a greater excess, was distinctly Merrygreek reads without a due observance of the punctuna- asserted and aintained. It is also to be remarked, that tion, so that it entirely perverts the meaning of the writer: " Gorboduc" is the earliest known play in our language in he visits her while she is surrounded by her female domes- which blank-verse was employed;' but of the introduction tics, but he is unceremoniously rejected: he resolves to of blank-verse upon our public stage, we shall have occasion carry her by force of arms, and makes an assault upon her to speak hereafter. It was an important change, which habitation; but with the assistance of her maids, armed requires to be separately considered. with mops and brooms, she drives him from the attack. We have now entered upon the reign of Elizabeth; and Then, her betrothed lover returns, who has been misinformed although, as already observed, moral plays and even miraclecl the subject of her fidelity, but he is soon reconciled on plays were still acted, we shall soon see what a variety of an explanation of the facts; and Ralph Roister Doister, subjects, taken from ancient history, from mythology, fable, finddiqg that he has no chance of success, and that he has and romance, were employed for the purposes of the drama. i One of the latest pieces without mixture of history or fable, and others, the castigator, of the devil, who' represented the principle of evil consisting wholly of abstract personages, is, "The Tide tarryeth no among mankind. The Vice of moral plays subsequently became the IMan," by George Wapul, printed in 1576: only a single copy of it has fool and jester of comedy, tragedy, and history, and forms another, and been preserved, and that is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire. an important, link of connexion between them. The principal persons introduced into it have the following names:- In the Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, ii. 482, it is said P'ainted-profit, No-good-neighbourhood, Wastefulness, Christianity, that the earliest edition of "Gorboduc" has no date. This is a mistake, Correction, Courage, Feigned-furtherance, Greediness, Wantonness, as is shown by the copy in the collection of Lord Francis Egerton, sond Authority-in-despair. which has "anno 1565, Septemb..22" at the bottom of the title-page. s A very interesting epistle from lUdall is to be found in Sir Hienry Mr. Hallam, in his admirable "Introduction to* the Literature of Ellis's volume (edited for the Camden Society) "Original Letters of Europe," &c. (Second Edit. vol. ii. p. 167), expresses his dissent from Eminent literary Men." That of Udall is first in the series. the position, that the three first acts were by Norton, and the two last 3 This single copy is without title-page, so that the year when it was by Sackville. The old title-page states, that " three acts were written printed cannot be ascertained; but Thomas Hacket had a licence in by Thomas Norton,'and the. two last by Thomas Sackville." Unless 1566 for the publication of " a play entitled Rauf Ruyster Duster,"'as the printer,,William Griffith, were misinfosmed, this seems decisive. it is called on the registers of the Stationers' company; We may pre- Nortons abilities have not had justice done to them. aimsP that it was published in that year, or in the next. 6 Richard Edwards, a very distinguished dramatic poet, who died in D By "the older drama," we mean moral plays, into which the Vice 1566, and who wrote the lost play of " Palamon and Arcito," which. was introduced for the amusement of the spectators: no character so was acted before the Queen in September of that year, did not follow called, or with similar propensities, is to be traced in miracle-plays. the example of Sackville and Norton: his "Damon and Pithias" (the Hie was, in fact, the buffoon of our drama in, what may be termed, its! only piece by him that has survived) is in rhyme. See Dodsley's Old swond s'tge; after audiences began to grow vreary of plays founded Plays, last edition, vol. i. p. 177. Thomas Twine, an actor in "Pallamon upon Scripture-history, and when even moral plays, in order to be and Arcite," wrote an epitaph upon its author. " Ganmer Gurto-n:s relished, required the insertion of a character of broad humour, and Needle," and " Gorboduc " (the last printed from the second editioj) vinious inflinations, who was smetimes to be the companion, and at are also inserted in vols. i. and ii. of Dodsley's Old Plays. A x HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE Stephen Gosson, one of the earliest enemies of theatrical (he remarks) in this quality is most vain, indiscreet, and out performances, writing his " Plays confuted in Five Actions" of order. He first grounds his work on impossibilities; a little after the period of which we are now speaking, but then, in three hours, runs he through the world, marries, gets adverting to the drama as it had existed some years before, children, makes children men, men to conquer kingdoms, tells us, that "the Palace of Pleasure, the Golden Ass, the murder monsters, and bringeth gods from heaven, and /Ethiopian History, Amadis of France, and the Round fetcheth devils from hell: and, that which is worst, their Table," as well as "comedies in Latin, French, Italian, and ground is not so unperfect as their working indiscreet; not Spanish, have been thoroughly ransacked to furnish the weighing, so the people laugh, though they laugh them for play-houses in London." Hence, unquestionably, many of their follies to scorn. Many times, to make mirth, they the materials of what is termed our romantic drama were make a clo\vn companion with a king: in their grave counobtained. The accounts of the Master of the Revels between cils they allow the advice of fools; yea, they use one order 1570 and 1580 contain the names of various plays repre- of speech for all persons, a gross indecorum." This, it will sented at court; and it is to be noted, that it was certainly be perceived, is an accurate account of the ordinary license the practice at a later date, and it was probably the prac- taken in our romantic drama, and of the reliance of poets, tice at the time to which we are now adverting, to select long before the time of Shakespeare, upon the imaginations for performance before the Queen such pieces as were most of their auditors. in favour with public audiences: consequently the mention To the same effect we may quote a work by Stephen of a few of the titles of productions represented before Gosson, to which we have before been indebted,-" Plays Elizabeth at Greenwich, Whitehall, Richmond, or Nonesuch, confuted in Five Actions,"-which must have been printed will show the character of the popular performances of the about 1580:-" If a true history (says Gosson) be taken in day. We derive the following names from Mr. P. Cunning- hand, it is made, like our shadows, longest at the rising and ham's " Extracts from the Revels' Accounts," printed for the falling of the sun, shortest of all at high noon; for the poets Shakespeare Society:- drive it commonly unto such points, as may best show the majesty of their pen in tragical speeches, or set the hearers Lady Baaa. Purtiuo ad morantes. agog with discourses of love; or paint a few antics to fit igAjiax Priand oUlyssaes. its and Gistheir own humours with scoffs and taunts; or bring in a Narcissus. Three Sisters of Mantua. Narcissus. Three Sisters of Malntua. show, to furnish the stage when it is bare." Again, speakParis and Vienna. Cruelty of a Stepmother. ing of plays professedly founded upon romance, and not The Play of Fortune. The Greek Maid. upon "true history," he remarks: "Sometimes you shall Alcme3on. Rape of the second Helen see nothing but the adventures of an amorous knight, passQuintus Fabius. The Four. Sons of Fabius. ing from country to country for the love of his lady, encounPimolear at the Siege of Thebes. History of Sarpedon. tering many a terrible monster, made of brown paper, and The P aiters and Andromed. M derous icalel. at his return is so wonderfully changed, that he cannot be The History of the Collier. The Duke of Milan. known but by some posy in his tablet, or by a broken ring, The History of Error. or a handkerchief, or a piece of cockle-shell." We can hardly doubt that when Gosson wrote this passage he had These are only a few out of many dramas, establishing the particular productions in his mind, and several of the chamultiplicity of sources to which the poets of the time racter he describes are still extant. resorted.l Nevertheless, we find on the same indisputable Sir Philip Sidney is believed to have written his "Apology authority, that moral plays were not yet altogether dis- of Poetry" in 1583, and we have already referred to it in carded in the court entertainments; for we read, in the connexion with "Gorboduc." His observations, upon the original records, of productions the titles of which prove general character of dramatic representations in his time, that they were pieces of that allegorical description: throw much light on the state of the stage a very few among these are "Truth, Faithfulness, and Mercy," and years before Shakespeare is supposed to have quitted "The Marriage of Mind and Measure," which is expressly Stratford-upon-Avon, and attached himself to a theatrical called "a moral." company. " Our tragedies and comedies (says Sidney) are Our main object in referring to these pieces has been to not without cause cried out against, observing neither rules show the great diversity of subjects which had been drama- of honest civility, nor skilful poetry.... But if it be so tised before 1580. In 1581 Barnabe Rich published his in Gorboduc, how much more in all the rest, where you " Farewell to Military Profession,"2 consisting of a collection shall have Asia of the one side, and Afric of the other, and of eight novels; and at the close of the work he inserts this so many other under-kingdoms, that the player, when he strange address " to the reader:"-" Now thou hast perused comes in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or else these histories to the end, I doubt not but thou wilt deem the tale will not be conceived. Now you shall have three of them as they worthily deserve, and think such vanities ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must believe more fitter to be presented on a stage (as some of them the stage to be a garden: by and by we hear news of a have been) than to be published in print." The fact is, that shipwreck in the same place; then, we are to blame if we three dramas are extant which more or less closely resem- accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of that comes out ble three of Rich's novels: one of them "Twelfth Night;" a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then the miseranother, "The Weakest goeth to the Wall;" and the third able beholders are bound to take it for a cave; while, in the old play of " Philotus."3 the meantime, two armies fly in, represented with four Upon the manner in which the materials thus procured swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not were then handled, we have several contemporaneous receive it for a pitched field? Now, of time they are much authorities. George Whetstone, (an author who has prin- more liberal; for ordinary it is that two young princes fall cipally acquired celebrity by writing an earlier drama upon in love: after many traverses she is got with child, delivered the incidents employed by Shakespeare in his "Measure of a fair boy; he is lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and for Measure") in the dedication of his " Promos and Cassan- is ready to get another child, and all this in two hours' dra," gives a compendious description of the nature of popu- space: which how absurd it is in sense, even sense may lar theatrical representations in 1578. "The Englishman imagine, and art hath taught, and all ancient examples justi-' "The Play of Fortune." in the above. list, is doubtless the piece History of the Collier," also mentioned, was perhaps the comedy subsewhich has reached us in a printed shape, as "'The Rare Triumphs of quently known and printed as " Grim, the Collier of Croydon;" and it Love and Fortune:" it was acted at court as early as 1573, and again has been reasonably supposed, that " The History of Error" was an old in 1582; but it did not come from the press until 1589, and the only play on the same subject as Shakespeare's " Comedy of Errors." copy of it is in the library of Lord Francis Egerton. The purpose of 2 Until recly no edition of an earlier date than that of 1606 was the anonymous writer was to compose an entertainment which should known; but there is an impression of 1581 at Oxford, which is about possess the great requisite of variety, with as much show as could at to be reprinted by the Shakespeare Society. Malone had heard of a that early date be accomplished; and we are to recollect that the court copy in 1583. but it is certainly a mistake. theatres pdssessed some unusual facilities for the purpose. The "Induc- 3 It was reprinted for the Bannatyne Club in 1835, by J. W. Macktion" is in blank-verse, but the body of the drama is in rhyme. "The enzie, Esq. TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. xi fled." He afterwards comes to a point previously urged by companies attached to particular places; and in coeval Whetstone; for Sidney complains that plays were "neither records we read of the players of York, Coventry, Lavenright tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and ham, Wycombe, Chester, Manningtree, Eveshamn, Mile-end, clowns, not because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in Kingston, &c. the clown by head and shoulders, to play a part in majesti- In the reign of Henry VIII., and perhaps in that of his cal matters with neither decency nor discretion; so as neither predecessor, the gentlemen and singing-boys of the Chapel the admiration and commiseration, nor right sportfulness is Royal were employed to act plays and interludes before by their mongrel tragi-comedy obtained." the court; and afterwards the children of Westminster, St. It will be remarked that, with the exception of the Paul's, and Windsor, under their several masters, are not instance of " Gorboduc," no writer we have had occasion to unfrequently mentioned in the household books of the cite mentions the English Chronicles, as having yet furnished palace, and in the accounts of the department of the revels.4 dramatists with stories for the stage; and we may perhaps In 1514 the king added a new company to the dramatic infer that resort was not had to them, for the purposes of the retinue of the court, besides the two companies which had public theatres, until after the date of which we are now been paid by his father, and the associations of theatrical speaking. children. In fact, at this period dramatic entertainments, Having thus briefly adverted to the nature and character masques, disguisings, and revels of every description, were of dramatic representations from the earliest times to the carried to a costly excess. Henry VIII. raised the sum, year 1583, and having established that our romantic drama until then paid for a play, from 61. 13s. 4d. to 101. William was of ancient origin, it is necessary shortly to describe the Cornyshe, the master of the children of the chapel, on one circumstances under which plays were at different early occasion was paid no less a sum than 2001., in the money of periods performed. that time, by way of reward; and John Heywood, the autfior' There were no regular theatres, or buildings permanently of interludes before mentioned, who was also a player upon constructed for the purposes of the drama, until after 1575. the virginals, had a salary of 201. per annum, in addition to Miracle-plays were sometimes exhibited in churches and in his other emoluments. During seasons of festivity a Lord the halls of corporations, but more frequently upon move- of Misrule was regularly appointed to superintend the able stages, or scaffolds, erected in the open air. Moral sports, and he also was separately and liberally remuneplays were subsequently performed under nearly similar rated. The example of the court was followed by the circumstances, excepting that a practice had grown up, courtiers, and the companies of theatrical retainers, in the among the nobility and wealthier gentry, of having dramatic pay, or acting in various parts of the kingdom under the entertainments at particular seasons in their own residences.' names of particular noblemen, became extremely numerous. These were sometimes performed by a company of actors Religious houses gave them encouragement, and even assisted retained in the family, and sometimes by itinerant players,2 in the getting up and representation of the performances, who belonged to large towns, or who called themselves the especially shortly before the dissolution of the monasteries: servants of members of the aristocracy. In 14 Eliz. an act in the account-book of the Prior of Dunmow, between was passed allowing strolling actors to perform, if licensed March 1532 and July 1536, we find entries of payments by some baron or nobleman of higher degree, but subjecting to Lords of Misrule there appointed, as well as to the players all others to the penalties inflicted upon vagrants. There- of the- King, and of the Earls of Derby, Exeter, and Sussex.5 fore, although many companies of players went round the In 15483 was passed a statute, rendered necessary by the country, and acted as the servants of some of the nobility, polemical character of some of the dramas publicly reprethey had no legislative protection until 1512. It is a singu- fsented, although, not many years before, the king had himlar fact, that the earliest known company of players, travel- self encouraged such performances at court, by being present ling under the name and patronage of one of the nobility, at a play in which Luther and his wife were ridiculed.' The was that of the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard act prohibits "ballads, plays, rhymes, songs, and other fanIII.3 Henry VII. bhad two distinct bodies of "actors of tasies" of a religious or doctrinal tendency, but at the same interludes" in his pay, and from henceforward the profession time carefully provides, that the clauses shall not extend to of a player became well understood and recognized. In the "songs, plays, and interludes" which had for object "the later part of the reign of Henry VII., the players of the rebuking and reproaching of vices, and the setting. forth of Dukes of Norfolk and Buckingham, and of the Earls of virtue; so always the said songs, plays, or interludes medArundel, Oxford, and Northumberland, performed at court. die not with the interpretations of Scripture." About this period, and somewhat earlier, we also hear of The permanent office of Master of the Revels, for the 1 As early as 1465 a company of players had performed at the wed- 5 For this information we are indebted to Sir N. H. Nicholas, who ding of a person of the name of Molines, who was nearly related to has the original document in his library. Similar facts might be Sir John Howard, afterwards' Duke of Norfolk. See " Manners and established from other authorities, both of an earlier and somewhat Household Expenses of England," printed by Mr. Botfield, M. P., for later date. the Roxburghe Club in 1841, p. 511. 6 See Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, Vol. i. p. 107. 2 The anonymous MS. play of " Sir Thomas More," written towards The official account, made out by Richard Gibson, who had the prepathe close of the reign of Elizabeth, gives a very correct notion of the ration of the dresses, &c., is so curious and characteristic, that we mode in which offers to perform were made by a company of players, quote it in the words, though not in the uncouth orthography. of the and accepted by the owner of the mansion. Four players and a boy original document: the date is the 10th Nov. 1528, not long before the (for the female characters) tender their services to the Lord Chancel- king saw reason to change the whole course of his policy as regarded lor, just ashe is on the point of giving a grand supper to the Lord the Reformation. Mayor and Corporation of London: Sir Thomas More inquires what pieces they can perform, and the answer of the leader of the company " The king's pleasure was that at the said revels, by clerks in the supplies the -names of seven which Were then popular; viz., " The Latin tongue, should he played in his presence a play, whereof ensuCradle of Security." "Hit Nail on the Head," "Impatient Poverty," eth the names. First an Orator in apparel of gold; a Poet in apparel " The Four Ps," " Dives and Lazarus," "Lusty Juventus," and " The of cloth of gold; Religion,;Ecclesia, Veritas, like three Novices, in Mairiage of 5Wit and'Wisdom." Sir Thomas More fixes upon the last, garments of silk, and veils of lawn and cypress: Heresy, False-interand it is accordingly represented, as a play within a play, before the pretation, Corruptio-scriptoris, like ladies of Bohemia, apparelled in banquet. " Sir Thomas More"': was regularly licensed for public per- garments of silk of divers colours; the heretic Luther, like a party formance. friar, imn russet, damask and black taffeta; Luther's wife, like a frow 3 Either from preference or policy, Richard III. appears to have of Spiers in.Almain, in red silk; Peter, Paul, and James, in three been a great encourager of actors and musicians: besides his players, habits of white sarsenet and three red mantles, and hairs of silver of he patronized two distinct bodies of "minstrels," and performers ons damask and pelerines of scarlet, and a cardinal in his apparel; two instruments called;" shalmrs." These facts are derived from a manu- Sergeants in rich apparel; the Dauphin and his brother in coats of script of the household-book of John Lord Howard, afterwards duke of velvet embroidered with gold, and caps of satin bound with velvet; a Norfolk, preserved in the library of the Society of Antiquaries, and Messenger in tinsel-satin; six men in gowns of green sarsenet; six recently printed for the use of the members of the Roxburghe Club, women in gowns of crimson sarsenet; War in rich cloth of gold and as a sequel to Mr. Botfield's volume., feathers, and armed; three Almains in apparel all cut and slit of silk; 4 At a considerably subsequent date some of these infaniRcompanies Lady Peace, in lady's apparel, all white and rich; and Lady Quietness, performed before general audiences; and to them were added the and Dame Tranquillity, richly beseen in ladies' apparel. Children of the Revels, who had'never been attached to any religious establishment, but were chiefly encouraged as a nursery for actors. The drama represented by these personages appears to have been The Queen of James I. had. also a company of theatrical' children the composition of John Rightwise, then master of the children of under her patronage. St. Paul's. xii HISTORY OF THE ENGLISHI STAGE superintendence of all dramatic performances, was created performers. Two years afterwards, the Earl of Leicester in 1546, and Sir Thomas Cawarden was appointed to it with obtained from Elizabeth a patent under the great seal, to an annual salary of 101. A person of the name of John enable his players James Burbage, John Perkyn, John LanBernard was made Clerk of the Revels, with an allowance ham, William Johnson, and Robert Wilson, to perform of 8d. per day and livery'. "comedies, tragedies, interludes, and stage-plays," in any It is a remarkable point, established by Mr. Tytler', that part of the kingdom, with the exception of the metropolis' Henry VIII. was not yet buried, and Bishop Galrdiner and The Lord Mayor and Aldermen succeeded in excluding his parishioners were about to sing a dirge for his soul, the players from the strict boundaries of the city, but they when the actors of the Earl of Oxford posted bills for the were not able to shut them out of the liberties; and it is performance of a play in Southwark. This was long before not to be forgotten that James Burbage and his associates the construction of any regular theatre on the Bankside; *were supported by court favour generally, and by the powbut it shows at how early a date that part of the town was erful patronage of the Earl of Leicester in particular. Acselected for such exhibitions. When Mr. Tytler adds, that cordingly, in the year after they had obtained their patent, the players of the Earl of. Oxford were " the first that were James Burbage and his fellows took a large house in the kept by any nobleman," he. falls into an error, because precinct of the dissolved monastery of the Black Friars, and Richard III., and others of the nobility, as already remark- converted it into a theatre. This was accomplished in 1576, ed, had companies of players attached to their households. and it is the first time we hear of any building set apart for We have the evidence of Puttenham, in his " Art of English theatrical representations. Until then the various compaPoesie," 1589, for stating that the Earl of Oxford, under nies of actors had. been obliged to content themselves with whose name the players in 1547 -were about to perform, churches, halls, with temporary erections in the streets, or -was himself a dramatist. with inn yards, in which they raised a stage, the spectators Very soon after Edward VI. came to the throne, severe standing below, or occupying the galleries that surrounded measures were taken to restrain not only dramatic per- the open space'. Just about the satme period two other formances, but the publication of dramas. Playing and edifices were built for the exhibition of plays in Shoreditch, printing plays were first entirely suspended; then, the one of which was called " The Curtain'," and the other " The companies of noblemen were allowed to perform, but not Theatre." Both these are mentioned as in existence and without special authority; and, finally, the sign manual, or operation in 15777. Thus we see that two buildings close the names of six of the Privy Council were required to to the walls of the city, and a third within a privileged distheir licenses. The objection stated was, that the plays had trict in the city, all expressly applied to the purpose of a political, not a polemical, purpose. One of the first acts stage-plays, were in use almost immediately after the date of Mary's government, was to issue a proclamation to put of the Patent to the players of the Earl of Leicester. It is a stop to the performance of interludes calculated to ad- extremely likely, though we have no distinct evidence of vance the principles of the Reformation; and we may be the fact, that one or more play-houses were opened about sure that the play ordered at the coronation of the queen the same time in Southwark; and we know that the Rose was of a contrary description'. It appears on other autho- theatre was standing there not many years afterwards' rities, that for two years there was an entire cessation of John Stockwood, a puritanical preacher, published a sermon public dramatic performances; but in this reign the re.pre- in 1578, in which he asserted that there were " eight ordi sentation of the old Roman Catholic miracle-plays was par- nary places" in and near London for dramatic exhibitions, tially and authoritatively revived. and that the united profits were not less than ~2000 a year'It is not necessary to detail the proceedings in connexion at leastt ~12,000 of our present money. Another divine, of with theatrical representations at the opening of the reign the name of White, equally opposed to such performances, of Elizabeth. At first plays were discountenanced, but by preaching in 1516, called the play-houses at that time degrees they were permitted; and the queen seems at all erected, "sumptuous theatres." No doubt, the puritanical times to have derived much pleasure from the services of zeal of these divines had been excited by the opening of the her own players, those of her nobility, and of the different Blackfri-irs, the Curtain, and the Theatre, in 1576 and 1577, companies of children belonging to Westminster, St. Paul's, for the exclusive purpose of the drama; and the five addiWindsor, and the Chapel Royal. The members of the inns tional places, where plays, according to Stockwood, were of court also performed" Gorboduc" on 18th January, 1562; acted before 1518, were most likely a.play-house at Newand on February 1st, an historical play, under the name of ington-butts, or inn-yards, converted occasionally into " Julius Ccesar," was represented, but by what company is theatres. no where mentioned. An important fact, in connexion with the manner in which In 1572 the act was passed (which was renewed with ad- dramatic performances were patronized by Queen Elizabeth, ditional force in 1597) to restrain the number of itinerant has been recently brought to light9. It ias been hitherto I The original appointment of John Bernard is preserved in the In 1557 the Boar's Head, Aldgatej had been used for the'perlibrary of Sir Thomas Phillippes, Bart.; to whom we owe the addi- formance of a drama called " The Sack full of News;" and Stephen tional information, that this Clerk of the Revels had a house assigned Gosson in his "t School of Abuse," 1579, (reprinted by the Shakespeare to him, strangely called, in the instrument, "Egypt, and Flesh- Society) mentions the Belle Savage and the Bull as inlis at which |Hall," with a garden which had belonged to the dissolved monastery particular plays had been represenmted. R. Flecknae in his ": Short of the Charter-house: the words of the original are, omnia illa do- Discourse of the English Stage," appended to his'*Lovels Kingdom," mum et edificia nuper vocata Egipte et;leshall, et illam domum 1664, says that "at this day is to be seen " that: the inn yards of the adjacentem nusper vocatam le garneter. The theatrical wardrobe of Cross-Keys, and Bull, in Grace and Bishopsgate Streets" had been the court was at this period kept at St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell. used as theatres. There is reason to believe that the Boar's Head, 2 In his'" Edward VI. and Mary," 1839, vol. i. p. 20. Aldgate, had belonged to the father of Edward Allevn. 3 See Kempe's "Losely Manuscripts," 1835, p. 61. The warrant 6 It has been supposed by some, that the Curtain theatre owed its for the purpose was under the sign manual, and it was directed to name to the curtain employed to separate the actors from the a:''liSir T. Cawarden, as Master of the Revels:-" We will and command ence. We have before us documents'(which on account of their you, upon the sight hereof, forthwith to make and deliver out of our length we cannot insert) showing that such was probably not the fact Ievels, unto hile Gentlemen of our Chapel, for a play to be played and that the ground on which the building stood was called the Curbefore us at the feast of our Coronation, as in times past hath been tain (perhaps as part of the fortifications of London) before any playaccustomed to be done by the Gentlemen of the Chapel of our pro- house was.built there. For this information we have to offer our genitors, all such necessary garments, and other things for the fur- thanks to Mr. T. E. Tomlins of Islington. niture thereof, as shall be thought meet," &c. The play, although 7 In John Northbrooke's "Treatise," &c. against ": vain plays or ordered for this occasion, viz. ist Oct. 1.553, was.for some unex- interludes," licensed for the press in 1577, the work being then ready plained reason deferred until Christmas. and in the printer's hands. It has been reprinted by the Shakespeare 4 There is a material difference between the warrant under the Society. privy seal, and the patent under the great seal, granted upon this 8 See the " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," (published by the Shakeoccasion: the former gives the' players a right to perform " as well speare Society) p. 189. It seems that the Rose had been the sign of within the city of London and liberties of the same " as elsewhere; a house of public entertainment before it was converted into a theatre. but the latter (dated three days afterwards, viz. 10 Mav, 1574) omits Such was also the case with the Swan, and the Hope, in thie same this paragraph; and we need entertain little doubt tliat it was ex- neighbourhood. eluded at the instance of the Corporation of London, always opposed 9 By Mr. Peter Cunningham, in his " Extracts from the Accounts to theatrical performances. of the Revels,T" printed for the Shakespeare Society, pp. 32 and TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. xiii supposed that in 1583 she selected one company of twelve Revels and the actors exerted themselves to furnish variety performers, to be called " the Queen's players;" but it seems for the entertainment of the Queen and her nobility; but that she had two separate associations in her pay, each dis- we still see no trace (" Gorboduc" excepted) of any play at tinguished as " the Queen's players." Tylney, the master court, the materials for which were obtained from the Engof the revels at the time, records, in one of his accounts, lish Chronicles. It is very certain, however, that anterior that in March, 1583, he had been sent for by her lajesty to 1588 such pieces had been written, and acted before pub"to chuse out a company of players:" Richard Tarlton and lic audiences4; but those who catered for the court in these Robert Wilson were placed at the head of that association, matters might not consider it expedient to exhibit, in the which was probably soon afterwards divided into two dis- presence of the Queen, any play which invqlved the actions tinct bodies of performers. In 1590, John Lanham was the or conduct of her predecessors. The companies of players leader of one body', and Lawrence Dutton of the other. engaged in these representations were those of the Queen, We have thus brought our sketch of dramatic perform- the Earls of Leicester, Derby, Sussex, Oxford, the Lords ances and performers down to about the same period, the Hunsdon and Strange, and the children of the Chapel Royal year 1583. We propose to continue it to 1590, and to as- and of St. Paul's. sume that as the period not, of course, when Shakespeare About this date the number of companies of actors perfirst joined a theatrical company, but when he began writing forming publicly in and near London seems to,have been original pieces for the stage. This is a matter which is very considerable. A person, who calls himself " a soldier," more distinctly considered in the biography of the poet; writing to Secretary Walsingham, in January, 1586,6 tells but it is necessary here to fix upon some date to which we him, that " every day in the week the players' bills are set are to extend our introductory account of the progress and up in sundry places of the city," and after mentioning the condition of theatrical affairs. What we have still to offer actors of the Queen, the Earl of Leicester,6 the Earl of will apply to the seven years from 1583 to 1590. Oxford, and the Lord Admcniral, he goes on to state that not The accounts of the revels at court about this period fewer than two hundred persons, thus retained and emafford us little information, and indeed for several years, ployed, strutted in their silks about the streets. It may be w'hen such entertainments were certainly required by the doubted whether this statement is much exaggerated, reQueen, we are without any details either of the pieces per- collecting the many noblemen who had players acting under formed, or of the cost of preparation. We have such par- their names at this date, and that each company consisted ticulars for the years 1581, 1582, 1584, and 1587, but for probably of eight or ten performers. On the same authority the intermediate years they are wanting.2 we learn that theatrical representations upon the Sabbath The accounts of 1581, 1582, and 1584, give us the fol- had been forbidden; but this restriction does not seem to lowing names of dramatic performances of various kinds have been nimposed without a considerable struggle: Before exthibited before the Queen: 1581 the Privy Council had issued an order upon the subA coedy called Delight. Ariodante and Genevora. ject, but it was disregarded in some of the suburbs of LonA coSetoy cllef Delight. Ariodralnte fd Penevoa. don; and it was not until after a fatal exhibition of bearThe Story of Pompey. Pastoral of Phillida and A Game of the Cards. Clorin. baiting at Paris Garden, upon Sunday, 13 June, 1583, when A comedy of Beauty and History of Felix and Phi- many persons were killed and'wounded by the falling of a Housewifiry. liomena. scaffold, that the practice of playing, as well as bear-baiting, Love and Fortune. Five Plays in One. on the Sabbath was at all generally checked. In 1586, as History of Ferrar. Three Plays in One. far as we can judge from the information that has come H-istory of Telomo. Agamemnon and Ulysses. down to our day, the order which had been issued in this This list of dramas (the accounts mention that others respect was pretty strictly enforced. At this period, and were acted without supplying their titles) establishes that afterwards, plays were not unfrequently played -at court on moral plays had not yet been excluded3. The " Game of Sunday, and the chief difficulty therefore seems to have the Cards" is expressly called " a comedy or moral," in the been to iduce the Prvy Council to act with energy agist accounts of 1582; and we may not unreasonably suppose similar performances in public theatres. that "Delight," and " Beauty and Housewifry," were of the The annual official statement of the Master of the Revels same class. "The Story of Pompey," and "Agamemnon merely tells us, in general terms, that between Christmas and Ulysses," were evidently performances founded upon 1586, and Shrovetide 1587, "seven plays, besides feats of ancient history, and such may have been the case with " The activity, and other shows by the children of Paul's, her History of Telomo." " Love and Fortune" has been called Majesty's servants, and the gentlemen of Gray's Inn," were "the play of Fortune" in the account of 15'73; and we may prepared and represented before the Queen at Greenwich. feel assured that " Ariodante and Genevora" was the story No names of plays are furnished, but in 1587 was printed a told by Ariosto, which also forms part of the plot of tragedy, under the title of "The Misfortunes of Arthur," "Much Ado about Nothing." " The History of Ferrar" was which purports to have been acted by some of the members doubtless "The History of Error" of the account of 15"17, of Gray's Inn before the Queen, on 28 Feb., 1587: this, in the clerk having written the title by his ear; and we may fact, must be the very production stated in the revels' acreasonably suspect that "Felix and Philiomena" was the counts to have been got up and performed by these partale of Felix and Felismena, narrated in the "Diana" of ties; and it requires notice, not merely for its own intrinsic Montemayor. It is thus evident, that the Master of the excellence as a drama, but because, in point of date, it is 186. The editor's " Introduction " is full of new and valuable infor- moral play, under the title of ": The Contention between Liberality mation. and Prodigality," printed in 1602, and acted, as appears by the strong1 Tarlton died on 3 Sept. 1588, and we apprehend that it was not est internal evidence. in 1600. until after this date that Lanham became leader of one company of 4 Tarlton, who died, as we have already stated, in Sept. 1588, obthe QOueen's Players. Mr. Halliwell discovered Tarlton's will in the tained great celebrity by his performance of the two parts of Derrick Prerogative Office, bearing date on the day of his decease: he there and the Judge, in the old historical play of:" The Famous Victories calls hIimself one of the grooms of the Queen's chamber, and leaves of Henry the Fifth." all his "goods, cattels, chattels, plate, ready money, jewels, bonds 5 See the originalletter inHarleian MSS. No. 286. obligatory, specialties, andi debts," to his son Philip Tarlton, a minor. 6 The manner in which, about this time, the players were bribed He appoints his mother, Katherine Tarlton, his friend Robert Adams, away from Oxford is curious, and one of the items in the accounts and " his fellow William Johnson, one also of the grooms of her expressly applies to tihe Earl of Leicester's servants. We are obliged Majesty's chamber," trustees for his son, and executors of his will, to the Rev. Dr. Bliss for the following extracts, relating to this pewhich was proved by Adams three days after the death of the testator. riod and a little afterwards: As Tarlton says nothing about his wife in his will, we may presume 1587 Solut. Histrionibus Comitis Lecestrim, nt cum suis ludis that he was a widower; and of his son, Philip Tarlton, we never hear sine majore Academim molestiSf discedant.. xxs afterwards. Solut. Histrionibus Honoratissimi Domini Howard. xxs 2 From 1587 to 1604, the most important period as regards Shake- 1588 Solut. Histrionibus, ne ludos inhonestos exercerent inspeare, it does not appear that any official statements by the master fra Universitatem..... (. no sm) of the revels have been preserved. In the same way there is an un- 1590 Solut. per D. Eedes, vice-cancellarii locum tenentem, fortunate interval between 1604 and 161.1. quibusdam Histrionibus, ut sine perturbatione et 9 One of the last pieces represented before Queen Elizabeth was a strepitu ab Academii discederent... xs xiv HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE the second play founded upon English history represented I stage is noticed, is an epistle by Thomas Nash introducing at court, as well as the second original theatrical production to the world his friend Robert Greene's " Menaphon," in in blank-verse that has been preserved1. The example, in 15875: there, in reference to "vain-glorious tragedians," he this particular, had been set, as we have already shown, in says, that they are "mounted on the stage of arrogance," " Gorboduc," fifteen years before; and it is probable, that in and that they "think to out-brave better pens with the that interval not a few of the serious compositions exhibited swelling bombast of bragging blank-verse." He afterwards at court were in blank-verse, but it had not yet been used talks of the " drumming decasyllibon" they employed, and on any of our public stages. ridicules them for "reposing eternity in the mouth of a The main body of " The Misfortunes of Arthur" was the player." This question is farther illustrated by a pi'oducauthorship of Thomas Hughes, a member of Gray's Inn; tion by Greene, published in the next year, "Perimedes, but some speeches and two choruses (which are in rhyme) the Blacksmith," from which.it is evident that Nash had an were added by William Fulbecke and Francis Flower, individual allusion in what he had said in 1587. Greene while no less a man than Lord Bacon assisted Christopher fixes on the author of the tragedy of " Tamburlaine," whom Yelverton and John Lancaster in the preparation of the he accuses of " setting the end of scholarism in an English dumb-shows. Hughes evidently took "Gorboduc" as his blank-verse," and who, it should seem, had somewhere acmodel, both in subject and style, and, like Sackville and cused Greene of not being able to write it. Norton, he adopted the form of the Greek and Roman We learn from various authorities, that Christopher drama, and adhered more strictly than his predecessors to Marlowe6 was the author of " Tamburlaine the Great," a the unities of time and place. The plot relates to the re- dramatic work of the highest celebrity and popularity, bellion of Mordred against his father, king Arthur, and part printed as early as 1590, and affording the first known inof the plot is very revolting, on account of the incest be- stance of the use of blank-verse in a public theatre: the tween Mordred and his stepmother Guenevora, Mordred title-page of the edition 1590 states, that it had been "sunhimself being the son of Arthur's sister: there is also a vast dry times shown upon stages in the city of London." In deal of blood and slaughter throughout, and the catastrophe the prologue the author claims to have introduced a new is the killing of the son by the father, and of the father by form of composition:the son; so that a more painfully disagreeable story could Fro veins of g mo-oit hardly have been selected. The author, however, possessed Ad jg eis 0 lownsge eaeps in sas, a very bold and vigorous genius; his characters are strongly We s uc h conceits as closately tent of war, a. ver -We II lead you to the stately tent of war,"'- &c. drawn, and the language they employ is consistent with their situations and habits: his blank-verse, both in force Accordingly, nearly the whole drama, consisting of a first and variety, is superior to that of either Sackville or Nor- and second part, is in blank-verse. Hence we see the value ton2. of Dryden's loose assertion, in the dedication to. Lord OrIt is very clear, that up to the year 1580, about which rery of his "Rival Ladies," in 1664, that "Shalkespeare was date Gosson published his "Plays confuted in Five Ac- the first who, to shun the pains of continual rhyming, intions," dramatic performances on the public stages of Lon- vented that kind of writing which we call blank-verse." don were sometimes in prose, but more constantly in rhyme. The distinction belongs to Marlowe, the greatest of ShakesIn his "School of Abuse," 1579, Gosson speaks of "two peare's predecessors, and a poet who, if he had lived, might, prose books played at the Bell Savage3;" but in his" Plays perhaps, have been a formidable rival of his genius. We confuted" he tells us, that "poets send their verses to the have too much reverence for the exhaustless originality of stage upon such feet as continually are rolled up in rhyme." our great dramatist, to think that he cannot afford this, or With one or two exceptions, all the plays publicly acted, of any other tribute to a poet, who, as far as. the public stage a date anterior to 1590, that have come down to us, are is concerned, deserves to be regarded as the inventor of a either in prose or in rhyme4. The case seems to have been new style of composition. different, as already remarked, with some of the court- That the attempt was viewed with jealousy, there can be shows and private entertainments; but we are now advert- no doubt, after what we have quoted from Nash and Greene. ing to the pieces represented at such places as the Theatre, It is most likely that Greene, who was older than Nash, the Curtain, Blackfriars, and in inn-yards adapted tempo- had previously written various dramas in rhyme; and the rarily to dramatic amusements, to which the public was bold experiment of Marlowe having been instantly successindiscriminately admitted. The earliest work, in which the ful, Greene was obliged to abandon his old course, and his employment of blank-verse for the purpose of the common extant plays are all in blank-verse. Nash, who had at1 Gascoyne's "Jocasta," printed in 1577, and represented by the of Greene's pamphlets, dated in 1587-we mean "Euphues his author and other members of the society at Gray's Inn in 1566 as a Censure to Philautus." private show, was a translation from Euripides. It is, as far as has 6 If Marlowe were born, as has been supposed, about 1562; (Oldys yet been ascertained, the second play in our language written in places the event earlier,) he was twenty-four when he wrote " Tamblank-verse, but it was not an original work. The same author's burlaine," as we believe, in 1586, and only thirty-one when he was " Supposes," taken from Ariosto, is in prose. killed by a person of the name of Archer, in an affiay arising out of 2 The Misfortunes of Arthur," with four other dramas, has been an amorous intrigue, in 1593. In a manuscript note of the time, in reprinted in a supplementary volume to the last edition of Dodsley's a copy of his version of " Hero and Leander," edit. 1629, in our posOld'Plays. It is not, therefore, necessary here to enter into an ex- session, it is said, among other things, that "Marlowe's father was a amination of its structure or versification. It is a work of extraor- shoemaker at Canterbury," and that he had an acquaintance at Dover dinary power. whom he infected with the extreme liberality of his opinions on 3 See the Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 30. Gosson gives them matters of religion. At the back of the title-page of the same the highest praise, asserting that they contained " never a word volume is inserted the following epitaph, subscribed with Marlowe's without wit, never a line without pith, never a letter placed in name, and no doubt of his composition, although never before vain." noticed:4 Sometimes plays written in prose were, at a subsequent date, "In obitum honoratissimi viri when blank-verse had become the popular form of composition, pub- ROGERI MANWOOD, Militis, Quuastorii lished as if they had been composed in measured lines. The old his- Reginalis Capitalis Baronis. torical play, " The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth," which Noctivagi terror, ganeonis triste filagellum, preceded-that of Shakespeare, is an instance directly in point: it was Et Jovis Alcides, rigido vulturque latroni, written in prose, but the old printer chopped it up into lines of un- Urnh subtegitur: scelerum gaudete nepotes. equal lesigth: so as to make it appear to the eye something like blank- Insons, luctifica sparsis cervice capillis, verse. Plange, fori lumen, venerandre gloria legis 5 Greene began writing in 1583, his-' Mamillia" having been Occidit: heu! secum effcetas Acherontis ad oras then printed: his' "'Mirror of Modesty" and " Monardo," bear the Multa abiit virtus. Pro tot virtutibus uni, date of 1584. His "Menaphon" (afterwards called "Greene's Ar- Livor, parce viro: non audacissimus esto cadia") first appeared in 1587, and it was reprinted in 1589. We Illius in cineres, cujus tot millia vultus have. never seen the earliest edition of it, but it is mentioned by Mortalium attonuit: sic cum te nuncia Ditis various bibliographers; and those who have thrown doubt upon the Vulneret exanguis, feliciter ossa quiescant, point, (stated in the History of English Dramatic Poetry and the Famoeque marmorei superet monumenta, sepulchri." Stage, vol. iii., p. 150), for the sake of founding an argument upon It is added, that " Marlowe was a rare scholar, and died aged about it, have not adverted to the conclusive fact, that - Menaphon" is thirty." The above is the only extant specimen of his Latin cornmmentioned as already in print in the introductory matter to another position, and we insert it exactly as it stands in manuscript. TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. xv tacked Marlowe in 1587, before 1593 (when Marlowe was Arid scale the icy mountains' lofty tops, ldlled) had joined him in the production of a blank-verse Which with thy beauty will bo soon dissolv'd."' tragedy., on the story of.Dido, which was printed in 1594.;n has been objectecl to " Trtmbur~aine," that it is written Nash having alluded to " Tamburlaine" in 1587, it is eviIt has been objected to "Tamburlaine," that it is writtn dent that it could hardly have been written later than 1685 in a turgid and ambitious style, such indeed as Nash andwhich is about the period when it has been generGreene ridicule; but we are to recollect that Marlowe was at this time endeavouring to wean audiences from the ally, and with much appearance of probability, supposed atjiging veins of rhendeaouyming mother-witsand that, in order to that Shakespeare arrived in London. In considering the Z"iiging veins of rhmin mot -wits," an hat, norderostate of the stage just before our great dramatist became a satisfy the ear for the loss of the jingle, he was obliged to writer for it, it is clearly, therefore, necessary to advert give what Nash calls "the swelling bombast of bragging brieflyto the other works of lMarlowe, observing in addiblank-verse." This, consideration -will of itself account for tion, with reference to "Tamburlaine," that it is a historical breaches of a more correct taste to be found in "Tambur- drama, in hich not a ingle unity is regarded; time, place, laine." In the Prologue, besides what we have already and action, are equally set at defiance, and the scene shifts quoted, Marlowe tells the audience to expect "high as- at once to or from Persia, Scythia, Georgia, and Morocco, tounding terms," and he did not disappoint expectation. as best suited the purpose of the poet. Perhaps the better to reconcile the ordinary frequenters of public theatres to the change, he inserted various scenes ofe is o m s l i kely, prominent, as Greene Mena low comedy, which the printer of the edition in 1590 which the Priest of the Sun was prominent, as Greene menlow comedy, which the printer of the edition in 1590 ie it with "Tamburlaine" in 1588, but no such piece is thought fit to exclude, as "digressing, and far unmeet for tions it with "T amburlaine" in 188, but no such piece is the'D~~~~~ mt"ao l kisieoes e now known: he, however, wrote "The Tragical History of the matter." Marlowe likewise sprinkled couplets here the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus," "The Massacre at and there, although it is to be remembered, that having ac- Paris, " The rich Jew of Malta," and an English historical complished his object of substituting blank-verse by the play, called The troublesome Reign and lamentable Death first part of " Tamburlaine," he did not, even in the second of Edward the Second," besides aiding Nash in "Dido part, think it necessary by any means so frequently to in Queen of Carthage," as already mentioned.2 If they were troduce occasional rhymes. In those plays which there is not all of them of a date anterior to any of Shakespeare's ground for believing to be the first works of Shakespeare, original works, they were written by a man who had set couplets, and even stanzas, are more frequent than in any the example of the employment of blank-verse upon the of the surviving productions of Marlowe. This circum- public stage, and perhaps of the historical and romantic stance is, perhaps, in part to be accounted for by the fact dra blic stagell its leading features and chisoriacteristics. romantis (as fir as we may so call it) that our great poet retained " Edward the Second" affords sufficient proof of both these in some of his performances portions of old rhyming dramas, points: the versification displays, though not perhaps in the which he altered and adapted to the stage; but in early same abundance, nearly all the excellences of Shakespeare; plays, which are to be looked upon as entirely his own, and i point of construction, as well as in interest, it bears Shakespeare appears to have deemed rhyme more neces- a strong reseblance to the "Richard the econd" of our sary to satisfy the ear of his auditory than Marlowe held it dramatist. It is ossible to readthe one withou; when lie wrote his "1Tamburlaine the Great." great dramatist. It is impossible to read the one without when he wrote his "Tamburlae te Great.being reminded of the other, and we can have no difficulty As the first employment of blank-verse upon the public in assigning " Edward the Second" to an anterior period.3 stage by Marlowe is a matter of much importance, in rela- The same remark as to date may be made upon the tion to the history of our more ancient drama, and to the plays which came from the pen of Robert Greene, who subsequent adoption of that form of composition by Shakes- died in September, 1592, when Shakespeare was rising into peare, we ought not to dismiss it without affording a single notice, and exciting the jealousy of dramatists who had specimen from " Tamburlaine the Great." The following previously furnished the public stages. This jealousy broke is a portion of a speech by the hero to Zenocrate, when first out on the part of Greene in, if not before, 1592, (in which he meets and sues to her: year his " Groatsworth of Wit," a posthumous work, was " Disdains Zenocrate to live with me, published by his contemporary, Henry Chettle4,) when he Or you, my lords, to be my followers. complained that Shakespeare had "beautified himself" Think you I weigh this treasure more than you? ith the feathers of others': he alluded, as we apprehend, Not all the gold in India's wealthy armskespeare had aviled himself Shall buy the meanest soldier in my train. to the manner in which Shakespeare had av h Zenocra, lovelier than the love of Jove, of the two parts of the "Contention between the Houses, Brighter than is the silver Rhodope, Erighter than is the silver Ehodope, York and Lancaster," in the authorship of which there is Fairer than whitest snow on Scythian hills, much reason to suppose Greene had been concerned.5 Such Thy person is more worth to Tamburlaine, evidence as remains upon this point has been adduced in Than the possession of the Persian crown, our " Introduction" to " The Third Part of Henry VI.;" and Which gracious stars have promnis'd at my birth. a perusal of the two parts of the "Contention," in their A hundred Tartars shall attend on thee, original state, will serve to show the condition of our draMounted on steeds swifter than Pegasus: matic literature at that great epoch of our stage-history, Thy gsarnents shall be nmade of Median silk, ^when Shakespeare began to acquire celebrity.6 "The True Enchas'd with precious jewels of mine own, More richasn'dh vprous ethe Zenocfnte's,: Tragedy of Richard III." is a drama of about the same With milk-white harts upon an ivory sled period, which has come down to us in a much more imperThou shalt be drawn amidst the frozen poles, feet state, the original manuscript having been obviously i Our quotation is from a copy of the edition of 1590, 4to, in the Edward II." VWe willingly adopt the qualification of Mr. Hallam library of Lord Francis Egerton, which we believe to be the earliest: upon this point, where he says, (" Introduction to the Literature of on the title-page it is stated that it is " now first and newly pub- Europe," vol. ii., p. 171, edit. 1843,) ".I am reluctant to admit that lished." Itwas several times reprinted. No modern edition is to be Shakespeare modelled his characters by those of others; and it is trusted: they are full of -the grossest errors, and never could have natural to ask whether there were not an extraordinary likeness in been collated. the dispositions, as well as in the fortunes of the two kings?" 2 Another play, not published until 1657, under the title of c" Lust's 4 In our biographical account of Shakespeare, under the date of Dominion " has also been constantly, but falsely, assigned to Mar- 1592, we have necessarily entered more at large into this question. lowe: some of the historical events contained in it did not happen 5 Mr. Hallam (" Introduction to the Literature of Europe," vol. ii., until five years after the death of that poet. This fact was distinctly 1p. 171) supposes that the words of Greene, referring to Shakespeare, pointed out nearly twenty years ago, in the last'edition of Dodsley's " There is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers," are addressed Old Plays (vol. ii., p. 311); but nevertheless "Lust's Dominion" has to Marlowe; who may have had a principal share in the production since been spoken of and treated as Marlowe's undoubted production, of the two parts of the "Contention." This conjecture is certainly and even included in editions of his works. It is in all probability more than plausible; but we may easily imagine Greene to have the same drama as that which, in Henslowe's Diary, is called "The alluded, to himself also, and that he had been Marlowe's partner in Spanish Moor's Tragedy,:" which was written by Dekker, Haughton, the composition of the two dramas, which Shakespeare remodelled, and Day, in the beginning of the year 1600. perhaps, not very long before the death of Greene. 3 In the History of English Dramatic Poetry and the Stage, vol. 6 They have been accurately reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, iii., p. 139 it is incautiously stated, that "' the character of Shakes- under the care of Mr. Hlalliwell, from the earliest impressions in peare's Richard II. seems modelled in no slight degree upon that of 1594 and 1595. xvi HISTORY OF TIlE ENGLISH STAGE. very corrupt. It was printed in 1594, and Shakespeare, years older than Shakespeare, that he was a writer before finding it in the possession of the company to which he any of them: it does not seem, however, that his dramas was attached, probably had no scruple in constructing his were intended for the public stage, but for court-shows or "Richard the Third" of some of its rude materials. It private entertainments.' His " Alexander and Campaspe," seems not unlikely that Robert Greene, and perhapt some the best of his productions, was represented at Court, and other popular dramatists of his day, had been engaged it was twice printed, in 1584, and again in 1591: it is, like upon " The True Tragedy of Richard III."' most of this author's productions, in prose; but his " WoThe dramatic works published under the name or initials man in the Moon" (printed in 159'7) is in blank-verse, and of Robert Greene, or by extraneous testimony ascertained the "lMaid's Metamorphosis," 1600, (if indeed it be by him,) to be his, were "Orlando Furioso," (founded upon the is in rhyme. As none of these dramas, generally compoemus of Boiardo and Ariosto,) first printed in 1594;2 posed in a refined, affected, and artificial style, can be said " Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay," also first printed in 1594, to have had any material influence upon stage-entertainand taken from a popular story-book of the time; "Al- ments before miscellaneous audiences in London, it is unphonsus King of Arragon," 1599, for which we know of no necessary for our present purpose to say more regarding original; and "James the Fourth". of Scotland, 1598, them. piartly borrowed from lhistory, and partly mere invention. George Peele was about the same age as Lyly;4 but his Greene also joined with Thomas Lodge in writing a-species theatrical productions (with the exception of "The Arof moral-miracle-play, (partaking of the nature of both,) raignment of Paris," printed in 1584, and written for the under the title of "A. Looking-Glass for London and Eng- court) are of a different description, having been intended land," 1594, derived from sacred history; and to him has for exhibition at the ordinary theatres. His "Edward the also been imputed "George a Greene, the Pinner of Wake- First" he calls a " famous. chronicle," and most of the incifield," and "'The Contention between Liberality and Prodi- dents are derived from history: it is, in fact, one of our gality," the one printed in 1599, and the other in 1602. It earliest plays founded upon English annals. It was printed may be seriously doubted whether he had any hand in the in 1593 and in 1599, but with so many inperfections, that two last, but the productions above-named deserve atten- we cannot accept it as any fair representation of the state tion, as works written at an early date for the gratification in which it came from the author's pen. The most reof popular audiences. markable feature belonging to it is the unworthy manner In the passage already referred to from the " Groats- in which Peele sacrificed the character of the Queen to his worth of Wit," 1592, Greene also objects to Shakespeare desire to gratify the popular antipathy to the Spaniards: on the ground that he thought himself "as well able to the opening of it is spirited, and affords evidence of the bombast out a blank-verse" as the best of his contempora- author's skill as a writer of blank-verse. His "Battle of lies. The fact is, that in this respect, as in all others, Alcazar" may also be termed a historical drama, in which Greene was much inferior to Marlowe, and still less can his he allowed himself the most extravagant licence as to lines bear comparison with those of Shakespeare. He time, incidents, and characters. It perhaps preceded his doubtless began to write for the stage in rhyme, and his "Edward the First" in point of date, (though not printed blank-verse preserves nearly all the defects of that early until 1594,) and the principal event it refers to occurred in form: it reads heavily and monotonously, without variety 15'8. "Sir Clyomon and Clamydes" is merely a romance, of pause and inflection, and almost the only difference be- in the old form of a rhyming play;5 and "David and Bethtween it and rhyme is the absence of corresponding sounds sabe," a scriptural drama, and a great improvement upon at the ends of the lines. older pieces of the same description: Peele here confined The same defects, and in quite as striking a degree, be- himself strictly to the incidents in Holy Writ, and it cerlong to another of the dramatists who is entitled to be con- tainly contains the best specimnens of his blank-verse comsidered a predecessor of Shakespeare, and whose name has position. His " Old Wives' Tale," in the shape in which it been before introduced-Thomas Lodge. Only one play in has reached us, seems hardly deserving of criticism, and it which he was unassisted has descended to us, and it bears would have received little notice but for some remote, and the title of " The Wounds of Civil War, lively set forth in perhaps accidental, resemblance between its story and that the True Tragedies of Marius and Sylla." It was not of Milton's " Comus."6 printed until 1594, but the author began to write as early The "Jeronimo" of Thomas Kyd is to be looked upon as as 1580, and we may safely consider his tragedy anterior a species of transition play: the date of its composition, to the original works of Shakespeare: it was probably on the testimony of Ben Jonson, may be stated to be prior written about 158' or 1588, as a not very successful experi- to 15887, just after Marlowe had produced his " Tamburment in blank-verse, in imitation of that style which Mar- laine," and when Kyd hesitated to follow his bold step to lowe had at once rendered popular. the full extent of his progress. " Jeronimo" is therefore As regards the dates when his pieces came from the partly in blank-verse, and partly in rhyme: the same obpress, John Lyly is entitled to earlier notice than Greene, servation will apply, though not in the same degree, to Lodge, or even Marlowe; and it is possible, as he was ten Kyd's "Spanish Tragedy:" it is in truth a second part of 1 This drama has also been reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, alty of Sir W. Draper, in 1566-7, of which an account is given by with perfect fidelity to the original edition of 1594, in the library of Mr. Fairholt, in his work upon "Lord Mayors' Pageants," printed the Duke of Devonshire. The reprint was superintended by Mr. B. for the Percy Society: he erroneously supposed it to have been the Field. work of George Peele, who could not then have been more than four2 In "The History of English Dramatic Poetry and the Stage," teen years old, even if we carry back the date of his birth to 1553. vol. iii., p. 155, it is observed of" Orlando Furioso:"- "How far this George Peele was dead in 1598. play was printed according to the author's copy, we have no means 5 It may be doubted whether Peele wrote any part of this producof deciding; but it has evidently come down to us in a very imper- tion: it was printed anonymously in 1599, and all the evidence of feet state." Means of determining the'point beyond dispute have authorship is the existence of a copy with the name of Peele, in an since been discovered in a manuscript of the part of Orlando (as writ- old hand, upon the title-page. If he wrote it at all, it was doubtless ten out for Edward Alleyn by the copyist of the theatre) preserved at a very early composition, and it belongs precisely to the class of roDulwich College. Hence it is clear that much was omitted and cor- mantic plays ridiculed by Stephen Gosson about 1580. rupted in the two printed editions of 1594 and 1599. See the "Mle- 6 See Milton's Minor Poems, by T. Warton, p. 135, edit. 1791. Of moirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 198. this resemblance.'Warton, who first pointed it out, remarks, " That 3 They were acted by the children of the chapel, or by the children Milton had an eye on this ancient drama, which might have been a of St. Paul's, and a few of them bear evidence on the title-pages that favourite in his early youth, perhaps it may be affirmed with at least they were presented at a private theatre-none of them that they had as much credibility, as that he conceived the Paradise Lost from seeing been played upon public stages before popular audiences. a mystery at Florence, written by Adreini, a Florentine, in 1617, 4 He is supposed to have been born about the year 1553. HIe was entitled Adamo." The fact may have been, that Peele and Milton probably son to Stephen Peele, who was a bookseller and a writer of resorted to the same original, now lost: " The Old Wives' Tale" ballads. Stephen Peele was the publisher of Bishop Bale's miracle- reads exactly as if it were founded upon some popular storyplay of " God's Promises," in 1577, and his name is subscribed, as book. author, to two Ballads printed by the Percy Society in the earliest 7 In the Induction to his " Cynthia's Revels," acted in 1600 production from their press. The connexion between Stephen and where he is speaking of the revival of plays, and among others of George Peele has never struck any of the biographers of the latter.'` the old Jeronimo," which, he adds, had "departed a dozen years Stephen Peele was most likely the author of a pageant on the mayor- since." TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. xvii Jeronimo," the story being continued from one play to the was unfurnished with moveable scenery; and tables, chairs, other, and managed with considerable dexterity. The in- a few boards for a battlemented wall, or a rude structure terest in the latter is great, and generally well sustained, for a tomb or an altar, seem to have been nearly all the and some of the characters are drawn with no little art and properties it possessed. It was usually hung round with force. The success of " Jeronimo," doubtless, induced Kyd decayed tapestry; and as there was no other mode of conto write the second part of it immediately; and we need veying the necessary information, the author often provided not hesitate in concluding that "The Spanish Tragedy" had that the player, on his entrance, should take occasion to been acted before 1590. mention the place of action. Wvhen the business of a piece Besides Marlowe, Greene, Lodge, Lyly, Peele, and Kyd, required that the stage should represent two apartments, there were other dramatists, who may be looked upon as the effect was accomplished by a curtain, called a traverse, the immediate predecessors of Shakespeare, but few of drawn across it; and a sort of balcony in the rear enabled whose printed works are of an earlier date, as regards the writer to represent his characters at a window, on the composition, than some of those which came from the pen platform of a castle, or on: an elevated terrace. of our great poet. Among these, Thomas Nash was the To this simplicity, and to these deficiencies, we doubtmost distinguished, whose contribution to " Dido," in con- less owe some of the finest passages in our early plays; for junction with Marlowe, has been before noticed: the por- it was part of the business of the dramatist to supply the tions which came from the pen of Marlowe are, we think, absence of coloured canvas by grandeur and luxuriance easily to be distinguished from those written by Nash, of description. The ear was thus made the substitute for whose genius does not seem to have been of an imaginative the eye, and the poet's pen, aided by the auditor's imaginaor dramatic, but of a satirical and objurgatory character. tion, more than supplied the place of the painter's brush. He produced alone a piece called "Summer's Last Will Moveable scenery was unknown in our public theatres until and Testament," which was written in the autumn of 1592, after the Restoration; and, as has been observed elsewhere, but not printed until 1600: it bears internal evidence that "the introduction of it gives the date to the commenceit was exhibited as a private show, and it could never have ment of the decline of our dramatic poetry."4 been meant for public performance. e Henry Chettle, who How far propriety of costume was regarded, we have was also senior to Shakespeare, has left behind him a no sufficient means of deciding; but we apprehend that tragedy called "Hoffman," which was not printed until more attention was paid to it than has been generally sup1630; and he was engaged with Anthony Munday in pro- posed, or than was accomplished at a much later and more ducing " The Death of Robert Earl of Huntington," refined period. It is indisputable, that often in this departprinted in 1601. From Henslowe's Diary we learn that ment no outlay was spared: the most costly dresses were both these pieces were written subsequent to the date when purchased, that characters might be consistently habited; Shakespeare had acquired a high reputation. Munday had and, as a single proof, we may mention, that sometimes been a dramatist as early as 1584, when a rhyming trans- more than 201. were given for a cloak,5 an enormous price, lation by him, under the title of "The Two Italian Gentle- when it is recollected that money was then five or six times men," came from the press;2 and in the interval between as valuable as at present. that year and 1602, he wrote the whole or parts of various We have thus briefly stated all that seems absolutely replays which have been lost.3 Robert Wilson ought not to quired to give the'reader a correct notion of the state of be omitted: he seems to have been a prolific dramatist, the English drama and stage at the period when, according but only one comedy by him has survived, under the title to the best judgment we can form flomu such evidence as of "The Cobbler's Prophecy," and it was printed in 1594.,emains to us, Shakespeare advanced to a forward place According to the evidence of Henslowe, he aided Drayton among the dramatists of the day. As long ago as 1679, and Munday in writing "The First Part of the Life of Sir Dryden gave currency to the notion, which we have shown John Oldcastle," printed in 1600; but he must at that date to be mistaken, that Shakespeare " created first the stage," have been old, if he were the same Robert Wilson who was and he repeated it in 1692: it is not necessary to the just one of Lord Leicester's theatrical servants in 1574, and admiration of our noble dramatist, that we should do injuswho became one of the leaders of the company called the tice to his predecessors or earlier contemporaries: on the Queen's Players in 1583. He seems to have been a low contrary, his miraculous powers are best to be estimated by comedian, and his " Cobbler's Prophecy" is a piece, the a comparison with his ablest rivals; and if he appear not drollery of which must -have depended in a great degree greatest when his works are placed beside those of Marupon the performers. lowe, Greene, Peele, or Lodge, however distinguished their With regard to mechanical facilities for the representa- rank as dramatists, and however deserved their popularity, tion of plays before, and indeed long after, the time of we shall be content to think, that for more than two cenShakespeare, it may be sufficient to state, that our old pub- turies the world has been under a delusion as to his claims. lie theatres were merely round wooden buildings, open to He rose to eminence, and he maintained it, amid struggles the sky in the audience part of the house, although the for equality by men of high genius and varied talents; and stage was covered by a hanging roof: the spectators stood with his example ever since before us, no poet of our own, on the ground in front or at the sides, or were accommo- or of any other country, has even approached his exceldated in boxes round the inner circumference of the edifice, lence. Shakespeare is greatest by a comparison with greator in galleries at a greater elevation. Our ancient stage ness, or he is nothing. 9 It can be shown to have been represented at Croydon, no doubt 4 " History of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage." vol. iii.. p. 366. at Beddington, the residence of the Carews, under whose patronage 5 See " The Alleyn Papers," printed by the Shakespeare Society, Nash acknowledges himself to have been living. See the dedication p. 12. to his " Terrors of the Night," 4to, 1594. The date of the death of 6 In his Prologue to the alteration of "Troilus and Cressida," Nash, who probably took. a part in the representation of his "Sum- 1679. he puts these lines into the mouth of the Ghost of Shakesmer's Last Will and Testament," has been disputed-whether it was peare:before or after 1601; but the production of a cenotaph upon him,':Untaught, unpractised, in a barbarous age, from Fitz-geofFrey's Affcanice, printed in 1601, must put an end to all I found not, but created first the stage." doubt. See the Introduction to Nash's "Pierce Pennyless," 1592, as In the dedication of the translation of Juvenal, thirteen years afterreprinted foi the Shakespeare Society. wards, Dryden repeats the same assertion in nearly the same words; 2 The only known copy of this comedy is without a title-page, but "he created the stage among us." Shakespeare did not create the it was entered at Stationers' Hall for publication in 1584, and we stage, and least of all did he create it such as it existed in the time may presume that it was printed about that date. of Dryden: " it was, in truth, created by no one man, and in no one 3 -He had some share in. writing the first part of the "Life of Sir age; and whatever improvements Shakespeare introduced, when he John Oldcastle " which was printed as Shakespeare's work in 1600,, began to write for the theatre our romantic drama was completely although some copies of the play exist without his name on the title- formed, and firmly established,"-Pref. to' The Hist. of Engl. Dram. page. Poetry and the Stage," vol. i., p. xi. THE LIFE OF WILLI A M S HAKES P EARE. CHAPTER I. the bailiff, for the recovery of the sum of 81. from John Shakespeare, who has always been taken to be the father No Shakespeare advanced or rewarded by Henry VII. An- of our great dramatist. Thomas Siche was of Arlescote, tiquity of the Shakespeares in Warwickshire, &c. Earliest or Arseotte, in Worcestershire, and in the Latin record of occurrence of the name at Stratford-upon-Avon. The the suit John Shakespeare is called "glover," in English. Trade of John Slhakespeare. Richard Shakespeare of Snit- Tang it for rted, as e have every reason to do, that terrield, probably f at^her to John Shakespeare, and eer-Talidng it for granted, as we have every reason to do, that terfield, probaIibly father to John Shakespeare, and cer — tainly tenant to Robert Arden, father of John Shakespeare's this John Shakespeare was the father of the poet, the wife. Robert Arden's seven daughters. Antiquity and document satisfied Malone that he was a glover, and not a property of the Arden family. Marriage of John Shakes- butcher, as Aubrey had affirmed,4 nor a dealer in wool, as peare and Mary Arden: their circumstances. Purchase Rowe had stated. We think that Malone was right, and of two houses in Stratford by John Shakespeare. His the testimony is unquestionably more positive and authenprogress in the corporation. tic than the traditions to which we have referred. As it is IT has been supposed that some of the paternal ances- also the most ancient piece of direct evidence connected tors of William Shakespeare were advanced; and rewarded with the establishment of the Shakespeare family at Stratwith lands and tenements in Warwickshire, for services ford, and as Malone did. not copy it quite accurately from rendered to Henry VII.1 The rolls of that reign have the register of the bailiff's court, we quote it as it there been recently most carefully searched, and the name of stands:Shakespeare, according to any mode of spelling it, does Stretford, ss. Cur. Phi. et Maric Dei gra, &c. secundo et not occur in them. tereic, ibm tent. die Marcurii videlicet xvij die Junij ann. Many Shakespeares were resident in different parts of tereo, iborn t. di ure li xvij die Jui ann. Warwickshire, as well as in some of the adjoining counties, r or Sihe de BArsote in cin. Wig. querito versus at an early date... The register of the Guild of St. Anne of John Shakyspere de Stretford in com. Warwic. Glon in plac. Knolle, or Knowie, beginning in 1407 and ending in 1535, quod reddat ei oct, libras &c." when it was dissolved, contains various repetitions of the name, during the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., Rich- John Shakespeare's trade, "glover," is expressed by the ard III., Henry VII., and Henry VIII: we there find a common contraction for the termination of the word; and Thomas Shakespere of Balishalle, or Balsal, Thomas it is, as usual at the time, spelt with the letter u instead of Chacsper and John Shakespeyre of Rowington, Richard v. It deserves remark also, that although John ShakesShakspere of Woldiche, together with Joan, Jane, and peare is often subsequently mentioned in the records of William Shakespeare, of places not mentioned: an Isabella the corporation of Stratford, no addition ever accompanies Shakspere is also there stated to have been priorissa de his name. We may presume that in 1556, he was estabtWraxale in the 19th Henry VII.2 The Shakespeares of lished in his business, because on the 30th April of that Wroxal, of Rowington, and of Balsal, are mentioned by year he was one of twelve jurymen of a court-leet. His Malone, as well as other persons. of the same name at name in the list was at first struck through with a pen, but Claverdon and Hampton. He carries back his information underneath it the word stet was written, probably by the regarding the Shakespeares of Warwick no higher than town-clerk. Thus we find him in 1556 acting as a regular 1602, but a William Shakespeare was drowned in the trading inhabitant of the borough of Stratford-upon-Avon. Avon near Warwick in 1574, a John Shakespeare was Little doubt can be entertained that he came fiom Suitresident on "the High Pavement" in 1578, and a Thomas terfield, three miles f-om Stratford; and upon this point we Shakespeare in the same place in 1585.3 have several new documents before us. It appears from The earliest date at which we hear of a Shakespeare in them, that a person of the name of Richard Shakespeare the borough of Stratford-upon-Avon is 17th June, 1555, (no where before mentioned) was resident at Snitterfield in when Thomas Siche instituted a proceeding in the court of 1550:~ he was tenant of a house and land belonging to 1 On the authority of a grant of arms from the Herald's College to his information has not been ascertained: Malone conjectured that John Shakespeare, which circumstance is considered hereafter. Aubrey was in Stratford about 1680:.he died about 1700, and, in all 2 For this information we are indebted to Mr. Staunton, of Long- probability, obtained his knowledge from the same source as the bridge House, near Warwick, the owner of the original Registerizn writer of a letter, dated April 10, 1693, to Mr. Edward Southwell, Fratruncz et Sororzum Gilde Sancte Anne de Knolle, a MS. upon printed in 1638. It appears from hence that the parish clerk of Stratvellum.. ford, who was "above eighty years old" in 1693, had told Mr. EdFor the circumstance of the drowning of the namesake of our ward Southwell's correspondent that William Shakespeare had been poet, we are obliged to the Rev. Joseph Hunter. Mr. Charles' bound apprentice to a butcher;" but he did not say that his father Dickens was good enough to be the medium of the information was a butcher, nor did he add any thing as absurd as Aubrey subrespecting the Shakespeares of Warwiick, transmitted from Mr. joins, respecting the killing of a calf " in a high style." Sandys, who derived it from the land-revenue records of the respec- Rowe is supposed to have derived his materials from Betterton tive periods. the actor, who died in 1710, and who, it is said, went to Stratford to 4 Aubrey's words, in his MS. in the Ashmolean Museum, at Ox- collect such particulars as could be obtained: the date of his visit is ford, are-these:-"' William Shakespeare's father was a butcher, and not known. I have been told heretofore by some of the neighbours, that when he 6 In 1569, a person of the name of Antony Shakespeare lived at was a boy he exercised his father's trade; but when he killed a calf, Snitterfield, and, as we learn from the Muster-book of the county of lhe would do it in a high style, and makle a speech." This tradition Warwick for that year in the State Paper office, he was appointed 9, certainly does not read-like truth, and at what date Aubrey obtained " billman." THEI LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xix Robert Arden (or Ardern, as the name was anciently spelt, of the Robert Arden who died in 1556, and to whose and as it stands in the papers in our hands) of Wilmecote, in seventh daughter, Mlary, John Shakespeare was married. the parish of Aston Cantlowe. By a conveyance, dated No registration of that marriage has been discovered, 21st Dec., 11th Henry VIII., we find that Robert Arden but we need not hesitate in deciding that the ceremony then became possessed of houses and land in Snitterfield, took place in 155.' Mary Arden and her sister Alicia from Richard Rushby and his wife: from Robert Arden the were certainly unmarried, when they were appointed "exproperty descended to his son, and it was part of this ecutores" under their father's will, dated 24th Nov., 1556, estate which was occupied by Richard Shakespeare in 1550. and the probability seems to be that they were on that We have no distinct evidence upon the point; but if we account chosen for the office, in preference to their five suppose Richard Shakespeare of Snitterfield' to have been married sisters. Joan, the first child of John Shakespeare the father of John Shakespeare of Stratford,2 who married and his wife lary, was baptized in the church of StratfordMary Arden, the youngest daughter of Robert Arden, it upon-Avon on the 15th Sept., 1558,4, so that we may fix will easily and naturally explain the manner in which John their union towards the close of 1551, about a year after Shakespeare became introduced to the family of the Ar- the death of Robert Arden. dens, inasmuch as Richard Shakespeare, the father of John, What were the circumstances of John Shakespeare at and the grandfather of William Shakespeare, was one of the time of his marriage, we can only conjecture. It has the tenants of Robert Arden. been shown that two years before that event, a claim of SI. Malone, not having the information we now possess be- was made upon himn in the borough court of Stratford, and fore him, was of opinion that Robert Arden, who married we must conclude, either that the money was not due and Agnes Webbe, and died in 1556, had only four daughters, the demand unjust, or that he was unable to pay the debt, but the fact undoubtedly is that he had at least seven. On and was therefore proceeded against. The issue of the the Ith and 17th July, 1550, he executed two deeds, by suit is not known; but in the next year he seems to have which he made over to Adam Palmer and Hugh Porter, in been established in business as a grover, a branch of trade trust for some of his daughters, certain lands and tene- much carried on in that partof the kingdom, and, as alments in Snitterfield.3 In these deeds he mentions six ready mentioned, he certainly served upon the jury.of a daughters by name, four of them married and two single: court-leet in 1556. Therefore, we are, perhaps, justified in -viz., Agnes Stringer, (who had been twice married, first thinking that his affairs were sufficiently prosperous to to John HIewyns,) Joan Lambert, Katherine Etkins, Mar- warrant his union with the youngest of seven co-heiresses, garet Webbe, Jocose Arden, and Alicia Arden. Mary, his who brought him some independent property. youngest daughter, was not included, and it is possible that Under her father's will she inherited 6i. 13s. 4d. in he had either made some other provision for her, or that, money, and a small estate in fee, in the parish of Aston by a separate and subsequent deed of trust, he gave to her Cantlowe, called Asbyes, consisting of a miessuage, fifty an equivalent in Snitterfield for what he had made over acres of arable land, six acres of meadow and pasture, and to her sisters. It is quite certain, as will be seen hereafter, a right of common for all kinds of cattle.5 Malone knew that MIary Arden brought property in Snitterfield, as part nothing of Mary Arden's property in Snitterfield4 to which of her fortune, to her husband John Shakespeare. we have already referred, and, without it, he estimated that Although the Ardens were an ancient and considerable her fortune was equal to 1101. 13s. 4d., which seem-is to us family in Warwickshire, which derived its name from the rather an under calculation of its actual value.i le also forest of Arden, or Ardern, in or near which they had pos- speculated, that at the time of their marriage John Shakessessions, Robert Arden, in the two deeds above referred to, peare was twenty-seven years old, and Mllary Arden which were of course prepared at his instance, is only eighteen;7 but the truth is that we have not a particle of called "husbandman:"-" Alobertus 1Ardern de Wilmecole, direct evidence upon the point. Had she been so young, in parochia de.Aston Cantlowe, in comuitatu Wamwici, it seems very unlikely that her father would have aphusbandman." Nevertheless, it is evident from his will pointed ]her one of his executors'in the preceding year, and (dated 24th November, and proved on the 11th December, we are inclined to think that she must have been of full 1556) that he was a man of good landed estate. He men- age in Nov. 1556. tious his. wife's "jointure in Snitterfield," payable, no doubt, It was probably in contemplation of his marringe that, out of some other property than that which, a few years on 2d October, 1556, John Shakespeare became the owner before, he had conveyed to trustees for the benefit of six of of two copy-hold houses in Stratford, the one in Greenhillhis daughters; and his freehold and copyhold estates in street, and the other in Henley-street, which were alienated the parish of Aston Cantlowe could not have been inmon-'to him by George Turnor and Edward West, respectively; siderable. - Sir John Arden, the brother of his grandfather, the house in Greenhill-street had a garden and croft athad been esquire of the body to Heory VII., and his no- tached to it, and the house in Henley-street only a garden; phew had been page of the bedehamber to the same and for each he was to pay to the lord of the manor an anmonarch, who had bountifully rewarded their services and nual rent of sixpence.' In 1557 he was again sworn as a fidelity. Sir John Arden died in 1526, and it was his juryman upon the court-leet, and in the spring of the. folnephew, Robert Arden, who purchased of Rushby and his lowing year he was amereed in the sum of fourpence for wife the estate in Snitterfield in 1520. He was the father not keeping clean the gutter in front of his dwelling: FranR ichard Shakespeare, vwho, upon this supposition.n was the grand- 4 The register of this event is in the following form, under the father of the poet, was living in 1560, when Agnes Arden, widow, heacl "Baptismes, Anno Dom. 1558:" granted a lease for forty years to Alexander Webbe (probably some " Septeber 15. Jone Shakspere daughter to John Shakspere." member of her own family) of two houses and a cottage in Snitter- It seems likely that the child was named after her aunt, Joan, marfield, in the occupation of Richard Shakespeare and two others. ried to Edward Lambert of ariton on the Heath. Edward Lambert M[alone discovered that there was also a I-Henry Shakespeare resident was related to Edmund Lambert, afterwards mentioned. at Snitterfield in 1586, and he apprehended (there is little doubt of 5 Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 25. the fact) that he w-as the brother of John Shakespeare. Henry 6 The terms of Robert Arden's bequest to his daughter Mary are Shaklespeare was buried Dec. 29th, 1596. There was also a Thomas these:-" Also I geve and bequeth to my youngste daughter. Marye, Shakespeare in the same village in 1582, and he may have been all my lande in WVillmecote, called Asbyes, and the crop upon the another brother of John Sqhakespeare, and all three sons to Richard ground. sowne and tyllede as hit is: and vjli. xiijs. iiijd. of money, to Shakespeare. be payde over ere my goodes be devydede." Hence we are not to un2 This is rendered the more probable by ithe fact that John Shakes- dersthod that he had no more land in Wilmecote than Asbyes, but peare christened one of his children (born in 1573) Richard. Malone that he gave his daughter Mary all his land in Wilmecote which found that another Richard Shakespeare was living at lowington in was Irnown by the name of Asbyes. 1574. 7 Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 39. 3 They are thus described: " Totum illsud messuat5iutm meuns, et 5 We copy the following descriptions from the original boroughtres quttrtrohas terrte, cusm pratis eisdem pertlinentibls, cum suis per- record, only avoiding the abbreviations, which render it less inteltisleetiis, in Snystterfylde, qsuce nunc sunt in tenura cujusdam Ricardi ligible:iHerley, ac totutnt illud cottaxien seaeumn, cum garrdino et pomario Itee,m qsoedGeor, ius TtFst tor aolienavitJohannti Shtkespere,.c. mussem teadjacetibuis, cume suis pertisenetiis, i, iSnytterfyld, qu caste sunttt ine neesentumn,ctm geardint et croft,cste pertinetstibus, is tresehyll steete,dc. teeura Hugeonis Porter." Adam Palmer, the other trustee, does not Et qttsod Edwardus West aliesavit predicto othatnni Shakespere Veem to have occupied any part of the property. unum tenemzentum, cure gardisn adjacente, in lenley strete. xx THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. cis Burbage, the then bailiff, Adrian Quiney, " iMr. Hall and is in possession of the original presentation made by these Mr. Clopton" (so their names stand in'the instrument) were officers on the 4th May in that year, the name of the father each of them at the same time fined a similar sum for.the of our great dramatist, coming last, after those of Henry same neglect.' It is a point of little importance, but it is Bydyll, Lewis ap William, and William Mynske. The highly probable that John Shakespeare was first admitted most remarkable circumstance connected with it is the a member of the corporation of Stratford in 1557, when number of persons who were amerced in sums varying from he was made one of the ale-tasters of the town; and in 6s. 8d. to 2d. "The bailiff that now is," was fined 3s. 4d. Sept., 1558, he was appointed one of the four constables, for" breaking the assize," he being a " common baker:" three his name following those of Humphrey Plymley, Roger other bakers were severally compelled to pay similar Sadler, and John Taylor.2 He continued constable in 1559, amounts on the same'occasion, and for the same offence.5 his associates then being John Taylor, William Tyler, and In September following the date of this report John ShakeWilliam Smith, and he was besides one of four persons, speare was elected one of the chamberlains of the borough, called affeerors, whose duty it was to impose fines upon a very responsible post, in which he remained two years. their fellow-townsmen (such as he had himself paid in 1557) His second child, Margaret, or Margnareta, (as the name for offences against the bye-laws of the borough. stands in the register,) was baptized on the 2d Dec., 1562, while he continued chamberlain. She was buried on 30th April, 15636. The greatest event, perhaps, in the literary history of the.CHAPTER IL world occurred a year afterwards-William Shakespeare was born. The day of his birth cannot be fixed with absoDeath of John Shakespeare's eldest child, Joan. Two John lute certainty, but he was baptized on the 26th April, 1564, Shakcspeares in Stratford. Amercements of members of and the memorandum in the register is precisely in the the corporation. Birth and death of John Shakespeare's following form:_ second child, Margaret. Birth of William Shakespeare: his birth-day, and the house in which he was born. The "1564. April 26. Gzulielmusfilius Johavnnes Shlakspere."l plague in Stratford. Contributions to the sick and poor by So that hoever kept te boo (i all probability the clerk) John Shakespeare and others. John Shakespeare elected that whoever kept the book (in all probability the clerk) alderman, and subsequently bailiff. Gilbert Shakespeare either committed a common clerical error, or was no great born. Another daughter, baptized Joan, born. Proofs proficient in the rules of grammar. It seems most likely that John Shakespeare could not write. that our great dramatist had been brought'into the world only three days before he was baptized7, and it was then IT was while John Shakespeare executed the duties of the custom to carry infants very early to the font. A house constable in 1558, that his eldest child, Joan, was born, hav- is still pointed out by tradition, in Henley-street, as that in ing been baptized, as already stated, on the 15th Septem- which William Shakespeare first saw the light, and we her, of that year: she died in her infancy, and as her burial have already shown that his father was the owner of two does not appear in the register of Stratford, she was, per- copy-hold dwellings in Henley-street and Greenhill-street, haps, interred at Snitterfield, where Richard Shakespeare, and we may, perhaps, conclude that the birth took place in probably the father of John Shakespeare, still resided3, as the former. John and Mary Shakespeare having previously tenant to Agnes Arden, widow of Robert Arden, and mo- lost two girls, Joan and Margaret, William was at this time ther of Mary Shakespeare. In respect to the registers of the only child of his parents. marriages, baptisms, and deaths at Stratford, some confusion A malignant fever, denominated the plague, broke out at has been produced by the indisputable fact, that two per- Stratford while William Shakespeare was in extreme insons of the name of John Shakespeare were living in the fancy: he was not two months old when it made its appeartown at the same time, and it is not always easy to dis- ance, having been brought firom London, where, according tinguish between the entries which relate to the one, or to to Stow, (Annales, p. 1112, edit. 1615,) it raged with great the other: for instance, it was formerly thought that John violence throughout the year 1563, and did not so far abate Shakespeare, the father of the poet, had lost his first wife, that term could be kept, as usual at Westminster, until Mary Arden, and had taken a second, in consequence of a Easter, 1564. It was most fatal at Stratford between June memorandum in the register, showing that on the 25th Nov., and December, 1564, and Malone calculated that it carried 1584, John Shakespeare had married Margery Roberts: off in that interval more than a seventh part of the whole Malone, however, took great pains to prove, and may be population, consisting of about 1400 inhabitants. It does said to have succeeded in proving, that this entry and not appear that it reached any member of the immediate others, of the births of Philip, Ursula, and Humphrey family of John Shakespeare, and it is not at all unlikely that Shakespeare, relate to John Shakespeare, a shoemaker4, he avoided its ravages by quitting Stratford for Snitterfield, and not to John Shakespeare the glover. where he owned some property in right of his wife, and John Shakespeare was again chosen one of the four where perhaps his father was still living as tenant to Alexaffeerors of Stratford in 1561, and the Shakespeare Society ander Webbe, who, as we have seen, in 1560, had obtained 1 The original memorandum runs thus:- confusion to which we have referred does not extend itself to any of "Francis Berbage, Master Baly that now ys, Adreane Quyny, the records of that body. After John Shakespeare, the father of our Mr. Hall, Mr. Clopton, for the gutter alonge the chappell in Chap- poet, had been bailiff, he is always called Mr. or.Jlafister John pell Lane, John Shakspeyr, for not kepynge of their gutters cleane, Shakespeare; while the shoemaker, who married Margery Roberts, they stand amerced."' and was the father of Philip, Ursula, and Humphrey, is invariably The sum lwhich they were so amerced, 4d., is placed above the names styled' only John Shakespeare. There is no trace of any relationship of each of the parties. between the two. 2 The following are the terms used:- 5 The affeerors seem to have displayed unusual vigilance, and con"Item, ther trysty and welbelovyd Humfrey Plymley, Roger. siderable severity: William Trout, Christopher Smythe, Maud HarSadler, John Taylor, and John Shakspeyr, constabulles." bage, and John Jamson were all fined 3s. 4d, "for selling ale, and 3 This fact appears from a lease, before noticed, granted on 21st having and keeping gaming contrary to the order of the Court:" lMay, 1560, by Mary Arden to Alexander Webbe, of two messuages, eleven other inhabitants were amerced in smaller sums on the same with a cottage, one of which is statedthen to be in the occupation of ground. Robert Perrot was compelled to pay 6s. Sd. "for makin" Richard Shakespeare. We quote the terms of the original deed in and selling unwholesome ale." the hands of the Shakrespeare Society:-" Wytnesseth, that the said 6 The registrations of her birth and death are both in Latin:Agnes Arderne, for dyverse and sundry consyderations, hath de- "1562. Decesmber 2. iMarrareta filia Johannis Sha/kspere." mysed, graunted, &c. to the said Alexander WVebbe, and to his as- "1563..8pril 30. larfgaretafilia JohamIis'ihamkspere."' signes, all those her two messuages, with a cottage, with all and 7 The inscription on his monument supports the opinion that he singular their appurtenances in Snytterfeild, and a yarde and a halfe was born on the 23d April: without the contractions it runs thus: of ayrable lande thereunto belonging, &c., being in the towne and " Obiit mnno D )omeii 1616. fyldes of Snytterfeild afforsaid: all which now are in the occupation J.Etatis 53, die 23 Jlprilis." of Richarde Shakspere, John Henley, and John Hargreve." Of course I and this, in truth, is the only piece of evidence upon the point. Mathis property formed part of the jointure of Agnes Arden, mentioned lone referred to the statement of the Rev. J. Greene. as an authority; in the will of her husband. but he was master of the free-school at Stratford nearly two centuries 4 John Shakespeare, the shoemaker, seems not to have belonged to after the death of Shakespeare, and, in all probability, spoke only from the corporation, at all events, till many years afterwards, so that the the tenor of the inscription in the church THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxi a lease for forty years from his relative, the widow Agnes respectable as that of bailiff of Stratford, with his name in Arden, of the messuage in which Richard Shakespeare re- the commission of the peace, he was not able to write. sided. Malone referred to the records of the borough to establish In order to show that John Shakespeare was at this date that in 1565, when John Wheler was called upon by ninein moderate, and probably comfortable, though not in afflu- teen aldermen and burgesses to undertake the duties of ent circumstances, Malone adduced a piece of evidence de- bailiff, John Shakespeare was among twelve other marksrived from the records of Stratford: it consists of the men, including George Whately, the then bailiff, and Roger names of persons in the borough who, on this calamitous Sadler, the "head alderman." There was, therefore, nothing visitation of the plague, contributed various sums to the re- remarkable in this inability to write; and if there were lief of the poor. The meeting at which it was determined any doubt upon this point, (it being a little ambiguous to collect subscriptions with this object was convened in the whether the signum referred to the name of Thomas open air, "At a hall holden in our garden," &c.; no doubt Dyxun, or of John Shakespeare,) it can never be enteron account of the infection. The donations varied between tained hereafter, because the Shakespeare Society has been 7s. 4d. (given by only one individual of the name of Rich- put in possession of two warrants, granited by John Shakeard Symens) and 6d:; and the sum against the name of John speare as bailiff of Stratford, the one dated the 3rd, and Shakespeare is Is. It is to be recollected that at this date the other the 9th December, 11 Elizabeth, for the caption he was not an alderman; and of twenty-four persons of John Ball and Richard Walcar, on account of debts enumerated five others gave the same amount, while six severally due from them, to both of which his mark only is gave less: the bailiff contributed 3s. 4d., and the head alder- appended. The same fact is established by two other man 2s. 8d., while ten more put down either 2s. 6d. or 2s. documents, to which we shall have occasion hereafter to each, and a person of the name of Botte 4s. These sub- advert, belonging to a period ten years subsequent to that scriptions were raised on the 30th August, but on the 6th of which we are now speaking. September a farther sum seems to have been required, and the bailiff and six aldermen gave Is. each, Adrian Quyney Is. 6d., and John Shakespeare and four others 6d. each: only one member of the corporation, Robert Bratt, whose name CHAPTER IIL will afterwards occur, contributed 4d. We are, we think, warranted in concluding, that in 1564 John Shakespeare The grant of arms to John Shakespeare considered. The conwas an industrious and thriving tradesman. firmation and exemplification of arms. Sir W. Dethick's He continued steadily to advance in rank and importance conduct. Ingon meadow in John Shakespeare's tenancy. in the corporation, and was elected one of the fourteen alder- Birth and death of his daughter, Anne. Richard Shakemen of Stratford on the 4th July, 1565; but he did not "peare born n 1574, and named, perhaps, after his grandfather. John Shakespeare's purchase of two fireehold take the usual oath until the 12th September following. houses in Stratford. Decline in his pecuniary affairs, and The bailiff of the year was Richard Hill, a woollen-draper; new evidence upon the point. Indenture of sale of John and the father of our poet became the occupant of that Shakespeare's and his wife's share of property at Snittersituation rather more than three years afterwards, when field, to Robert Webbe. Birth of Edmund Shakespeare in his son William was about four years and a half old. John 1580. Shakespeare was bailiff of Stratford-upon-Avon from Michaelmas 1568, to Michaelmas 1569, the autumn being the ALTHOUGH John Shakespeare could not write his name, customary period of election. In the meantime his wife it has generally been stated, and believed, that while he had brought him another son, who was christened Gilbert, filled the office of bailiff he obtained a grant of arms from on I3th October, 15662. Clarencieux Cooke, who was in office from 1566 to 1592. Joan seems to have been a favourite name with the Shake- We have considerable doubt of this fact, partly arising out speares: and Joan Shakespeare is mentioned in the records of the circumstance, that although Cooke's original book, in of the guild of Knowle, in the reign of Henry VIII.; and which he entered the arms he granted, has been preserved John and Mary Shakespeare christened their first child, in the Heralds' College, we find in it no note of any such which died an infant, Joan. A third daughter was born to concession to John Shakespeare. It is true that this book them while John Shakespeare was bailiff, and her they also might not contain memoranda of all the arms Cooke had baptized Joan, on 15th April, 15693. The partiality for granted, but it is a circumstance deserving notice, that in the name of Joan, in this instance, upon which some bi- this case such an entry is wanting. A confirmation of these ographers have remarked without being able to explain it, arms was made in 1596, but we cannot help thinldng, with may be accounted for by the fact that a maternal aunt, Malone, that this instrument was obtained at the personal married to Edward Lambert, was called Joan; and it is instance of the poet, who had then actually purchased, or very possible that she stood god-mother upon both occa- was on the eve of purchasing, New Place (or " the great siouns. Joan Lambert was one of the daughters of Robert house," as it was also called) in Stratford. The confirmaArden, regarding whom, until recently, we have had no tion states, that the heralds had been "by credible report information. informed," that "the parents and late anteeessors"4 of John We have now traced John Shakespeare through various Shakespeare " were for their valiant and faithful services offices in the borough of Stratford, until he reached the advanced and rewarded of the most prudent prince, Henry highest distinction which it was in the power of his fellow- the Seventh;" but, as has been before stated, on examining tomnsmen to bestow: he was bailiff, and ex-officio a magis- the rolls of that reign, we can discover no trace of ad trate. vancement or reward to any person of the name of ShakeTwo new documents have recently come to light which speare. It is true that the Ardens, or Arderns, were so belong to this period, and which show, beyond all dispute, " advanced and rewarded;"5 and these, though not strictly that although John Shakespeare had risen to a station so the " parents," were certainly the " antecessors" of William 1 Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 83. father, and late antecessor," in the exemplification. We are bound 2 The register of the parish-church contains the subsequent here to express our acknowledgments to Sir Charles Young, the enrtry:- present Garter King at Arms, for the trouble he took in minutely " 1566 October 13. Gilbertus filius Johannis Shakspere." collating Malone's copies with the documents themselves. Other 3 Although John Shakespeare was at this time bailiff, no Mr. or errors he pointed out do not require particular notice, as they apply.Ja1g1ister is prefixed to his name in the register, a distinction which to parts of the instruments not necessary for our argument. appears only to have been made after he had served that office. 6 Robert Ardern had two offices conferred upon him by Henry VII., "' 1569, April 15. Jone the daughter of John Shakspere." in the 10th and 17th years of his reign; and he is spoken of in the 4 Malone gave both the confirmation and exemplification of arms, grants as unus gasrcionim camners nostra: the one office iwas that of but with some variations, which are perhaps pardonable on account keeper of the park at Aldercar, and the other that of bailiff of the of the state of the originals in the Heralds' College: thus he printed lordship of Codnor, and keeper of the park there. He obtained a grant'parent and late antecessors," instead of "parents and late ante- of lands in 23 Henry VII.; viz. the large manor of Yoxsall, in the tessors,"' in the confirmation; and " whose parent and great grand- county of Stafford, on condition of a payment of a rent to the king o-f father, and late anteoessor:" instead of "whose parent, great grand- 421. per annum xxii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Shakespeare. In 1599, an exemplification of arms was been added when Sir William Dethick's conduct was called procured, and in this document it is asserted that the "great in question; and certain other statements are made at the grandfather" of John Shakespeare had been " advanced bottom of the same document, which would be material to and rewarded with lands and tenements" by Henry VII. Garter's vindication, but which are not borne out by facts. Our poet's "great grandfather," by the mother's side, was One of these statements is, that John Shakespeare, in so " advanced and rewarded;" and we know that he did 1596, was worth 5001., an error certainly as regarded him, " faithful and approved service" to that " most prudent but a truth probably as regarded his son. prince." It is really a matter of little moment whether John Another point, though one of less importance, is, that Shakespeare did or did not obtain a grant of arms while he it is stated, in a note at the foot of the confirmation of 1596, -was bailiff of Stratford; but we are strongly inclined to that John Shakespeare " showeth" a patent " under Clarence think that he did not, and that the assertion that he did, and Cooke's hand:" the word seems originally to have been that he was worth 5001. in 1596, originated with Sir W. sent, over which " showeth" was written: if the original Dethick, when he subsequently wanted to make out his own patent, under Cooke's hand, had been sent to the Heralds' vindication from the charge of having conceded arms to College in 1596, there could have been little question about various persons without due caution and inquiry. it; but the substituted word "showeth" is more indefinite, In 15'10, when William Shakespeare was in his seventh and may mean only, that the party applying for the con- year,'his father was in possession of a field called Ingon, firmation alleged that Cooke had granted such a coat of or Ington, meadow, within two miles of Stratford, which arms'. That William Shakespeare could not have pro- he held under William Clopton. We cannot tell in what cured a grant of arms for himself in 1596 is highly proba- year he first rented it, because the instrument proving his ble, from the fact that he was an actor, (a profession then tenancy is dated 11th June, 1581, and only states the fact, much looked down- upon) and not of a rank in life to en- that on 11th Dec., 15670, it was in his occupation. The antitle him to it: he, therefore, may have very fairly and nual payment for it was 81., a considerable sum, certainly, properly put forward his father's name and claims as for that time; but if there had been "a good dwellinghaving been bailiff of Stratford, and a "justice of peace," house and orchard" upon the field, as Malone conjectured, and coupled that fact with the deserts and rewards of the that circumstance would, in all probability, have been menArdens under Henry VIL, one of whom was his maternal tioned'. We may presume that John Shakespeare em"( great grandfather," and all of whom, by reason of the ployed it for agricultural purposes, but upon this point we marriage of his father with an Arden, were his "ante- are without information. That he lived in Stratford at the cessors." time we infer from the fact, that on the 28th -September, We only doubt whether John Shakespeare obtained any 15671, a second daughter, named Anne, was baptized at the grant of arms, as has been supposed, in 1568-9; and it is parish-church. He had thus four children living, two boys to be observed that the documents relating to this question, and two girls, William, Gilbert, Joan, and Anne, but the still preserved in the Heralds' College, are full of correc- last died at an early age, having been buried on 4th April, tions and interlineations; particularly as regards the an- 15794. It will be remarked that, on the baptisni of his oestors of John Shakespeare: we are persuaded that when daughter Anne, he was, for the first time, called " Mayister William Shakespeare applied to the office in 1596, Garter Shakespeare" in the Latin entry in the Register, a distincof that day, or his assistants, made a confusion between the tion he seems to have acquired by having served the office " great grandfather" and the " antecessors" of John, and of of bailiff two years before. The same observation will William Shakespeare. What is stated, both in the confir- apply to the registration of his fifth child, Richard, who mation and exemplification, as to parentage and descent, is. was baptized on 11th March, 1513-4, as the son of "Mr. true as regards William Shakespeare, but erroneous as re- John Shakespeare'." Richard Shakespeare may have been gards John Shakespeare'. named after his grandfather of Snitterfield, who perhaps It appears that Sir William Dethick, garter-king-at- was sponsor on the occasion6. arms in 1596 and 1599, was subsequently called to account The increase of John Shakespeare's family seems, for for having granted coats to persons whose station in society some time, to have been accompanied by an increase of his and circumstances gave them no right to the distinction, means,/and in 1514 he gave Edmund and Emma Hall 401. The case of John Shakespeare was one of those complained for two freehold houses, with gardens and orchards, in of in this respect; and had Clarencieux Cooke really put Henley-street7. It will not be forgotten that he was alhis name in 1568-9 to any such patent as, it was asserted, ready the owner of a copyhold tenement in the same street, had been exhibited to Sir William Dethick, a copy of it, or which he had bought of Edward West, in 1556, before his some record of it, would probably have remained in the marriage with Mary Arden. To one of the two last-puroffice of arms in 1596; and the production of that alone, chased dwellings John Shakespeare is supposed to have reproving that he had merely acted on the precedent of Cla- moved his family; but, for aught we know, he had lived rencieux Cooke would, to a considerable extent at least, from the time of his marriage, and continued to live in have justified Sir William Dethick. No copy, nor record, 1514, in the house in Henley-street, which had been alienwas however so produced, but merely a memorandum at ated to him eighteen years before. It does not appear that the foot of the confirmation of 1596, that an original grant he had ever parted with West's house, so that in 15674 he.' had been sent or shown, which memorandum may have was the owner of three houses in Henley-street. Forty 1 The word;; showeth" is thus employed in nearly every petition, use the same shield of arms, single, or impaled as aforesaid, during and it is only there equivalent to stateth, or setteth forth. The as- his naturall lyffe." The motto, as given- at the head of the confirsertion that such a grant had been alleg0ed was, probably, that of the mation, is heralds. NON SANZ DROICT. 2 The confirmation and the exemplification differ slightly as to For " Arden of Wellingcote" the heralds should have said Arden of the mode in which the arms are set out: in the- former it is thus: Wilmecote. " I have therefore assigned, graunted, and by these have confirmed, 3 Malone places reliance on the words of the close roll, (from which this shield or cote of arms,'viz. gould, on a bend sable and a speare the information is derived) " with the appurtenances;" but surely of the first, the point steeled, proper; and for his crest or cognizance " a good dwelling-house and orchard" would have been specified, a faulcon,. his wings displayed, argent, standing on a wrethe of his and not included in such general terms: they are not mere apcoullors, supporting a speare gould steele as aforesaid, sett uppon a purtenances." helmett with mantelles and tasselles as hath been accustomed." In 4 The following are copies of the registration of the baptism and the exemplification the arms are stated as follows: "In a field of burial of Anne Shakespeare:gould upon a bend sables a speare of the first, the poynt upward, " 1571 Septb' 28. Anna-filia Magistri Shakspere." hedded argent; and for his crest or cognisance a falcon with his "1579 April 4. Anne daughter of Mr. John Shakspere." wyngs displayed, standing on a wrethe of his coullors, supporting a 5 The baptismal register runs thus:speare armed hedded or steeled sylver, fyxed upon a helmet, with " 1573 March 11. Richard sonne to Mr. John Shakspeer." mantelles and tasselles." In the confirmation, as well as in the ex- 6 Malone speculated (Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 106,) that emplification, it is stated that the arms are " depicted in the mar- Richard Hill, an alderman of Stratford, had stood godfather to this gin;" and in the latter a reference is made to another escutcheon, in child, but he was not aware of the existence of any such person as which the arms of Shakespeare are impaled with " the auncyent Richard Shakespeare, of Snitterfield, who, there is good ground to arms of Arden of Wellingcote, signifying thereby that it maye and believe, was father to John Shakespeare. shall be lawfull for the said John Shakespeare, gent, to beare and 7 L; Malone's Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 93. THE LIE I OF WILLIAM SIAKESPEARE. xxiii pounds, even allowing for great difference in value of trifling sum of 41. by the sale of her share of two mesmoney, seems a small sum for the two freehold houses, suages in Snitterfieldl. with gardens and orchards, sold to him by Edmund and It has been supposed that he might not at this time Emma Hall. reside in Stratford-upon-Avon, and that for this reason, he It is, we apprehend, indisputable that soon after this only contributed 3s. 4d. for pikemen, &c., and nothing to the date the tide of John Shakespeare's affairs began to turn, poor of the town, in 1578. This notion is refuted by the and that he experienced disappointments and losses which fact, that in the deed for the sale of his wife's property in seriously affected his pecuniary circumstances. Malone Snitterfield to Webbe, in 1579, he is called "John Shackwas in possession of several important facts upon this sub- spere of Stratford-upon-Avon," and in the bond for the perject, and recently a strong piece of confirmatory testimony formance of covenants, " Johancnem, Siacksrpere le Stratfordhas been procured. We will first advert to that which was upon-Avon, in corlitat. WIarwici." Had he been resident in the hands of Malone, applicable to the beginning of at Ingon, or at Snitterfield, he would hardly have been de1578. At a borough hall on the 29th Jan. in that year, it scribed as of Stratford-upon-Avon. Another point rewas ordered that every alderman in Stratford should pay quiring notice in connexion with these two newly-discovered 6s. 8d., and every burgess 3s. 4d. towards " the furniture of documents is, that in both John Shakespeare is termed three pikemen, two billmen, and one archer." Now, al- "yeoman," and not glover: perhaps in 1579, although he though John Shakespeare was not only an alderman, but continued to occupy a house in Stratford, he had relinhad been chosen " head alderman" in 1571, he was allowed quished his original trade, and having embarked in agriculto contribute only 3s. 4d., as if he had been merely a bur- tural pursuits, to which he had not been educated, had been gess: Humphrey Plymley, another alderman, paid 5s., unsuccessful. This may appear not an unnatural mode of while John Walker, Thomas Brogden, and Anthony Turner accounting for some of his difficulties. In the midst of contributed 2s. 6d. each, William Brace 2s., and Robert them, in the spring of 1580, another son, named Edmund, Bratt "nothing in this place." It is possible that Bratt (perhaps after Edmund Lambert, the mortgagee of Ashad been called upon to furnish a contribution in some byes) was born, and christened at the parish church'. other place, or perhaps the words are to be taken to mean, that he was excused altogether; and it is to be remarked that in the contribution to the poor in Sept. 1564-, Bratt was the only individual who gave no more than fourpence. In November, 1578, when it was required that every alder- CHAPTER IV. man should "pay weekly to the relief of the poor 4d.," John Shakespeare and Robert Bratt were excepted: they Education of William Shakespeare: probably at the fireewere "not to be taxed to pay any thing," while two others school of Stratford. At what time, and under what cir(one of them Alderman Plymley) were Irated at 3d. a w-eek. Cnmstances, he left school. Possibly an assistant in the In March, 1578-9, when another call was made upon the school, and afterwards il an attorney's office. His hande writing. His marriaoe with Anne Hathaway. The prelmitown for the purpose of purchasing corslets, calivers, Ac., writing. fIis m iage with Alne I-atllanay; The preion.i namry bond given by Folk Sn'mdells and Johmin Riclirdson. the name of John Shakespeare is found, at the end of the Birth of Susanna, the first child of William Shakespeare account, in a list of persons whose " sums were unpaid and and his wife Anne, in 1583. Shlakespeare's opinion on the unaccounted for." Another fact tends strongly to the con- marriage of persons of disproportionate age. His domestic elusion that in 1578 John Shakespeare was distressed for circumnstances. Anue Hathaway's ailmily. money: he owed a baker of the name of Roger Sadler 51., for which Edmund Lambert, and a person of the name of AT the period of the sale of their Snitterfield property by Cornishe, had become security: Sadler died, and in his will, his father and mothel, Williama Shakespeare was in his sixdated 14th November, 1578, he included the following teenth year, and in what way he had been educated is mere among the debts due to him:-" Item of Edmund Lambert matter of conjecture. It is highly probable that he was at and Cornishe, for the debt of Mr. John Shacksper, 51." the free-school of Stratford, founded by Thomas Jolyffe in Malone conjectured that Edmund Lambert was some re- the reign of Edward IV., and subsequently chartered by lation to Mary Shakespeare, and there can be little doubt Edward VI.; but we are destitute of all evidence beyond of it, as an Edward Lambert had married her sister Joan Rowe's assertion. Of course, we know nothing of the time Arden. To Edmund Lambert John Shakespeare, in 1578, when he might have been first sent there; but if so sent mortgaged his wife's estate in Ashton Cantlowe, called between 1510 and 1578, Walter Roche, Thomas Hunt, and Asbyes, for 401., an additional circumstance to prove that Thomas Jenkins, were successively masters, and from them he was in want of money; and so severe the pressure of he must have derived the rudiments of his Latin and Greek. his necessities about this date seems to have been, that in That his father and mother could give him no instruction 1579 he parted with his wife's interest in two tenements in of the kind is quite certain from the proof we have adduced, Snitterfield to Robert Webbe for the small sum of 41. This that neither of them could write; but this very deficiency is a striking confirmation of John Shakespeare's embarrass- might render them more desirous that their eldest son, at ments, with which Malone was not acquainted; but the orig- least, if not their children in general, should receive the inal deed, with the bond for the fulfilment of covenants, best education circumstances would allow. The free gram(both bearing date 15th Oct. 1579) subscribed with the dis- mar-school of Stratford afforded an opportunity of which, tinct marks of John and Mary Shakespeare, and sealed with it is not unlikely, the parents of William Shakespeare their respective seals, is in the hands of the Shakespeare availed themselves. Society. His houses in Stratford descended to his son, but As we are ignorant of the time when he went to school, they may have been mortgaged at this period, and it is in- we are also in the dark as to the period when he left it. disputable that John Shakespeare divested himself, in 1578 Rowe, indeed, has told us that the poverty of John Shakeand 1519, of the landed property his wife had brought him, speare, and the necessity of employing his son profitably being in the end driven to the extremity of raising the at home, induced him, at an early age, to withdraw him 1 The property is thus described in the indenture between John " Sealed and delivered in the presens of Shakespeare and his wife, and Robert Webbe. For and in conside- Nycholas Knoolles, Vicar of Anston, ration of the sum of 41. in hand paid, they " give, graunte, bar- Wyllyamn Maydes, and Anthony Osgayne, and sell unto the said Robert Webbe, his heires and assignes baston, with other moe." for ever, all that theire moitye, parte, and partes, be it more or lesse, The seal affixed by John Shakespeare has his initials I. S. upon it, of and in two messuages or tenementes, with thappurtennances, sett, while that appended to the mark of his wife represents a rudely-enlyinge and beynge in Snitterfield aforesaid, in the said county of graved horse. The mark of Mlary Shakespeare seems to have been Warwicke." The deed terminates thus: intended for an uncouth imitation of the letter MI. With reference " In wit'nesse whereof the parties above said to these present inden- to the word " moiety," used throughout the indenture, it is to be retures interchangeablie have put theire handes and seales, the day membered that at its date the term did not, as now, imply half, but and veare fyrst above wrytten. any part, or share. Shakespeare repeatedly so uses it. "The marke + of John Shackspere. The marke M1 of Marye 2 The register contains the following:Shackspere. "1580. May 3. Edmund sonne to Mr. John Shakspere." xxiv THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPE A-RE. from the place of instruction.1 Such may have been the and it would be easy to multiply them." We may presume ease; but, in considering the question, we must not leave that, if so employed, he was paid something for his serout of view the fact, that the education of the son of a mem- vices; for, if he were to earn nothing, his father could have ber of the corporation would cost nothing; so that, if the had no other motive for taking him from school. Supposboy were removed from school at the period of his father's ing him to have ceased to receive instruction from Jenkins embarrassments, the expense of continuing his studies there in 1519, when Jolmhn Shakespeare's distresses were appacould not have entered into the calculation: he must have rently most severe, we may easily imagine that he was, for been taken away, as Rowe states, in order to aid his father the next year or two, in the office of one of the seven atin the maintenance of his family, consisting, after the death torneys in Stratford, whose names Malone introduces. That of his daughter Anne in 1579, and the birth of his son Ed- he wrote a good hand we are perfectly sure, not only from mund in 1580, of his wife and five children. However, we the extant specimens of his signature, when we may supare without the power of confirming or contradicting Rowe's pose him to have been in health, but from the ridicule which, statement. em i Hamlet," (act v. se. 2) he throws upon such as affected Aubrey has asserted positively, in his MSS. in the Ash- to write illegibly: mnolean Museum, that " in his younger years Shakespeare had been a schoolmaster in the country;" and the truth may "I once did hold it, as our statists do, be, though we are not aware that the speculation has ever A baseness to write fair. been hazarded, that being a young man of abilities, and In truth, many of his dramatic contemporaries wrote exrapid in the acquisition of knowledge, he had been em- cellently: Ben Jonson's penmanship was beautiful; and ployed by Jenkins (the master of the school from 1511 to Peele, Chapman, Dekker, and Marston, (to say nothing of 1580, if not for a longer period) to aid him in the instruc- some inferior authors) must have given printers and copytion of the junior boys. Such a course is.certainly not very ists little trouble. unusual, and it may serve to account for this part of Au- Excepting by mere tradition, we hear not a syllable rebrey's narrative.' garding William Shakespeare from the time of his birth We decidedly concur with Malone in thinking, that after until he had considerably passed his eighteenth year, and Shakespeare quitted the free-school, he was employed in then we suddenly come to one of the most important events the office of an attorney. Proofs of something like a legal of his life, established upon irrefragable testimony: we aleducation are to he found in many of his plays; and it may lude to his marriage with Anne Hathaway, which could not be safely asserted, that they do not occur anything like so have taken place before the 28th Nov. 1582, because on frequently in the dramatic productions of his contempo- that day two persons, named Fulk Sandells and John Richraies. We doubt if, in the whole works of Marlowe, ardson entered into a preliminary bond (which we subjoin Greene, Peele, Jonson, Heywood, Chapman, Marston, Dek- in a note') in the penalty of 401. to be forfeited to the bishop ker, and Webster, so many law terms and allusions are to of the diocese of Worcester, if it were thereafter found that be found, as in only six or eight plays by Shakespeare; and, there existed any lawful impediment to the solemnization moreover, they are applied with much technical exactness of matrimony between William- Shakespeare and Anne and propriety. Malone has accumulated some of these, Hathaway, of Stratford. It is not known at what church the 1 c, The narrowness of his father's circumstances, and the want of justify mine own candour, for I loved the man, and do honour his his assistance at home, forced his father to withdraw him from memory (on this side idolatry) as much as any. He was indeed thence, and unhappily prevented his farther proficiency."-Rowe's honest, and of an open and free nature; had an excellent fancy, Life. brave notions, and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that 2 Aubrey cites "Mr. Beeston" as his authority, and as persons of facility, that sometimes it was necessary he should be stoppe. that name were connected with theatres before the death of Shake- Suzffaminandus erat, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in speare, and long afterwards, we ought to treat the assertion with the his own power; would the use of it had been so too W" more respect. Simon Forman, according to his Diary, was employed Hence he proceeds to instance a passage in "Julius Cmsar." Ben in this way in the free-school where he was educated, and was paid Jonson then adds in conclusion -"But he redeemed his vices with by the parents of the boys for his assistance. The same might be his virtues: there was ever more in him to be praised, than to be the case with Shakespeare. pardoned." Consistently with what Ben Jonson tells us above the s A passage from the epistle of Thomas Nash before Greene's players had " often mentioned," we find the following in the address "Menaphon," has been held by some to apply to Shakespeare, to his of Heminge and Condell, " To the great variety of Headers," before " Hamlet," and to his early occupation in an attorney's office. The the folio of 1623:-" His mind and hand went together, and what he best answer to this supposition is an attention to dates: " Menaphon " thought he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received was not printed for the first time, as has been supposed, in 1589, but from him a blot in his papers." in 1587; in all probability before Shakespeare had written any play, b The instrument, divested of useless formal contractions-runs much less " Hamlet." The " Hamlet-7 to which Nash alludes must thus: s, un have been the old drama, which was in existence long before Shake- "Noverint universi per presentes, nos Fulconem Sandells de Strat speare took up the subject. The terms Nash employs are these; and ford in comitatu Warwici, agricolam, et Johannem Richardson ibiit is to be observed, that by noverint he means an attorney or attor- dem agricolam, teneri et firmiter obligari Ricardo Cosin, generoso, et ney's clerk, employed to draw up bonds, &c.. commencing Jioverint Roberto Warmstry, notario publico, in quadraginta libris bonm et l susuvcrsi, &c. "' Itis a common practice now-a-dayes, amongst a sort galis monetar Angliss solvendis eisdem Ricardo et Roberto, heredibus, of shifting companions, that run through every art and thrive by executoribus, vel assignatis suis, ad quam quidem solutiones, bene none, to leave the trade of noverint, whereto they were borne, and et fideliter faciendam obligamus nos, et utrumque nostrum, per s it ie themselves with the indevours of art, that could scarcely Lat- pro toto et In solido, heredes, executores, et administratores nostrs tmlaletheirneckverse,if they should have neede: yet English Seneca, firmiter per presentee, sigillis nostris sigillatos. Datum 28 die Noread by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as Bloud is a beg- vembris, anno Regni Domiuns nostt Elizabethm, Dei gratia An lia ger, and so forth; and if you intreate him faire in a frostie morning, Francie, et Hiberniae ReginaB, Fidei Defensoris. &c. 250. he will affoord you whole Hamlets, I should say handfuls of tragical "The condition of this obligation ys suche, that if- hereafter there speeches.' Hence we may possibly infer that the author of the old shall not appere any lawful1 lett or impediment, by reason of any IHamlet, preceding Shakespeare's tragedy, had been an attorney's precontract, consanguinitie, affinitie, or by any other lawfull clerk. In 1587: Shakespeare was only in his twenty-third year, and meanes whatsoever, but that William Shagspere one thone parti, could. hardly be said by that time to have " run through every art, and Anne Hathwey, of Stratford in the Dioces of Worcester. maiden, and thriven by none." Seneca had been translated, and published may lawfully solemnize matrimony together, and in the same aftercollectively, six years before Nash wrote. He may have intended to wards remaine and continew like man and wiffe, accordingr unto the speak generally, and without more individual allusion than a mod- lawes in that behalf provided: and moreover, if there be not at this ern poet, when, in the very same spirit, he wrote the couplet, present time any action, sute, quarrel, or demaund, moved or depend-' Some clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, ing before any judge,. ecclesiastical or temporal, for and concerning W ho pens a stanza when he should ingross."' any suche lawfull lett or impediment: and moreover, if the said 4 It is certain also that Shakespeare wrote with great facility, and William Shagspere do not proceed to solemnization of marriadg with that his compositions required little correction. This fact we have the said Anne Hathwey without the consent of her frinds: and also upon the indubitable assertion of Ben Jonson, who thus speaks in if the said William do, upon his owne proper costs and expenses dehis Discoveries," written in old age, when, as he tells us, his mem- fend and save harmles the Right Reverend Father in God, Lord John ory began to fail, and printed with the date of 1641:- Bushop of Worcester, and his offycers, for licencing them the said "I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour William and Anne to. be maried together with once asking of the to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he bannes of matrimony betwene them, and for all other causes which never blotted out line. My answer hath been, Would he had blctted may ensue by reason or occasion thereof, that then the said obligaa thousand! which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not tion to be voyd and of none effect, or els to stand and abide in fulle told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who chuse that circum- force and vertue." stance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted; and to The marks and seals of Sandells and Richardson THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxv ceremony was performed, but certainly not at Stratford- have been able tb supply all physical deficiencies6. Coleupon-Avohs,' to which both the parties belonged, where the ridge was aware, if not from his own particular case, from bondsmen resided, and where it might be expected that it recorded examples, that the beauty of the objects of the would have been registered. The object of the bond was affection of poets was sometimes more fanciful than real; to obtain such a dispensation from the bishop of Worcester and his notion was, that Anne Hathaway was a woman as would authorize a clergyman to unite the bride and with whom the boyish Shakespeare had fallen in love, pergroom after only a single publication of the banns; and it is haps from proximity of residence and frequency of internot to be concealed, or denied, that the whole proceeding course, and that she had not any peculiar recommendations seems to indicate haste and secresy. However, it ought of a personal description. The truth, however, is, that we not to escape notice that the seal used when the bond was have no evidence either way; and when Oldys remarks executed, although damaged, has upon it the initials R. H., upon the 93rd sonnet, that it "seems to have been addressed as if it had belonged to R. Hathaway, the father of'the bride, by Shakespeare to his beautiful wife, on some suspicion of and had been used on the. occasion with his consent.2 her infidelity7," it is clear that he was under an entire misConsidering all the circumstances, there might be good take as to the individual: the lines, reasons why the father of Anne Hathaway should concur in the alliance, independently of any regard to the worldly "So shall I live supposing thou art true prospects of the parties. The first child of William and Like a deceived husband; so love's face Anne Shakespeare was christened Susanna on 26th May, May still seem love to me," &c. 1583'. Anne was between seven and eight years older than her young husband, and several passages in Shake- were most certainly not applied to his wife; and Oldys could speare's plays have been pointed out by Malone, and have had no other ground for asserting that Anne Hatharepeated by other biographers, which seem to point directly way was "beautiful," than general supposition, and the erat the evils resulting from unions in which the parties were roneous belief that a sonnet like that from which we have "misgraffed in respect of years." The most remarkable made a brief quotation had Shakespeare's wife for its ob-. of these is certainly the welllknown speech of the Duke to ject. Viola, in " Twelfth Night," (act ii. sc. 4) where he says, The present may not be an improper opportunity for remarking (if, indeed, the remark might not be entirely " Let still the woman take spared, and the reader left to draw his own inferences) that An elder than herself: so wears she to him; the balance of such imperfect information as remains to us, So sways she level in her husband's heart: leads us to the opinion that Shakespeare was not a very For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, happy married man. The disparity in age between himOur fancies are more giddy and unfirm, self and his wife from the first was such, that she could More lo fCgn1g, waverg, wo not "sway level in her husband's heart;" and this difference, for a certain time at least, became more apparent as they Afterwards the Duke adds, advanced in years: may we say also, that the peculiar cir" Then let thy love be younger than thyself, cumstances attending their marriage, and the birth of their Or thy affection cannot hold the bent." first child, would not tend, even in the most grateful and considerate mind, to increase that respect which is the chief Whether these lines did or did not originate in the au- source of confidence and comfort in domestic life. To this thor's reflections upon his own marriage, they are so appli- may be added the fact (by whatever circumstances it may cable to his own case, that it seems impossible he should have been occasioned, which we shall consider presently) have written them without recalling the circumstances at- that Shakespeare quitted his home at Stratford a very few tending his hasty union, and the disparity of years betweenl years after he had become a husband and a father, and that himself and his wife. Such, we know, was the confirmed although he revisited his native town frequently, and ultiopinion of Coleridge, expressed on two distinct occasions in mately settled there with his family, there is no proof that his lectures, and such we think will be the conclusion at his wife ever returned with him to London, or resided with v/hich most readers will arrive:-" I cannot hesitate in be- him during any of his lengthened sojourns in the metropolieving," observed Coleridge in 1815, "that in this passage lis: that she may have done so is very possible: and in fiom' Twelfth Night,' Shakespeare meant to give a caution 1609 he certainly paid a weekly poor-rate to an amount arising out of his own experience; and, but for the fact of that may indicate that he occupied a house in Southwark the disproportion in point of years between himself and his capable of receiving his familys, but we are here, as upon wife, I doubt much whether the dialogue between Viola and many other points, compelled to deplore the absence of disthe Duke would have received this turn4." It is incident to tinct testimony. We put out of view the doubtful and amour nature that youths, just advancing to manhood, should biguous indications to be gleaned from Shakespeare's Sonfeel with peculiar strength the attraction of women whose nets, observing merely, that they contain little to show that charms have reached the full-blown summer of beauty; but he was of a domestic turn, or that he found any great enwe cannot think that it was so necessary a consequence, as joyment in the society of his wife. That such may have some have supposed5, that Anne Hathaway should have pos- been the fact we do not pretend to deny, and we willingly sessed peculiar personal advantages. It may be remarked, believe that much favourable evidence upon the point has that poets have often appeared comparatively indifferent been lost: all we venture to advance on a question of so to the features and persons of their mistresses, since, in pro- much difficulty and delicacy is, that what remains to us is portion to the strength of their imaginative faculty, they not, as far as it goes, perfectly satisfactory. 1 Malone conjectured that the marriage took place at Weston, or public in 1818, and we have more than once heard it from him in Billesley, but the old registers there having been lost or destroyed, it private society. is impossible to ascertain the fact. A more recent search in the reg- b The Rev. Mr. Dyce, in his Life of Shakespeare, prefixed to the isters of some other churches in the neighbourhood of Stratford has Aldine edition of his Poems, 12mo. 1832. p. xi. It comprises all the not been attended with any success. Possibly, the ceremony was main points of the biography of our poet then known. performed in the vicinity of Worcester, but the mere fact that the 6 When -the Rev. Mr. Dyce observes that " it is unlikely that a wobond was there executed proves nothing. An examination of the man devoid of personal charms should have won the youthful affecregisters at VWorcester has been equally fruitless. lions of so imaginative a being as Shakespeare," he forgets that the 2 Rowe tells us. (and we are without any other authority) that mere fact that Shakespeare was an:" imaginative being "1 would Hathaway was " said to have been a substantial yeoman," and he render "personal charms " in his wife less necessary to his happiwas most likely in possession of a seal, such as John Shakespeare had ness. used in 1579. 7 In his MS. notes to Langbaine, in the British Museum, as quoted 3 The fact is registered in this form:- by Steevens. See "Malone's Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. xx. " 1583. May 26. Susanna daughter to William Shakspere." p. 306. 4 We derive this opinion from our own notes of what fell from 8 We have noticed this matter more at length hereafter, with reColeridge upon the occasion in question. The lectures, upon which ference to the question, whether Shakespeare, in 1609, were not rated he was then engaged, were delivered in a room belonging to the to the poor of Southwark in respect of his theatrical property, and Globa tavern, in Fleet-street. He repeated the same sentiment in not for any dwelling-house which he occupied. IB xxvi THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. A question was formerly agitated, which the marriage some, that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, enbond, already quoted, tends to set at rest. Some of Shake- gaged him more than once in robbing the park that bespeare's biographers have contended that Anne Hathaway longed to Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecot, near Stratford, came from Shottery, within a mile of Stratford, while Ma- For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he lone argued that she was probably from Luddington, about thought, somewhat too severely; and, in. order to revenge three miles from the borough. There is no doubt that a that ill-usage, he made a ballad upon him. And though family of the name of Hathaway bad been resident at'this, probably the first essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it is Shottery from the year 1543, and continued to occupy a said to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled the proshouse there long after the death of Shakespeare'; there is ecution against him to that degree, that he was obliged to also a tradition in favour of a particular cottage in the vil- leave his business and family in Warwickshire for some lage, and, on the whole, we may perhaps conclude that time, and shelter himself in London." Anne Hathaway was of that family, She is, however, We have said that Rowe is the oldest printed source of described in the bond as " of Stratford;" and we may take this anecdote, his " Life of Shakespeare " having been pubit for granted, until other and better proof is offered, that lished in 1109; but Malone produced a manuscript of unshe was resident at the time in the borough, although she certain date, anterior, however, to the publication of Rowe's may have come from Shottery2. Had the parties seeking "Life," which gives the incident some confirmation. Had the licence wished to misdescribe her, it might have an- this manuscript authority been of the same, or even of more swered their purpose better to have stated her to be of any recent date, and derived from an independent quarter, unother place rather than of Stratford. connected with Rowe or his informant, it would on this account have deserved attention; but it was older than the publication of Rowe's " Life," because the Rev. R. Davies, who added it to the papers of Fulman, (now in the library CHAPTER V. of Corpus Christi College) died in 1701'. Rowe (as he distinctly ajmits) obtained not a few of his materials from Shakespeare's twins, Hamnet and Judith, born in 1585. His Betterton, the actor, who died the year after Rowe's " Life " departure from Stratford. The question of deer-stealing came out, and who, it has been repeatedly asserted, paid a from Sir Thomas Lucy considered. Authorities for the visit to Stratford expressly to glean such particulars as story; Rowe, Betterton, Fulman's MSS., Oldys. Ballad could be obtained regarding Shakespeare. In what year by Shakespeare against Sir Thomas Lucy. Proof, in op-In year position to Malone, that Sir Thomas Lucy had deer: his he paid that visit is not Imown, but Malone was of opinion present of a buck to Lord Ellesmere. Other inducements that it was late in life: on the contrary, we think that it to Shakespeare to quit Stratford. Companies of players must have been comparatively early in Betterton's career, encouraged by the Corporation. Several of Shakespeare's when he would naturally be more enthusiastic in a pursuit fellow-actors from Stratford and Warwickshire. The of the kind, and when he had not been afflicted by that disPrincely Pleasures of IKenilworth. order from which he suffered so severely in his later years, and to which, in fact, he owed his death. Betterton was IN the beginning of 1585 Shakespeare's wife produced him born in 1&35, and became an actor before 1660; and we twins-a boy and a girl-and they were baptized at Strat- should not be disposed to place his journey to Stratford later ford Church on the 2d Feb. in that year'. Malone sup- than 1670 or, 1675, when he was thirty-five or forty years posed, and the supposition is very likely well founded, that old. He was at that period in the height of his popularity, Hamnet Sadler and his wife Judith stood sponsors for the and being in the frequent habit of playing such parts as infants, which were baptized by the Christian names of the Hamlet, Lear, and Othello, we may readily believe that he godfather and godmother, Hamnet4 and Judith. It is a fact would be anxious to collect any information regarding the not altogether unimportant, with relation to the terms of af- author of those tragedies that then existed in his native fection between Shakespeare and his wife in the subsequent town. We therefore apprehend, that Betterton must have part of his career, that she brought him no more children, gone to Stratford many years before the Rev. Richard although in 1585 she was only thirty years old. Davies made his additions to Fulman's brief account of That Shakespeare quitted his home and his family not Shakespeare, for Fulman's papers did not devolve into his long afterwards has not been disputed, but no ground for hands until 1688. The conclusion at which we arrive is, this step has ever been derived from domestic disagree- that Rowe's printed account is in truth older, as far as ments. It has been alleged that he was obliged to leave regards its origin in Betterton's inquiries, than the manuStratford on account of a scrape in which he had involved script authority6 produced by Malone; and certainly the hihself by stealing, or assisting in stealing, deer from the latter does not come much recommended to us on any other grounds of Charlcote, the property of Sir Thomas Lucy, ground. Davies must have been ignorant both of persons about five miles from the borough. As Rowe is the oldest and plays; but this very circumstance may possibly be authority in print for this story, we give it in his own looked upon as in favour of the originality and genuineness words: —" He had, by a misfortune common enough to of what he furnishes. He does not tell us from whence, young fellows, fallen into ill company; and among them nor from whom, he procured his information, but it reads 1 Richard Hathaway, alias Gardener, of Shottery, had a daughter name, and he was ignorant that such a character as Justice Clodpate named Johanna, baptized at Stratford church on 9th May, 1566; but is not to be found in any of Shakespeare's plays. there is no trace of the baptism of Anne Hathaway. 6 We may, perhaps, consider the authority for the story obtained aFrm an extract of a letter from Abraham Sturley, dated 24 by Oldys prior in point of date to any other. According to him, a Jan., 158, printed in " Malone's Shakspeare by Boswell," vol.. p. gentleman of the name of Jones, of Turbich in Worcestershire, died 266, it appears that our great dramatist then contemplated the pur- in 1703, at the age of ninety, and he remembered to hve heard fom chase of some odd yard-lan or other at Shottery." This intention several old people of Stratford, and he story of Shakespeare's robbin Sir perhaps arose out of the connexion of his wife with the village. Thomas Lucy's p Stratford the story of Shat the bseares robbing Sirwe 3 The registration is, of course, dated 2 Feb., 1584, as the year 1585 makes Lucy's park; and they added that the b allad of which Bows did not at that date begin until after 25th March: it runs thus: makes mention, had been affixed on the park-gate, as an additional " 1584. Feb.2. Hamne & Jdt son & dauhte toT yij exasperation to the knight. Oldys preserved a stanza of this satiri1Shak4. Feb.. HIamnet & Judith sonne & daughter to Willie cal effusion, which he had received from a person of the name of 4 There was an actor called Hamnet (the name is sometimes spelt Wilkes a relation of Mr. Jones it runs thus: Hamlet, see " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 127) in one of the Lon- "A parliament member, a justice of peace, don companies at a subsequent date. It is not at all impossible that, At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse; like not a lew players of that day, he came from \Warwickshire. If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, 5 The terms used by the Rev. Mr. Davies are these: Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it: "He [Shakespeare] was much given to all unluckiness in stealing He thinks himself great, venison and rabbits, particularly from Sir Lucy, who had him oft Yet an asse in his state whipped and sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly his We allow by his ears but with asses to mate. native country, to his great advancement. But his revenge was so If Lucy is lowsie, as some vollrke miscall it, great that he is his Justice Clodpate; and calls him a great man, and Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it." that, in allusion to his name, bore three louses rampant for his 5What is called a " complete copy of the verses," contained in " Maarms." Fulman s MISS. vol. xv. Here we see that Davies calls Sir lone's Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 565, is evidently not genThomas Lucy only " Sir Lucy," as if he did not know his Christian uino. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxvii as if it had been obtained from some source independent of ground that Sir Thamas Lucy never had any park at CharlBetterton, and perhaps even from inquiries on the spot. cote or elsewhere, but it admits of an easy and immediate The whole was obviously exaggerated and distorted, but answer; for, although Sir Thomas Lucy had no park, he whether by Davies, or by the person from whom he derived may have had deer, and that his successor had deer, though the story, we must remain in doubt. The reverend gentle- no park, can be proved, we think, satisfactorily. Malone man died three years before Betterton, and both may cer- has remarked that Sir Thomas Lucy never seems to have tainly have been indebted for the information to the same sent the corporation of Stratford a buck, a not unusual parties; but most likely Davies simply recorded what he present to a body of the kind from persons of rank and had heard. wealth in the vicinity. This may be so, and the fact may In reflecting upon the general probability or inmprobabil- be accounted for on several grounds; but that the Sir ity of this important incident in Shakespeare's life, it is not Thomas Lucy, who succeeded his father in 1600, made such to be forgotten, as Malone remarks, that deer-stealing, at gifts, though not perhaps to the corporation of Stratford, the period referred to, was by no means an uncommon is very certain. When Lord Keeper Egerton entertained offence; that it is referred to by several authors, and pun- Queen Elizabeth at Harefield, in August 1602, many of the ished by more than one statute. Neither was it considered nobility and gentry, in nearly all parts of the kingdom, to include any moral stain, but was often committed by sent him an abundance of presents to be used or consumed young men, by way of frolic, for the purpose of furnishing in the entertainment, and on that occasion Sir Thomas Lucy a feast, and not with any view to sale or emolument. If contributed " a buck," for which a reward of 6s. 8d. was Shakespeare ever ran into such an indiscretion, (and we given to the bringer2. This single circumstance shows that own that we cannot entirely discredit the story) he did no if he had no park, he had deer, and it is most likely that he more than many of his contemporaries; and one of the inherited them from his father. Thus we may pretty safely ablest, most learned, and bitterest enemies of theatrical conclude that Sir Thomas Lucy who resided at Charlperformances, who wrote just before the close of the six- cote when Shakespeare was in his youth, had venison to be teenth century, expressly mentions deer-stealing as a venial stolen, although it does not at all necessarily follow that crime of which unruly and misguided youth was sometimes Shakespeare was ever concerned in stealing it. guilty, and he couples it merely with carousing in taverns The question whether he did or' did not quit Stratford and robbing orchardsi. for the metropolis on this account, is one of much importance It is very possible, therefore, that the main offence against in the poet's history, but it is one also upon which we shall, Sir Thomas Lucy was, not stealing his deer, but writing in all probability, never arrive at certainty. Our opinion is the ballad, and sticking it on his gate; and for this Shake- that the traditions related by Rowe, and mentioned in Fuispeare may have been so "severely prosecuted" by Sir man's and in Oldys' MSS. (which do not seem to have origThomas Lucy, as to render it expedient for him to abandon inated in the same source) may be founded upon an actual Stratford " for some time." Sir Thomas Lucy died in 1600, occurrence; but, at the same time, it is very possible that and the mention of deer-stealing, and of the " dozen white that alone did not determine Shakespeare's line of conduct. luces " by Slender, and of " the dozen white lowses " by Sir His residence in Stratford may have been rendered inconHugh Evans, in the.opening of "The Merry Wives of venient -by the near neighbourhood of such a hostile and Windsor," seems too obvious to be mistaken, and leads us powerful magistrate, but perhaps he would nevertheless to the conviction that the comedy was written before the not have quitted the town, had not other circumstances comdemise of Sir Thomas Lucy, whose indignation Shakespeare bined to produce such a decision. What those circumhad incurred. True it is, that the coat of arms of Sir stances might be it is our business now to inquire. Thomas Lucy contained only " three luces (pike-fishes) ha- Aubrey, who was a very curious and minute investigator, riant, argent;" but it is easy to imagine, that while Shake- although undoubtedly too credulous, says nothing about speare would wish the ridicule to be understood and felt by deer-stealing, but he tells us that Shakespeare was " inclined the knight and his friends, he might not desire that it should naturally to poetry and acting, and to this inclination he atbe too generally intelligible, and therefore multiplied the tributes his journey to London at an early age. That this luces to "a dozen," instead of stating the true number. We youthful propensity existed there can be no dispute, and it believe that " The Merry Wives of Windsor" was written is easy to trace how it may have been promoted and before 1600, among other reasons, because we are convinced strengthened. The corporation of Stratford seem to have that Shakespeare was too generous in his nature to have given great encouragement to companies of players arriving carried his resentment beyond the grave, and to have cast there. We know from various authorities that when itineridicule upon a dead adversary, whatever might have been rant actors came to any considerable town, it was their cushis sufferings while he was a living one. tom to wait upon the mayor, bailiff, or other head of the iMalone has attacked the story of deer-stealing on the corporation, in order to ask permission to perform, either Dr. John Rainolds, in his "Overthrow of Stage Playes," 4to, Pembroke, and Philip Earl of MIontgomery, that the player-edi1599, p. 22. Some copies of the work (one of which is in the library tors dedicated the folio Shakespeare of 1623; and one of Earl of Lord Francis Egerton) bear date in 1600, and purport to have been Philip's MS. notes, in the volume from which we have already printed at Middleburgh: they are, in fact, the same edition, and there quoted, contains the following mention of seven dramatic poets, inis little doubt that they were printed in London, although no name eluding Shakespeare: —" The full and heightended style of Master is found at the bottom of any of the title-pages. His words on the Chapman; the laboured and understanding works of Mr. Jhonson; point to which we are now referring, are these'-"Time of recrea- Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Fletcher, (brother to Nat Fetcher, MIrs. White's tion is necessary, I grant; and think as necessary for scholars, that servant, sons to Bishop Fletcher of London, and great tobacconist, are scholars indeed, I mean good students, as it is for any: yet in my and married to my Lady Baker) —Mr. Shakespear, Mr. Deckar, Mr. opinion it were not fit for thexn to play at stool-ball among wenches, Heywood." Horace Walpole registers on the title-page of the nor at mum-chance or maw with idle loose companions, nor at trunks volume that the notes were made by Philip, Earl of Pembroke and in guild-halls, nor to dance about may-poles, nor to rifle in ale-houses, Montgomery. -nor to carouse in taverns, nor to steal deer, nor to -rob orchards." 2 See "The Egerton Papers," printed by the Camden Society, 4to, This work was published at the time when the building of a new 1840. pp. 350. 355. The editor of that volume observes: "Many of theatre, called the Fortune, belonging to Henslowe and Alleyn, was these Lpresents] deserve notice, but especially one of the items, where exciting a great deal of general attention, and particular animosity it is stated that Sir Thomas Lucy (against whom Shakespeare is said on the part of the Puritans. To precisely the same import as the to have written a ballad) sent a present of a Lbuck. Malone disabove quotation we might produce a passage from Forman's Diary, credits the whole story of the deer-stealing, because Sir Thomas Lucy referred to by Malone, and cited by Mr. Halliwell, in a note to " The had no park at Charlcote:' I conceive (he says) it will very readily First Part of the Contention between the Houses, Yorkl and Lancas- be granted that Sir Thomas Lucy could not lose that of which he was ter," printed for the Shakespeare Society, p. 106. One of the most never possessed., We fird, however, from what follows tha he was curious illustrations of this point is derived from a MS. note by Philip, possessed of deer, for he snt a present of a buck to Lord Ellesmere, Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, in a copy of Roper's Life of Sir in 1602." He gave " a buck,' because he had bred it himself, and Thomas More, edit. 1642, sold among the books of Horace Walpole. because it was perhaps well known that he kept deer; and he would Speaking of Aurelian Townshend, who, he says. was a poor poet liv- hardly have exposed himself to ridicule by buying a buck for a preg in Barbican, near the Earl of Bridgewater's, he adds that he had sent, under the ostentatious pretence that it was of his own rearing. ~ afiter Mali tught is that he n adtri fine fair daughter, mistress to the Palgrave first, and then after- Malone thought that he had triumphantly overthrown the deer-stealwards to the noble Count of Dorset, a Privy Councillor, and a Knight ing story, but his refutation amounts to little or nothing. Whether of the Garter, and a deer-stealer," &c. It was to William Earl of it is nevertheless true is quite a different question. xxviii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. in the town-hall, if that could be granted to them, or else- Burbage, the father of the celebrated Richard Burbage, where. It so happens that the earliest record of the re- (the representative of many of the heroes in the works of presentation of any plays in Stratford-upon-Avon, is dated our great dramatist) and one of the original builders of the in the year -when John Shakespeare was bailiff: the precise Blackfriars theatre, migrated to London from that part of season is not stated, but it was in 1569, when " the Queen's the kingdom, and the name of Thomas Greene, who was Players " (meaning probably, at this date, one company of indisputably from Stratford, will be familiar to all who are her 1" Interlude Players," retained under that name by her acquainted with the detailed history of our stage at that father and grandfather) received 9s. out of the corporate period. Malone supposed that Thomas Greene might have funds, while the Earl of Worcester's servants in the same introduced Shakespeare to the theatre, and at an early date year obtained only 12d'. In 15723, just before the grant of he was certainly a member of the company called the Lord the royal license to them, the Earl of Leicester's Play- Chamberlain's servants: how long he continued we are ers, of -whom James Burbage was thle leader, received 6s. without information, although we know that he became, and 8d.; and in the next year the companies acting under the perhaps not long after 1589, an actor in the rival associanames of the Earls of Warwick and Worcester obtained 17s. tion under Alleyn, and that he was one of Queen Anne's and 5s. 7d. respectively. It is unnecessary to state precisely Players when, on the accession of James I., she took a comthe sums disbursed at various times by the bailiff, alder- pany under her patronage. If any introduction to the Lord men, and burgesses, but we may notice, that in 1577 the Chamberlain's servants had been necessary for Shakespeare players of the Earls of Leicester and Worcester again ex- at an early date, he could easily have procured it from hibited; and in 1579 we hear of a company in Stratford several other quarters8. patronized by one of the female nobility, (a very unusual The frequent performances of various associations of accircumstance) the Countess of Essex2. "Lord Strange's tors in Stratford and elsewhere, and the taste for theatricals men " (at this date not players, but tumblers3) also exhibited thereby produced, may have had the effect of drawing not in the same year, and in 1580 the Earl of Derby's players a few young men in Warwickshire from their homes, to were duly rewarded4. The same encouragement was given follow the attractive and profitable profession; and such to the companies of the Earls of Worcester and Berkeley in may have been'the case with Shakespeare, without sup1581; but in 1582 we only hear of the Earl of Worcester's posing that domestic differences, arising out of disparity of actors having been in the town. In 1583 the earl of Berke- age or any other cause, influenced his determination, or that ley's players, and those of Lord Chandois, performed in he was driven away by the terrors of Sir Thomas Lucy. Stratford, while, in the next year, three companies appear It has been matter of speculation, and of mere speculato have visited the borough. In 1586 " the players" (with- tion, for nobody has pretended to bring forward a particle.out mentioning what company) exhibited; and in 1587 no of proof upon the question, whether Shakespeare visited fewter than five associations were rewarded: viz. the Kenilworth Castle, when Queen Elizabeth was entertained Queen's Players5, and those of the Earls of Essex, Leices- there by the Earl of Leicester in 1575, and whether the ter, and Stafford, with "another company," the nobleman pomp and pageantry he then witnessed did not give a countenancing them not being named. colour to his mind, and a direction to his pursuits. ConIt is to be remarked that several of the players, with sidering that he was then only in his eleventh year, we own, whom Shakespeare was afterwards connected, appear to that we cannot believe he found his way into that gorgeous have come originally frem Stratford or its neighbourhood. and august assembly. Kenilworth was fourteen miles disA family of the name of Burbage was resident in Stratford, tant: John Shakespeare, although he had been bailiff, and and one member of it attained to the highest dignity in the was still head-alderman of Stratford, was not a man of corporation6: in the Muster-book of the county of Warwick, sufficient rank and importance to be there in any official in 1569, preserved in the State-paper office, we meet in va- capacity; and he.probably had not means to equip himrious places with the name of Burbage, Slye, and Heminge, self and his son for such an exhibition. It may be very although not with the same Christian names as those of the well as a matter of fancy to indulge such a notion, but, as actors in Shakespeare's plays: the usual combination of it seems to us,'every reasonable probability is against ito. Nicholas Tooley is, however, found there; and he was a That Shakespeare heard of the extensive preparations, and well-known member of the company to which Shakespeare of the magnificent entertainment, there can be no doubt: was attached7. It is very distinctly ascertained that James it was an event calculated to create a strong sensation in 1 We may conclude that the Earl of Worcester's players did not 7 Nicholas Tooley, was of Burmington, and he is said to be posperform, but that 12d. was given them as some compensation, and to sessed of 2(1., goods. 7We are indebted to Mr. Lemon for directing aid them on their road to another place. our attention to this document, which he only recently discovered in 2 The widow of Walter Devereux, whom Leicester very soon after- the public archives. wards married. It is to be observed, that as early as 1482 the Earl It has been conjectured, but, we believe, upon no evidence beof..Essex had a company of players travelling under the protection yond the following entry in the register of deaths at Stratford, that of his name, and that on the 9th January Lord Howard, through one Greene was in some way related to Shakespeare:of his stewards, gave them a reward. This Earl of Essex was, how- 1589. Mach. Thomas Green, alias Shasper. ever, of a different family, viz. Henry Bourchier, who was created in 1461, and who died in 1483. See the Household Book of John This was perhaps the father of Thomas Greene, the actor, who was a Lord Howard, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, printed in 1841 for the comedian of great reputation and popularity, and becam'e so famous Roxburghe Club, p. 149. in a character called Bubble, that the play of the "City Gallant " 3 In the account of the cost of the Revels for the year 1581-2, we (acted by the Queen's Players) in which it occurs, withthe constanly are told that " sundrey feates of tumbling and activitie were shewed repeated phrase, Tit quoquze, was named a fter him. In the account of before her Majestie on newe yeares night by the Lord Straunge his'ser- the Revels of 1611-12, it is called first " the City Gallant," and aftervauntes." See Mr. P. Cunningham's Extracts from the Revels ac- wards Teu qsoqse: it was printed in 1614, under the double title of counts, p. 177. "; Greene's Tu Qtuoque, or the City Gallant," preceded by an epistle M ialone, who gleaned these particulars from the accounts of the from T. Heywood, by which it appears that Greene was then dead. Chamberlains of Stratford, mis-stated this date 1510, but we have A piece of verse, called "'A Poet's Vision and a Prince's Glory," 1803, ascertained it to be 1580, as indeed seems evident. was written by a Thomas Greene, but it may be doubted whether 5 This was most likely one of the companies which the Queen had this were the comedian. The Greenes were a very respectable directed to be formed, consisting of a selection of the best actors from family at Stratford, and one of them was a solicitor settled in the associations of several of the nobility, and not either of the dis- London. tinct bodies of "interlude players" who had visited Stratford while 9 Upon this point we differ from the Rev. Mr. Halpin in his inJohn Shakespeare was bailiff. genious and agreeable " Essay upon Oberon's Visions" printed by 6 Malone attributes the following order, made by the corporation the Shakespeare Society. Bishop Percy, in his "Reliques," was the of Stratford many years after the date to which we are now advert- first to start the idea that Shakespeare had been present at the entering, to the growth of puritanism; but possiDly it originated in other tainment at Kenilworth, and the Rev. MIr. Halpin calls it a "pleamotives, and may even have been connected with the attraction of sant conceit," which had been countenanced by Malone and adopted young men from their homes: — by Dr. Drake: nevertheless, he afterwards seriously argues the mat"17. Dec. 46 Eliz: 1602. At this Hall yt is ordered, that there ter, and arrives at the conclusion that Shakespeare was present in shall be no plays or interludes played in the Chamber, the Guildhall, right of his gentry on both sides of the family. This appears to us nor in any parte of the howse or courte, from hensfotward, upon even a more "pleasant conceit" than that of Percy, Malone, and payne, that whoever of the Baylif, Aldermen, or Burgesses of the Drake, who supposed Shakespeare to have gone to Kenilworth "under boroughe shall give leave or license thereunto, shall forfeyt for everie the wing " of Thomas Greene. offence-xs."~ THE LIFE OF. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxix the whole of that part of the country; and if the cele- were "warned " or summoned3, from the year 15'79 downbrated passage in "A Midsummer Night's Dream " (act. ii. wards. This date of 15 79 is the more important, although sc. 1), had any reference to it, it did not require that Shake- Malone was not aware of the fact, because it was the same speare should have been present in order to have written year in which John Shakespeare was so distressed for it, especially when, if necessary, he had Gascoyne's " Princely money, that he disposed of his wife's small property in SuitPleasures of Kenilworth " and Laneham's " Letter " to as- terfield for 41. sist his memory'. We have thus additional reasons for thinking, that the unprosperous state of John Shakespeare's pecuniary circumstances had induced him to abstain from attending the ordinary meetings of the corporation, and finally led to his CHAPTER VI. removal from the office of alderman. What connexion this last event may have had with William Shakespeare's deJohn Shakespeare removed from his situation as alderman termination to quit Stratford cannot be known from any of Stratford, and its possible connexion with William Shake - circumstances that have since come to light, but it will not speare's departure for London in the latter end of 1586. fail to be remarked, that in point of date the events seem William Shakespeare a sharer in the Blackfriars Theatre in to have been coincident4. 1589. Complaints against actors: two companies silenced one eat poet left Stratfor for bringing Martin Mar-prelate on the stage. Certificate loe "supposed that great poet left Stratford of the sharers in the Blackfriars. Shakespeare, in all prob- "about the year 1586 or 1585, but it seems to us more ability, a good actor: our older dramatists often players. likely that the event happened in the former, than in the Shakespeare's earliest compositions for the stage. His latter year. His twins, Hamnet and Judith, were baptized, "Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece" probably written as we have shown, early in February, 1585, and his father before he came to London. did not cease to be an alderman until about a year and seven months afterwards. The fact, that his son had become a Is reference to the period when our great dramatist aban- player, may have had something to do with the lower rank doned his native town for London, we think that sufficient his brethren of the bench thought he ought to hold in the attention has not been paid to an important incident in the corporation; or the resolution of the son to abandon his life of his father. John Shakespeare was deprived of his home may have arisen out of the degradation of the father gown as alderman of Stratford in the autumn of 1586: we say in his native town; but we cannot help thinking that the that he was deprived of his gown, not because any resolu- two circumstances were in some.way connected, and that tion precisely warranting those terms was come to by the the period of the departure of William Shakespeare, to seek rest of the corporation, but because it is quite evident that his fortune in a company of players in the metropolis, may such was the fact, from the tenor of the entry in the records be fixed in the latter end of 1586. of the borough. On the 6th Sept. 1586, the following me- Nevertheless, we do not hear of hin in London until morandum was made in the register by the town clerk2:. three years afterwards, when we find him a sharer in the "At this hall William Smyt;he and Richard Courte are Blackfriars theatre. It had been constructed (or, possibly, chosen to be aldermen, in the place of John Wheler, and if not an entirely new building, some large edifice had been John Shaxspere; for that Mr. Wheler doth desyer to be put adapted to the purpose) upon part of the site of the disout of the companye, and Mr. Shaxspere doth not come to solved monastery, because it was beyond the jurisdiction of the halles, when they be warned, nor bath not done of a the lord mayor and corporation of London, who had always long t& me.". evinced decided hostility to dramatic representations6. The According to this note, it was Wheler's wish to be re- undertaking seems to have been prosperous from the comnmoved from his situation of alderman, and had such also mencement; and in 1589 no fewer than sixteen performers. been the desire of John Shakespeare, we should, no doubt, were sharers in it, including, besides Shakespeare and Burhave been told so: therefore, we must presume that he bage, Thomas Greene of Stratford-upon-Avon, and Nicholas was not a consenting, or at all events not a willing, party Tooley, also a Warwickshire man: the association was probto this proceeding; but there is no doubt, as Malone ascer- ably thus numerous on account of the flourishing state of tained from an inspection of the ancient books of the bo- the concern, many being desirous to obtain an interest in its rough, that he had ceased to attend the halls, when they receipts. In 1589 some general complaints seem to have 1 Gascoyne's "Princely Pleasures," &c. was printed in 1576, and quotation from " a Jig," or humorous theatrical ballad, called " The Laneham's "Letter " from Kenilworth in the preceding year. Gas- Horse-load of Fools," which, in the manuscript in which it has been coyne was himself a performer in the shows, and, according to Lane- handed down to us, is stated to have been written by Richard Tarlham, represented " a Savage Man." who made a speech to the Queen ton, and in all probability was delivervd by him before applauding as she came from hunting. Robert Laneham, the affected but clever audiences at the Theatre in Shoreditch. Tarlton introduces to the writer of the "Letter," was most likely (as is suggested in the spectator a number of puppets, accompanying the exhibition by saBridgewater Catalogue, 4to, 1837, p. 162) related to John Laneham, tirical stanzas upon each, and he thus speaks of one of them:the player, who was one of the Earl of Leicester's players, and is named in the royal license of 1574. " Robert Laneham." observes " This foole comes from the citizens; the compiler of that Catalogue, " seems to have been quite as much Nay, prithee doe not frowne a comedian upon paper, as John Laneham was upon the stage." I knowe him as well as you 2 William Tyler was the bailiff of the year. See Malone's Shak- By his liverie gowne: speare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 164, Of arare horne-mad familie. 3 This use of the-word' warned " occurs several times in Shakespeare: in " Antony and Cleopatra," (p. ) Octavius tells Antony, "He is a foole by prenticeship " They mean to warn us at Philippi here:" And servitude, he sayes, And hates all kindes of wisedome and in "'King John," (p. ) after King Philip has said, But most of all in playes " Some trumpet summon hither to the walls Of a verie obstinate familie. These men of Angiers," Te You have him in his liverie gowns, a citizen exclaims from the battlements, " t ou eeie hve gown e [But presentlie he can " Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls?" qualifie for a mule or mare, 4 We do not imagine that one event, or the other, was influenced Or for an alderman; in any way by the execution of Edward Arden, a maternal relative With a golde chaine in his familie. of the family, at the close of 1583. According to Dugdale, it was more than suspected that he came to his end through the power of'" Being borne and bred for a foole, Leicester, who was exasperated against him, "for galling him by Why should he be wise, certain harsh expressions, touching his private accesses to the Count- It would make him not fitt to sitt ess of Essex," while she was still the wife of Walter Devereux. It With his brethren of assize; does not appear that there had been any intercourse between Edward Of a verie long earde familie." Arden, then the head of his family. and Mary Shakespeare, the youngest daughter of the junior branch. Possibly the lord mayor and aldermen complained of this very 5 Shakspeare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 157. composition. and it may have been one of the causes which, soon af6 The excess to which the enmity between the corporation of Lon- terwards, led to the silencing of the company: at all events it was don and the players was carried may be judged by the following! not likely to conciliate the members of the corporation. xxx THE LIFE OF WILLIAN[ SHIAKESPEARE. been made, that improper matters were introduced into and eminence in the company: Johnson, as appears by the plays; and it is quite certain that " the children of Paul's," royal license, had been one of the theatrical servants of the as the acting choir-boys of that cathedral were called, and Earl of Leicester in 15744: of Goodale we have no account, the association of regular professional performers occupy- but he bore a Stratford name'; and Armyn, though he had ing the Theatre in Shoreditch at this date, had introduced been instructed by Tarlton', was perhaps at this date quite Martin Mar-prelate upon their stages, in a manner that had young, and of low rank in the association. The situation in given great offence to the Puritans. Tylney, the master of the list which the name of Shakespeare occupies may seem the revels, had interposed, and having brought the matter to show that, even in 1589, he was a person of considerable to the knowledge of Lord Burghley, two bodies of players, importance in relation to the success of the sharers in Blackthose of the Lord Admiral and Lord Strange, (the latter friars theatre. In November, 1589, he was in the middle by this time having advanced from tumblers to actors) had of his twenty-sixth year, and in the full strength, if not in been summoned before the lord mayor, and ordered to de- the highest maturity, of his mental and bodily powers. sist from all performancesl. The silencing of other associ- We can have no hesitation in believing that he originally ations would probably have been beneficial to that exhibit- came to London, in order to obtain his livelihood by the ing at Blackfriars, and if no proceeding of any kind had stage, and with no other view. Aubrey tells us that he been instituted against James Buribage and his partners, we was "inclined naturally to poetry and acting;" and the may presume that they would have continued quietly to poverty of his father, and the difficulty of obtaining profitreap their augmented harvest. We are led to infer, how- able employment in the country for the maintenance of his ever, that they also apprehended, and experienced, some mea-family, without other motives, may have induced him readily sure of restraint, and feeling conscious that they had given to give way to that inclination. Aubrey, who had probably no just ground of offence, they transmitted to the privy taken due means to inform himself, adds, that "lhe did act council a sort of certificate of their good conduct, asserting exceedingly well;" and we are convinced that the opinion, that they had never introduced into their representations founrded chiefly upon a statement by Rowe, that Shakematters of state and religion, and that no complaint of that speare was a very moderate performer, is erroneous. It kind had ever been preferred against them. This certificate seems likely that for two or three years he employed himpassed into the hands of Lord Ellesmere, then attorney- self chiefly in the more active duties of the profession he general, and it has been preserved among his papers. We had chosen; and Peele7, who was a very practised and popusubjoin a copy of it in a note'. lar play-wright, considerably older than Shakespeare, was a It seems rather strange that this testimonial should have member of the company, without saying anything of Wadecome from the players themselves: we should rather have son, regarding whom we know nothing but that at a subseexpected that they would have procured a certificate from quent date he was one of Henslowe's dramatists; or of some disinterested parties; and we are to take it merely as Armyn, then only just coming forward as a comic performer. a statement on their own authority, and possibly as a There is reason to think that Peele did not continue one of sort of challenge for inquiry. When they say that no the' Lord Chamberlain's servants after 1590, and his extant complaint of the kind had ever been preferred against them, dramas were acted by the Queen's players, or by those of we are of course to understand that the assertion applies the Lord Admiral: to the latter association Peele seems to a time previous to some general representation against subsequently to have been attached, and his "Battle of Altheatres, which had been made in 1589, and in which the eazar," printed in 1594, purports on the title-page to have sharers at the Blackfriars thought themselves unjustly in- been played by them. While Peele remained a member eluded. In this document we see the important fact, as re- of the company of the Lord Chamberlain's players, Shakegards the biography of Shakespeare, that in 1589 he was, speare's services as a dramatist may not materially have not only an actor, but a sharer in the undertaking at Black- interfered with his exertions as an actor; but afterwards, friars; and whatever inference may be drawn from it, we when Peele had joined a rival establishment, he may have find that his name, following eleven others, precedes those been much more frequently called upon to employ his pen, of Kempe, Johnson, Goodale, and Armyn. Kempe, we and then his value in that department becoming clearly know, was the successor of Tarlton (who died in 1588) in understood, he was less frequently a performer. comic parts', and must have been an actor of great value Out of the sixteen sharers of which the company he be1 All the known details of these transactions may be seen in " The manuscript play of "' Sir Thomas More," (Harl. Coll., No. 7368) which, Hist. of Engl. Dram.' Poetry and the Stage," vol. i. p. 271, &c. we may conjecture, was licensed for the stage'before 1592. 2 It is on a long slip of paper, very neatly written, but without 6 This fact is stated in a publication entitled " Tarlton's Jests." of any names appended. which the earliest extant impression is in 1611, bat they were no "These are to certifie your right Ilonble Lordships, that her Ma- doubt collected and published very soon after the death of Tarlton jesty's poore Playeres, James Burbad-ge, Richard Burbadge, John in 1588. Laneham, Thomas Greene, Robert Wilson, John Taylor, Anth. When the Rev. Mr. Dyce published his edition of Peele's Works. Wadeson, Thomas Pope, George Peele, Augustine Phillipps, Nicho- he was not aware that there was any impression of that author's las Towley, William Shakespeare, William Kempe, William John- " Tale of Troy." in 1604, as well as in 1589, containing such variason, Baptiste Goodale, and Robert Armyn, being all of them sharers tions as show that it must have been corrected and augmented by in the blacke Fryers playehouse, have never given cause of displea- Peele after its first appearance. The impression of 1604 is the most sure, in that they have brought into their playes maters of state and diminutive volume, perhaps, ever printed, not exceeding an inch and Religion, unfitt to be handled by them, or to be presented before a half high by an inch wide, with the following title:-' The Tale lewde spectators: neither hath ante complaynte in that kinde ever of Troy. By G. Peele, M. of Artes in Oxford. Printed by A. -1. Dene preferrde against them, or anie of them. Wherefore, they trust 1604." We will add only two passages out of many, to-prove the most hnmblie in your Lordships consideration of their former good nature of the changes and additions made by Peele after the original oehayiiour, being at all tymes readie, and willing, to yeelde obedience publication. In the edition of 1604 the poem thus opens: to any command Wiwhatsoever your Lordships in your wisdome may thinke in such case meete, &c. In that world's wounded part, whose waves yet swell "Nov. 1589." With everlasting showers of tears that fell, Here we see that Shakespeare's name stands twelfth in the enu- And bosom bleeds with great effuze of blood meration of the members of the company; but we do not rest much That long war shed, Troy, Neptune's city, stood, on the succession in which they are inserted, because among the four Gorgeously built, like to the house of Fame, names which follow that of our great dramatist are certainly two Or court of Jove, as some describe the same," &c. performers, one of them of the highest reputation, and the other of The four lines which commence the second page of Mr. Dyce's long standinged in the profession. T is copy of 1601: 3 In the dedication of his " Almond for a Parrot," printed without edition are thus extended in the copy of 16 date, but not later than 1589, (the year of which we are now speak- His court presenting to our human eyes ing) Thomas Nash calls Kempe "Jestmonger and Vice-gerent gene- An earthly heaven, or shining Paradise ral to the ghost of Dick Tarlton." Heywood, in his "Apology for Where ladies troop'd in rich disguis'd attire Actors," 1612, (Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 43) tells us that Glistring like stars of pure immortal fire. Kempe succeeded Tarlton "as well in the favour of her Majesty, as Thus happy, Priam, didst thou live of yore, in the opinion and good thoughts of the general audience." That to thy fortune heavens could add no more." 4 He was also one of the executors under Tarlton's will, and was also trustee for his son Philip.. See p. xiii. What became of Johnson Peele was dead in 1598, and it is likely that there were one or after 1589, we have no information. more intervening impressions of " The Tale of Troy," between 1589 5 He was one of the actors, with Laneham, in the anonymous and 1604. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxxi longed to consisted in 1589, (besides the usual proportion of trodden the stage. We have no hint that Dekker, Chap"hired men," who only took inferior characters) there would man, or Marston, though contemporary with Ben Jonson, be more than a sufficient number for the representation of were actors; and Massinger, Beaumont, Fletcher, Middleton, most plays, without the assistance of Shakespeare. He was, Daborne, and Shirley, who may be said to have followed doubtless, soon busily and profitably engaged as a dra- them, as far as we now know, never had anything to do with matist; and this remark on the rareness of his appearance the performance of their own dramas, or of those of other on the stage will of course apply more strongly in his after- poets. In their day the two departments of author and life, when he produced one or more dramas every year. actor seem to have been generally distinct, while the conHis instructions to the players in" Hamlet" have often trary was certainly the case some years anterior to the debeen noticed as establishing that he was admirably ac- mise of Elizabeth. quainted with the theory of the art, and if, as Rowe as- It is impossible to determine, almost impossible to guess, serts, he only took the short part of the Ghost' in this what Shakespeare had or had not written in 1589. That tragedy, we are to recollect that even if he had considered he had chiefly employed his pen in the revival, alteration, himself competent to it, the study of such a character as and improvement of existing dramas we are strongly disHamlet, (the longest on the stage as it is now acted, and posed to believe, but that he had not ventured upon origistill longer as it was originally written) must have con- nal composition it would be much too bold to' assert. "The sumed more time than he could well afford to bestow upon Comedy of Errors " we take to be one of the pieces, which, it, especially when we call to mind that there was a mem- having been first written by an inferior dramatist', was ber of the company who had hitherto represented most of heightened and amended by Shakespeare, perhaps about the heroes, and whose excellence was as undoubted, as his the date of which we are now speaking, and " Love's Lapopularity was extraordinary2. To Richard Burbage was bour's Lost," or " The Two Gentlemen of Verona," may have therefore assigned the arduous character of the Prince, been original compositions brought upon the stage prior to while the author took the brief, but important part of the 1590. We also consider it more than probable that "Titus Ghost, which required person, deportment, judgment, and Andronicus" belongs even to an earlier period; but we feel voice, with a delivery distinct, solemn, and impressive. All satisfied, that although Shakespeare had by this time given the elements of a great actor were needed for the due per- clear indications of powers superior to those of any of his formance of "the buried majesty of Denmark'3.", rivals, he could not have written any of his greater works It may be observed, in passing, that at the period of our until some years afterwards6. With regard to productions drama, such as it existed in the hands of Shakespeare's unconnected with the stage, there are several pieces among immediate predecessors, authors were most commonly ac- his scattered poems, and some of his sonnets7, that indisputors also. Such was the case with Greene, Marlowe4, tably belong to an earlier part of his life. A young man, Lodge, Peele, probably lNash, Munday, Wilson, and others: so gifted, would not, and could not, wait until he was five the same practice prevailed with some of their successors, or six and twenty before he made considerable and most Ben Jonson, Heywood, Webster, Field, &c.; but at a some- succesful attempts at poetical composition; and we feel what later date dramatists do not usually appear to have morally certain that " Venus and Adonis" was in being 1 " His name is printed, as the custom was in those times, amongst For in a deadly mortal strife, those of the other players, before some old plays, but without any Striving to stop the breath particular account of what sort of parts he used to play; and though I have inquired, I never could meet with any further account of him "Of one who was his rival foe, this way, than that the top of his performance was the Ghost in his With his owne dagger slaine, own'Hamlet.' "-Rowels Life. Shakespeare's name stands first He groan'd and word spoke never moe, among the players of " Every Man in his Humour," and fifth among Pierc't through the eye and braine." those of " Sejanus." 2 From a MS. Epitaph upon Burbage, (who died in 1f619,) sold Which pretty exactly accords with the tradition of the mode in among the books of the late Mr. Heber, we find that he was the orig- which he came to his end, in a scuffle with a person of the name of inal Hamlet, Romeo, Prince Henry, Henry V., Richard III., Mac- Archer: the register of his death at St. Nicholas, Deptford, ascertains beth, Brutus, Coriolanus, Shylock, Lear, Pericles, and Othello, in the name: —" lst June, 1593. Christopher Marlowe slain by Francis Shakespeare's Plays: in those of other dramatists he was Jeronimo, Archer." He was just dead when Peele wrote his " Honour of the in Iyd's "Spanish Tragedy; Antonio, in Marston's "Antonio and Garter," in 1593, and there spoke of him as " unhappy in his end, Mellida;"] Frankford, in T. Heywood's " Woman killed with Kind- and as having been "the Muses' darling for his verse." ness;" Philaster, in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of that name; 5 See pp. ix. and xiii., where it is shown that there was an old Amintor, in their " Maid's Tragedy."-See "The Alleyn Papers," drama, acted at Court in 1573 and 1582, called " The History of Erprinted by the Shakespeare Society, p. xxx. On a subsequent page ror" in one case, and "The History of Ferrar in the other. See we have inserted the whole passage relating to his characters from also the Introduction to " The Comedy of Errors." the Epitaph on Burbage.. 6 Upon this point we cannot agree with Mr. F. G. Tomlins, who 3 Mr. Thomas Campbell, in his Life of Shakespeare, prefixed to has written a very sensible and clever work called "A brief view of the edition, in one volume, 1838. was, we believe? the first to remark the English Drama," 12mo, 1840, where he argues that Shakespeare upon the almost absolute necessity of having a good, if not a great probably began with original composition, and not with the adaptaactor, for the part of the Ghost in "' Hamlet." tion and alteration of works he found in possession of the stage when 4 It seems from an obscure ballad upon Marlowe's death, (handed he joined the Lord Chamberlain's players. We know that the earlidown to us in MS., and quoted in " New Particulars regarding the est charge against him by a fellow dramatist was, that he had availed Works of Shakespeare," 8vo. 1836,) that he had broken his leg while himself of the productions of others, and we have every reason to beacting at the Curtain Theatre, which was considered a judgment lieve that some of the plays upon which he was first employed were ipon him for his irreligious and lawless life. not by any means entirely his own: we allude among others to the three parts of " Henry VI." It seems to us much more likely that " Both day and night would he blaspheme, Shakespeare in the first instance confined himself to alterations and And day and night would sweare;- improvements of the plays of predecessors, than that he at once found As if his life was but a dreame, himself capable of inventing and constructing a great original Not ending in despaire. drama. However, it is but fair to quote the words of Mr. Tomlins. "We are thus driven to the conclusion that his writing must have A poetnd wrotas he full many a play; procured him this distinction. What had he written? is the next NAd wrote full many asolaye, question that presents itself. Probably original plays, for the adapNow strutting byin a silken wa. tation of the plays of others could scarcely be entrusted to the inexNow begging by the way. perienced hands of a young genius, who had not manifested his knowL He had alsoe a player beene ledge of stage matters by any productions of his own, This kind of Upon the Curtaine stage, work would be jealously watched by the managers, and must ever But brake his leg in one lewd scene, have required great skill and experience. Shakespeare, mighty as he When in his early age. was, was human, and it is scarcely possible that a genius. so, ripe, so rich, so overflowing as his, should not have its enthusiasm kin-'( He was a fellow to all those dled into an original production. and not by the mechanical botching That did God's lawes reject; of the inferior productions of others," p. 31. Consorting with the Christian's foes, Upon this passage we have only to remark that according to our And men of ill aspect," &c. view, it would have required much more "skill and experience" to The ballad consists of twenty-four similar stanzas; of Marlowe's write a new play, than merely to make additions to the speeches or,The ballad consists of twenty-four similar stanzas; w s of an old one. dea~th the author th-us writes: 7 11 His sugar'd sonnets" were handed about " among his private " His lust was lawlesse as his life, friends " many years before they were printed: Francis Meres menAnd brought about his death, tions them in the words we have quoted, in 1598. xxxii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEAIE. anterior to Shakespeare's quitting Stratford'. It bears all exhibited the wantonness of lawless passion in " Venus and the marks of youthful vigour, of strong passion, of luxuriant Adonis," he followed it by the exaltation of matron-like imagination, together with a force and originality of ex- chastity in "Lucrece;" and there is,, we think, nothing in the pression which betoken the first efforts of a great mind, not latter poem which a young man of one or two and twenty, always well regulated in its taste: it seems to have been I so endowed, might not have written. Neither is it at all written in the open air of a fine country like Warwickshire, impossible that he had done something in connexion with with all the freshness of the recent impression of natural the stage while he was yet resident in his native town, and objects; and we will go so far as to say, that we do not before he had made up his mind to quit it. If his " inclinathink even Shakespeare himself could have produced it, in tion for poetry and acting," to repeat Aubrey's words, were the form it bears, after he had reached the age of forty. It so strong, it may have led. him to have both written and was quite new in its class, being founded upon no model, acted. He may have contributed temporary prologues or either ancient or modern: nothing like it had been attempted epilogues, and without supposing him yet to have possessed before, and nothing comparable to it was prodaced after- any extraordinary art as a dramatist —only to be acquired wards2. Thus in 1593 he might call it, in the dedication to by practice,-he may have inserted speeches and occasional Lord Southampton, "the first heir of his invention " in a passages in older plays: he may even have assisted some double sense, not merely because it was the first printed, of the companies in getting up, and performing the dramas but because it was the first written of his productions. they represented in or near Stratford4. We own that this The information we now possess enables us at once to conjecture appears to us at least plausible, and the Lord reject the story, against the truth of which Malone elabo- Chamberlain's servants (known as the Earl of Leicester's rately argued, that Shakespeare's earliest employment at a players until 1587) may have experienced his utility in theatre was holding the horses of noblemen and gentlemen both departments, and may have held out strong inducewho visited it, and that he had under him a number of lads ments to so promising a novice to continue his assistance by who were known as "Shakespeare's boys." Shiels in his accompanying them to London. " Lives of the Poets," (published in 1753 in the namne of What we have here said seems a natural and easy way Gibber) was the first to give currency to this idle inven- of accounting for Shakespeare's station as a sharer at the tion: it was repeated by Dr. Johnson, and has often been Blackfriars theatre in 1589, about three years after we supreiterated since; and we should hardly have thought it pose him to have finally adopted the profession of an actor, worth notice now, if it had not found a place in many modern and to have come to London for the purpose of pursuing it. accounts of our great dramatist'. The company to which he attached himself had not unfrequently performed in Stratford, and at that date the Queen's Players and the Lord Chamberlain's servants seem sometimes to have been CHAPTER VII confounded in the provinces, although the difference was well understood in London; some of the chief members The earliest allusion to Shakespeare in Spenser's c" Tears of of it had come from his own part of the country, and even the Muses," 1591. Proofs of its applicability-What from the very town in which he was born; and he was not Shakespeare had probably by this date written-Edmund in a station of life, nor so destitute of means and friends, as Spenser of Kingsbnry, Warwickshire. No other dramatist to have been~reduced to such an extremity. of the time merited the character given by Spenser. Greene Besides having written "Venus and Adonis" before he Kyd, Lodge, Peele, Malowe and Lyly, and teir several claims: that of Lyly supported by Malone. Temporary came to London, Shakespeare may also have composed its cessation of dramatic performances in London. Prevalence counterpart, "Lucrece," which, as our readers are aware, of the Plague in 1592. Probability or improbability that first appeared in print in 1594. It is in a different stanza, Shakespeare went to Italy. and in some respects in a different style; and after he joined the Blackfriars company, the author may possibly have WE come now to the earliest known allusion to Shakespeare added parts, (such, for instance, as the long and minute de- as a dramatist; and although his surname is not given, we scription of the siege of Troy in the tapestry) which indi- apprehend that there can be no hesitation in applying what cate a closer acquaintance with the modes and habit.s of is said to him: it is contained in Spenser's " Tears of the society; but even here no knowledge is displayed that Muses," a poem printed in 15915. The application of the might not have been acquired in Warwickslire. As he had passage to Shakespeare has been much contested, but the 1 Malone was of opinion that "Venus and Adonis" was not writ- fraudulent reprint, which also contains various pieces to which, it is ten until after Shakespeare came to London, because in one stanza kInown, Beaumont had no pretensions. To afford the better means of it contains an allusion to the stage, comparison, and as we know of only one copy of the edition of 1602, "And all this dumb play had his acts made plain we subjoin the title-page prefixed to it: Salmasis and Hermaphroditus. With tears, which, ch/orus-like, her eyes did drain." Salmacida spolia sine sanemruie et sudore. Imprinted at London foi Surely, such a passage might have been written by a person who had John Hodgets, &c. 1602." 4to. never seen a play in Ladhn, ar even seen na plaby at all. The stage- It is almost to be wondered that the getters up of this piece of nowledge it display i odo, or eve sees merely that of a schooplay at all. The stage- information did not support it by reference to Shakespeare's obvious Knowledge it displays is merely that of a schoolboy. 2 The work that comes nearest to it, in some respects, is Marlowe's knowledge of horses and horsemanship, displayed in so many parts Hero and Leander;" but it was not printed until 159. and althouh of his works. The description of the horse in " Venus and Adonis " its author was killed in 1593, he may have seen Shakespeare's e- will at once occur to every body; and how much it was admired at the time is evident from the fact, that it was plagiarised so soon after nus.and Adonis" in manuscript: it is quite as probable, as that it was published. (See the Inct, that it s plaarisd s o soon after Shakespeare had seen "Hero and Leander" before it was print ed. (see the Introduction.) For his judgment of Marston's "Pygmalion's Image," published five years after Yenu skill in riding, among other passages, see his account of Lamord's and Adonis," is a gross exaggeration of its style; and Barkstead's horsemanship in Hamlete" The propagators and supporters of "'Myrrha the Mother of Adonis " is a poor and coarse imitation: the horse-holdin anecdote ought to have added, that Shalespeare same poet's "iren, or the Fair Greek," is of a similar character. probably derived his minute and accurate acquaintance with the Shirley's "Narcissus," which mst have been written manyyearssubject from his early observation of the skill of the English nobility Shirley's "Nsccssus," hich mnathavk been ritten may ye- d gentry, after they had remounted at the p o. afterwards, is a production of the same class as Marston's " Pyg and after they had remounted at the play-hous door lion," but in better taste. The poem called' Salmasis and Herma- "But chiefly skill to ride seems a science phroditus," first printed in 1602. and assigned to Francis Beaumont Proper to gentle blood."-Spenser's F. Q(. b. ii. c. 4. in 1640, when it was republished by Blaicklock the bookseller, we do 4 We have already stated that although in 1586 only one unnot believe to have been the authorship of Beaumont, and it is rather named company performed in Stratford, in the very next year an imitation of "Hero and Leander " than of " Venus and Adonis." (that in which we have supposed Shakespeare to have become a reguAt the date when it originally came out (1602) Beaumont was only lar actor) five companies were entertained in the borough: one of sixteen, and the first edition has no name nor initials to the address these consisted of the players of the Earl of Leicester, to whom the "To Calliope," to which Blaicklock in 1640, for his own book-selling Blackfriars theatre belonged; and it is very possible that Shakespeare purposes, thought fit to add the letters F. B. In the same way, and at that date exhibited before his fellow-townsmen in his new prowith the same object, he changed the initials to a commenda.tory fessional capacity. Before this time his performances at Stratford poem from A. F. to I. F., in order to make it appear as if John may have been merely of an amateur description. It is, at all events, Fletcher had applauded his friend's early verses. These are facts a striking circumstance, that in 1586 only one company performed, that hitherto have escaped observation, perhaps, on account of the and that in 1587 such extraordinary encouragement was given to extreme rarity of copies of the original impression of " Salmasis and theatricals in Stratford. Hermaphroditus," preventing a comparison of it with Blaicklock's s Malone (Shakspeare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 163) says that Spen 'THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SIHAKESPEARE. xxxiii difficulty in our mind is, how the lines are to be explained we feel assured that he had not composed any of his greatby reference to any other dramatist of the time, even-sup- est works before 1591, he may have done much, besides posing, as we have supposed and believe, that our great what has come down to us, amply to warrant Spenser in poet was at this period only rising into notice as a writer for applauding him beyond all his theatrical contemporaries. the stage. We will first quote the lines, literatim as they His earliest printed plays, " Romeo and Juliet," " Richard stand in the edition of 1591, and afterwards say something II.," and "Richard III.," bear date in 1597; but it is indisof the claims of others to the distinction they confer. putable that he had at that timewritten considerably more, and part of what he had so written is contained in the folio " And he the man, whom Nature selfe had made of 1623, never having made its appearance in any earlier To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate, form. When Ben Jonson published the large volume of With kindly counter under Mlimick shade, his "Works" in 16161, he excluded several comedies in Ou W ith w m all joy ally is dead of latet which he had been aided by other poets2, and re-wrote part Is also deaded, and in dolour dmrent. of "Sejanus," because, as is supposed, Shakespeare, (who als dead, a ile rt performed in it, and whom Jonson terms a " happy genius,") c"In steacd thereof scoffinge iScnrrilitie, cphad assisted him in the composition of the tragedy as it Ali scorifnll Follic witof h contempt is crept, was originally acted. The player-editors of the folio of Rolling in rymes of shameless ribaudrie, Without regard or due Decorum kept: Shakespeare's "Comedies, Tragedies, and Histories," in Each idle wit ait will presumes to make, 1623, may have thought it right to pursue the same course, And doth the Learned's taske upon him take. excepting in the case of the three parts of " Henry VI.:" " But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen the poet, or poets, who had contributed to these histories Large streames of hbnnie and sweete Nectar flowe, (perhaps Marlowe and Greene) had been then dead thirty Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men, years; but with respect to other pieces, persons still living, Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe, whether authors or booksellers, might have joint claims Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, upon them, and hence their exclusion3. We only put this Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell." as a possible circumstance; but we are persuaded that The most strikin of these lines, with reference to or Shakespeare, early in his theatrical life, must have written The most siking of these lines, with reference to our much, in the way of revivals, alterations, or joint producpresent inquiry, is, tions with other poets, which has been forever lost. We "Our pleasant Willy, ah! is dead of late;" here, as before, conclude that none of his greatest original and hence, if it stood alone, we might infer that Willy, who- dramatic productions had come from his pen; but if in 1591 ever he might be, was actually dead; but the latter parthe had only brought out "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" of the third stanza we have quoted shows us in what sense and " Love's Labour's Lost," they are so infinitely superior the word "dead " is to be understood: Willy was "dead" to the best works of his predecessors, that the justice of the as far as regarded the admirable dramatic talents he had tribute paid by Spenser to his genius would at once be ad already displayed, which had enabled him, even before mitted. At all events, if before 1591 hehad not aceom 1591, to outstrip all living rivalry, and to afford the most plished, by any means, all that he was capable of, he had certain indications of the still greater things Spenser saw he given the clearest indications of high genius, abundantly would accomplish: he was i' dead," because he sufficient to justify the anticipation of Spenser, that he was a man "Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, Than so himselfe to mnockerie to sell." "whom Nature's selfe had made To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate:" It is to be borne in mind that these stanzas, and six others, are put into the mouth of Thalia, whose lamenta- a passage which in itself admirably comprises, and comtion on the degeneracy of the stage, especially in comedy, presses nearly all the excellences of which dramatic poetry follows those of Calliope and Melpomene. Rowe, under is susceptible-the mockery of nature, and the imitation of the impression that the whole passage referred to Shake- truth. speare, introduced it into his " Life," in his first edition of Another point not hitherto noticed, because not hitherto 1709, but silently withdrew it in his second edition of 1714: known, is, that there is some little ground for thinking, that his reason, perhaps, was that he did not see how, before Spenser, if not a Warwickshire man, was at one time resi1591, Shakespeare could have shown that he merited the dent in Warwickshire, and later in life he may have become character given of him and his productions- acquainted with Shakespeare. His birth had been conjec"And bhe the man, whom Nature selfe had made turally placed in 15534, and on the authority of some lines To h ock her selfeh and ruth to isitate." in his " Prothalamion " it has been supposed that he was To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate.n born in London: East Smithfield, near the Tower, hat also Spenser knew what the object of his eulogy was capable been fixed upon as the part of the town where he first of doing, as well, perhaps, as what he had done; and we drew breath; but the parish registers in that neighbourhave established that more than a year before the publica- hood have been searched in vain for a record of the event5. tion of these lines, Shakespeare had risen to be a distin- An Edmund Spenser unquestionably dwelt at Kingsbury, guished member of the Lord Chamberlain's company, and in Warwickshire, in 1569, which was the year when the a sharer in the undertaking at the Blackfriars. Although author of " The Faerie Queene " went to Cambridge, and ser's " Tears of the Muses " was published in 1590, but the volume elsewhere. We believe that he was concerned in " The Yorkshire in which it first appeared bears date in 1591. It was printed with Tragedy," and that he may have contributed some parts of " Arden some other pieces under the title of " Complaints. Containing sun- of Feversham;" but in spite of the ingenious letter, published at drie small Poems of the Worlds Vanitie. Whereof the next Page Edinburgh in 1833, we do not think that he aided Fletcher in writmaketh mention. By Ed. Sp. London. Imprinted for William ing " The Two Noble Kinsmen," and there is not a single passage Ponsonbie, &c. 1591." It will be evident from what follows in our in "The Birth of Merlin" which is worthy of his most careless motext, that a year is of considerable importance to the question. ments. Of " The first part of Sir John Oldcastle " we have else1 Perhaps it was printed off before his "Bartholemew Fair" was where spoken; and several other supposititious dramas in the folio acted in 1614; or perhaps: the comedy being a new one, Ben Jonson of 1664, which certainly would have done little credit to Shakedid not think he had a right to publish it to the detriment of the speare, have also been ascertained to be the work of other dramatists. company (the servants of the Princess Elizabeth) by whom it had 4 This date has always appeared to us too late, recollecting that been purchased, and produced. Spenser wrote some blank-verse sonnets, prefixed to Vandernoodt's 2 Such as " The Widow," written soon after 1613, in which he was " Theatre for Worldlings," printed in 1569. If he were born in assisted by Fetcher and Middleton;:' The Case is Altered," printed 1553, in 1569 he was only in his sixteenth year, and the sonnets to in 1609, in which his coadjutors are not known; and "Eastward which we refer do not read like the productions of a very young man. Ho!" published in 1607, in which he was joined by Chapman and 5 Chalmers was a very dilligent inquirer into such matters, and he Marston: this last play exposed the authors to great danger of pun- could discover no entry of the kind. See his " Supplemental Apolishment. ogy," p. 22. Subsequent investigations, instituted with reference 3 We are not to be understood as according in the ascription to to this question, have led to the same result. Oldys is responsible Shakespeare of various plays imputed to him in the folio of 1664, and for the statement.'_ __ __ __ __ ______________________________________.___________________________________ — — ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~77 xxxiv THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. was admitted a sizer at Pembroke College. The fact that the extreme to which he has gone in his "Tears of the Edmund Spenser (a rather unusual combination of names') Muses." If Malone had wished to point out a dramatist of was an inhabitant of Kingsbury in 1569 is established by that day to whom the words of Spenser could by no possithe muster-book of Warwickshire, preserved in the state- bility fitly apply, he could not have made a better choice paper office, to which we have before had occasion to refer, than when he fixed upon Lyly. However, he labours the but it does not give the ages of the parties. This Edmund contrary position with great pertinacity and considerable Spenser may possibly have been the father of the poet, ingenuity, and it is extraordinary how a man of much read(whose Christian name is no where recorded) and if it were ing, and of sound judgment upon many points of literary the one or the other, it seems to afford a link of connexion, discussion, could impose upon himself and be led so far however slight, between Spenser and Shakespeare, of which from the truth, by the desire to establish a novelty. At all we have had no previous knowledge. Spenser was at least events, he might have contented himself with an endeavour eleven years older than Shakespeare, but their early resi- to prove the negative as regards Shakespeare, without going dence in the same part of the kingdom may have given the strange length of attempting to make out the aflirmarise to an intimacy afterwards2: Spenser must have appre- tive as regards Lyly. ciated and admired the genius of Shakespeare, and the an- We do not for an instant admit the right of any of Shakethor of "The Tears of the Muses," at the age of thirty- speare's predecessors or contemporaries to the tribute of seven, may have paid a merited tribute to his young fiiend Spenser; but Malone might have made out a case for any of twenty-six. of them with more plausibility than for Lyly. Greene was The Edmund Spenser of Kingsbury may have been en- a writer of fertile fancy, but choked and smothered by the tirely a different person, of a distinct family, and perhapss overlaying of scholastic learning: Kyd was a man of strong we are disposed to lay too much stress upon a mere coinci- natural parts, and a composer of vigorous lines: Lodge was a deuce of names; but we may be forgiven for clinging to poet of genius, though not in the department of the drama: the conjecture that he may have been the author of " The Peele had an elegant mind, and was a smooth and agreeaFaerie Queene," and that the greatest romantic poet of this ble versifier; while Marlowe was gifted with a soaring and country was upon terms of friendship and cordiality with a daring spirit, though unchecked by a well-regulated taste: the greatest dramatist of the world. This circumstance, but all had more nature in their dramas than Lyly, who with which we were unacquainted when we wrote the In- generally chose classical or mythological subjects, and dealt troduction to "A Midsummer-Night's Dream," may appear with those subjects with a wearisome monotony of style, to give new point, and a more certain application, to the with thoughts quaint, conceited, and violent, and witlh an well-remembered lines of that drama (Act v. se. i.) in which utter absence of force and distinctness in his characterizaShakespeare has been supposed to refer to the death of tion. Spenser0, and which may have been a subsequent insertion, It is not necessary to enter farther into this part of the for the sake of repaying by one poet a debt of gratitude to question, because, we think, it is now established that Spenthe other. ser's lines might apply to Shakespeare as regards the date Without taking into consideration what may have been of their publication, and indisputably applied with most lost, if we are asked what we think it likely that Shake- felicitous exactness to the works he has left behind him. speare had written in and before 1591, we should answer, With regard to the lines which state, that Willy that he had altered and added to three parts of "Henry Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, VI.," that he had written, or aided in writing, " Titus Andronicus," that he had revived and amended " The Comedy of Errors," and that he had composed " The Two Gentle- we have already shown that in 1589 there must have been men of Verona," and "Love's Labour's Lost." Thus, look- some compulsory cessation of theatrical performances, ing only at his extant works, vwe see that the eulogy of which affected not only offending, but unoffeunding compaSpenser was well warranted by the plays Shakespeare, at nies: hence the certificate, or more properly remonstrance, that early date, had produced. of the sixteen sharers in the Blackfriars. The choir-boys If the evidence upon this point were even more scanty, of St. Paul's were silenced for bringing " matters of state we should be convinced that by " our pleasant Willy," Spen- and religion " on their stage, when they introduced Martin ser meant William Shakespeare, by the fact that such a Mar-prelate into one of their dramas: and the players of character as he gives could belong to no other dramatist of the Lord Admiral and Lord Strange were prohibited from the time. Greene can have no pretensions to it, nor Lodge, acting, as far as we can learn, on a similar ground. The innor Kyd, nor Peele; Marlowe had never touched comedy: terdiction of performances by the children of Paul's was but if these have no title to the praise that they had mocked persevered in for about ten years; and although the public nature and imitated truth, the claim put in by Malone for companies (after the completion of some inquiries by comLyly is little short of absurd. Lyly was, beyond dispute, missioners specially appointed) were allowed again to folthe most artificial and affected writer of his day: his low their vocation, there can be no doubt that there was a dramas have nothing like nature or truth in them; and if it temporary suspension of all theatrical exhibitions in Loncould be established that Spenser and Lyly were on the don. This suspension commenced a short time before most intimate footing, even the exaggerate admiration of Spenser wrote his "Tears of the Muses," in which he the fondest friendship could hardly have carried Spenser to notices the silence of Shakespeare. 1 And belonging to no other family at that time, as far as our re- epigram, attributed to Spenser, may have been occasioned by the searches have extended. It has been too hastily concluded that the obstruction by the Lord Treasurer of some additional proof of the Spenser whom Turberville addressed from Russia, in some epistles queen's admiration for the author of "The Faerie Queene.' Fuller printed at the end of his " Tralgical Tales," 1587, was not the poet. first published the anecdote in his " Worthies," 1662; but sixty years Taking Wood's representation, that these letters were written as earlier, and within a very short time after the death of Spenser, the early as 1569, it is still very possible that the author of " The Faerie story was current, for we find the lines in Manningham's Diary, Queene " was the person to whom they werme sent: he was a very (Harl. MS. 5353) under the date of May 4, 1602: they are thus introyoung man, it is true, but perhaps not quite so young as has been duced: imagined.' " When her Majesty had given order that Spenser should have a 2 Nobody has been able even to speculate where Spenser was at reward for his poems, but Spenser could have nothing, he presented school;-possibly at. Kingsbury. Drayton was also a Warwickshire her with these verses: man. "It pleased your Grace upon a time 3 Differences of opinion, founded upon discordances of contempo- To grant me reason for my rhyme; raneous, or nearly contemporaneous, representations, have prevailed But from that time until this season. respecting the extreme poverty of Spenser at the time of his death. I heard of neither rhyme nor reason." There is no doubt that he had a pension of 501. a year (at least 2501. of our present money) from the royal bounty, which probably he The wording differs slightly from Fuller's copy. We add the folreceived to the last. At the same time we think there is much plau- lowing epigram upon the death of Spenser, also on the authority of sibihsty in the story that Lord Burghley stood in the way of some Manningham:- special pecuniary gift from Elizabeth. The Rev. H. J. Todd disbe- " In Spenserum. lieves it,' and in his " Life of Spenser " calls it " a calumny," on the" Famous alive, and dead, here is the odds; foundation of the pension, without considering, perhaps, that the Then god of poets, now poet of the gods." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxxv We have no means of ascertaining how long the order, gone there without having left behind him any distinct inhibiting theatrical performances generally, was persevered record of the fact. At the date to -which we are now adin; but the plague broke out in London in 1592, and in the verting he might certainly have had a convenient opportuautumn of the year, when the number of deaths was great- nity for doing so, in consequence of the temporary prohibiest, "the Queen's players'," in their progress round the tion of dramatic performances in London. country, whither they wandered when thus prevented from acting in the metropolis, performed at Chesterton, near Cambridge, to the great annoyance of the heads of the university. CHAPTER VIII. It was at this juncture, probably, if indeed he ever were in that country, that Shakespeare visited Italy. Mr. C. Death of Robert Greene in 1592, and publication of his Armitage Brown, in his very clever, and in many respects "Groatsworth of Wit," by H. Chettle. Greene's address original work, "Shakespeare's Autobiographical Poems," to Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, and his envious mention of has maintained the affirmative with great confidence, and has Shakespeare. Shakespeare offence at Chettle, and the apology of the latter in his " Kind-heart's Dream." The brought into one view all the internal evidence afforded by arology of the latter n hes Kind-heartc lream." The y character of Shakespeare there given. Second allusion by the productions of our great dramatist. External evidence Spenser to Shakespeare in" Colin Clout's come home there is none, since not even a tradition of such a journey again," 1594. The "gentle Shakespeare." Change in the has descended to us. We own that the internal evidence, character of his composition between 1591 and 1594: his in bur estimation, is by no means as strong as it appeared "Richard II." and "R ichard III." to Mr. Brown, who has evinced great ingenuity and, ability in the conduct of his case, and has made as much as possi- DURING the prevalence of the infectious malady of 1592, ble of his proofs. He dwells, among other things, upon the although not in consequence of it, died one of the most nofact, that there were no contemporaneous translations of the torious and distinguished of the literary men of the time,tales on which "The Merchant of Venice" and "Othello" Robert Greene. He expired on the 3d of September, 1592, are founded; but Shakespeare may have understood as and left behind him a work purporting to have been writmuch Italian as answered his purpose without having gone ten during his last illness: it was published a few months to Venice. For the same reason we lay no stress upon. the afterwards by Henry Chettle, a fellow dramatist, under the recently-discovered fact, (not known when Mr. Brown title of "A Groatsworth of Wit, bought with a Million of wrote) that Shakespeare constructed his "Twelfth Night" Repentance," bearing the date of 1592, and preceded by an with the aid of one or two Italian comedies; they may address from Greene "To those Gentlemen, his quondam have found their way into England, and he may have read acquaintance, who spend their wits in making Plays." Here them in the original language. That Shakespeare was ca- we meet with the second notice of Shakespeare, not indeed pable of translating Italian sufficiently for his own pur- by name, but with such a near approach to it, that nobody poses, we are morally certain; but we think that if he had can entertain a moment's doubt that he was intended. It travelled to Venice, Verona, or Florence, we should have is necessary to quote the whole passage, and to observe, had more distinct and positive testimony of the fact in his before we do. so, that Greene is addressing himself particuworks than can be adduced from them. larly to Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, and urging them to Other authors of the time have left such evidence behind break off all connexion with players4:-" Base minded men them as cannot be disputed. Lyly tells us so distinctly in all three of you, if by my misery ye be not warned; for more than one of his pieces, and Rich informs us that he unto none of you, like me, sought those burs to cleave; became acquainted with the novels he translated on the those puppets, I mean, that speak from our mouths, those other side of the Alps: Daniel goes the length of letting anticks garnished in our colours. Is it not strange that I, us know where certain of his sonnets were composed: to whom they all have been beholding; is it not like that Lodge wrote some of his tracts abroad: Nash gives us the you, to whom they have all been beholding, shall (were ye places where he met particular persons; and his friend in that case that I am now) be both of them at once forGreene admits his obligations to Italy and Spain, whither saken? Yes, trust them not; for there is an upstart crow, he had travelled early in life in pursuit of'letters. In truth, beautified with oure feathers, that with his Tiger's heart at that period and afterwards, there seems to have been a wrapp'd in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able prevailing rage for foreign travel, and it extended itself to to bombast our blank-verse, as the best of you: and, being mere actors, as well as to poets; for we mknow that William an absolute Johannes Fac-totson, is, in his own conceit, Kempe was in Rome in 1601', during the interval between the only Shake-scene in a country. 0! that I might enthe time when, for some unexplained reason, he quitted the treat your rare wits to be employed in more profitable company of the Lord Chamberlain's players, and joined courses, and let these apes imitate your past excellence, that of the Lord Admiral'. Although we do not believe and never more acquaint them with your admired inventhat Shakespeare ever was in Italy, we admit that we are tions." without evidence to prove a negative; and he may have The chief and obvious purpose of this address is to inI They consisted of the company under the leadership of Lawrence register of St. Saviour's, Southwark, Chalmers found an entry, dated iButton, one of the two associations acting at this period under the Nov. 2, 1603, of the burial of " William Kempe, a man." There Queen's name. Both were unconnected with the Lord Chamber- were doubtless many men of the common names of William Kempe; lain's servants. and the William Kempe, who had acted Dogberry, Peter, &c., was 2 See Mr. Halliwell's " Ludus Coventris" (printed for the Shake- certainly alive in 1605, and had by that date rejoined the Lord Chamspeare Society), p. 410. Rowley, in his " Search for Money," speaks berlain's servantes, then called " the King's players." The followof this expedition by Kempe, who, it seems, had wagered a certain ing unnoticed memoranda relating to him are extracted from Henssum of money that he would go to Rome and back in a given num- lowe's Diary: her of days. In the introduction to the reprint of that rare tract by "Lent unto Wm Kempe, the 10 of Marche, 1602, in redy mony, the Percy Society, it is shown that Kempe also danced a morris in twentye shillinges for his necesary uses, the some of xxs. France. These circumstances were unknown to the Rev. A. Dyce, "Lent unto W/1 Kempe, the 22 of Auguste, 1602, to buye buckwhen he superintended a republication of Kempe's "Nine Days' ram to make a payer of gyentes hosse, the some of vs. Wonder," 1600, for the Camden Society. Pd unto the tyerman for mackynge of Wm Kempe's sewt, and 3 It is a new fact that Kempe at any time quitted the company the boyes, the 4 Septembr 1602, some of viiji. 8.'" playing at the Blackfriars and Globe theatres: it is however indis- 4-We have some doubts of the authenticity of the "Groatsworth putable, and we have it on the authority of Henslowe's Diary, where of Wit," as a work by Greene. Chettle was a needy dramatist, and payments are recorded to Kempe, and where entries are also made for possibly wrote it in order to avail himself of the high popularity of the expenses of dresses supplied to him in 1602. These memoranda Greene, then just dead. Falling into some discredit, in consequence Malone overlooked, when the MS., belonging to Dulwich College, of the publication of it, Chettle re-asserted that it was by Greene, -was in his hands; but they maybe very important with reference but he admitted that the manuscript from which it was printed was to the dates of some of Shakespeare's plays, and the particular actors in his own hand-writing: this circumstance he explained by stating engaged in them: they also account for the non-appearance of that Greene's copy was so illegible that he was obliged to transcribe Kempe's name in the royal license granted in May, 1603, to the corn- it: "it was ill-written, says Chettle, "as Greene's hand was none pany to which he had belonged. Mr. Dyce attributes the omission of the best " and therefore he re-wrote it. of Kempe's. name in that instrument to his death, because, in the xxxvi THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. duce Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele to cease to write for the made no apology, while to Shakespeare he offered all the stage; anid, in the course of his exhortation, Greene bitterly amends in his power. inveighs against " an wpstart crow," who had availed him- His apology to Shakespeare is contained in a tract called self of the dramatic labours of others, who imagined him- "Kind-heart's Dream," which was published without date, self able to write as good blank-verse as any of his con- but as Greene expired on 3d September, 1592, and Chettle temporaries, who was a Johannes Fac-totum, and who, in tells us in "Kind-heart's Dream," that Greene died " about his own opinion, was " the only SIiAKE-SCENE in a country." three months" before, it is certain that " Kind-heart's All this is clearly levelled at Shakespeare, under the pur- Dream " came out prior to the end of 1592, as we now calposely-perverted name of Shake-scene, and the words, culate the year, and about three months before it expired, "Tiger's heart wrapp'd in a player's hide," are a parody according to the reckoning of that period. The whole pasupon a line in a historical play, (most likely by Greene) sage relating to Marlowe and Shakespeare is highly inter"0, tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide," from which esting, and we therefore extract it entire.Shakespeare had taken his "Henry VI." part iii.' From hence it is evident that Shakespeare, near the end. "About three.months since died M. Robert Greene, leavof 1592, had established such a reputation, and was so mm- ing many papers in sundry booksellers' hands: among others of 1592, had established such a reputation, and was so im- is Groatsworth of Wit, in which a letter, written to divers portant a rival of the dramatists, who, until he came for- play-makers, is offensively by one or two of them taken; and ward, had kept undisputed possession of the stage, as to ex- because on the dead they cannot be avenged, they wilfully cite the envy and enmity of Greene, even during his last and forge in their conceits a living- author, and after tossing it to fatal illness. It also, we think, establishes another point not and fro, no remedy but it must light on me. How I have, all hitherto adverted to, viz. that our great poet possessed such the time of my conversing in printing, hindered the bitter invariety of talent, that, for the purposes of the company of veighing against scholars, it hath been very well known: and which he was a member, he could do anything that he how in that I dealt, I can sufficiently prove. With neither might e called upon to perfom: he was the Joannes Fc- of them, that take offence, was I acquainted; and with one totu of the association: he was an actor, and he was a f therm [Marlowe] I care not if I never be: the other, [Shakemgtzs~nf be alled upon ation: perform: r he was annes,.,[ totu ofthe association he was an actor, and he was aspeare] whom at that time I did not so much spare, as since I writer of original plays, an adapter and improver of those wish I had, for that as I have moderated the& heat of living already in existence, (some of them by Greene, Marlowe, writers, and might have used my own discretion (especially Lodge, or Peele) and no doubt he contributed prologues or in such a case, the author being dead) that I did not I am as epilogues, and inserted scenes, speeches or passages on any sorry as if the original fault had been my fault; because mytemporary emergency. Having' his ready assistance, the self have seen his demeanour no less civil, than he excellent Lord Chamberlain's servants required few other contribu-n the quality he professes: besides, divers of worship have Lord Chaiberlain's servants required few other contribu- reported his uprightness of dealing, which ru'gues his h[~nestv, tions from rival dramatists2: Shakespeare was the Johan- repo tiens fiom rival d atists2: Skespere as the jhan- and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art. For nes Fac-totum who could turn his hand to any thing con- the first, [Marlowe] whose learning I reverience, and at the nected with his profession, and who, in all probability, had perusing of Greene's book struck out what then in conscience thrown men like Greene, Lodge, and Peele, and even Mar- I thought he in some displeasure writ, or had it been true, lowe himself, into the shade. In our view, therefore, the yet to publish it was intolerable, him I would wish to use nme quotation we have made fi:om the " Groatsworth of Wit" no worse than I deserve." proves more than has been usually collected from it. It was natural and proper that Shakespeare should take The accusation of Greene against Marlowe had reference offence at this gross and public attack: that he did there is to the freedom of his religious opinions, of which it is not no doubt, for we are told so by Chettle himself, the avowed necessary here to say more: the attack upon Shakespeare editor of the " Groatsworth of Wit:" he does not indeed we have already inserted and observed upon. In Chettle's mention Shakespeare, but he designates him so intelligibly apology to the latter, one of the most noticeable points is that there is no room for dispute. Marlowe, also, and not the tribute he pays to our great dramatist's abilities as an without reason, complained of the manner in which Greene actor, " his demeanour no less civil, than he excellent in had spoken of him in the same work, but to him Chettle the quality he professes:" the word " quality " was applied, at that date, peculiarly and technically to acting, and the 1 See this point more fully illustrated in the Introduction to "quality" Shakespeare " professed" was that of an actor. "Henry VI." part iii. " His facetious grace in writing8" is separately adverted to, 2 At this date Peele had relinquished his connection with the com- and admitted, while "his uprightness of dealing" is attested, pany'-occupying the Blackfriars theatre. to which as will be remembered, he was attached in 1589. How far the rising genius of Shake- not only by Chettle's own experience, but by the evidence of speare, and his increased utility and importance, had contributed to "divers of worship." Thus the amends made to Shakethe withdrawal of Peele, and to his junction with the rival associa- speare for the envious assault of Greene shows most dccition acting under the name of the Lord Admiral, it is impossible to determine. We have previously adverted to this point. sively the high opinion entertained of him, towards the 3 There were not separate impressions of "Kind-heart's Dream" close of 1592, as an actor, an author, and a man4. in 1592, but the only three copies known vary in some minute par- We have already inserted Spenser's warm, but not less ticulars: thus, with reference to these words, one impression at Ox- judicious and well-merited euloiu of in ford reads, "his fatious- grace in writing," and the other, correctly, as Shakespeare we have given it. "Kind-heart's Dream" has been re-printed, by 1591, when in his" Tears of the Muses " he addresses him the Percy Society, from the third copy in the King's Library at the as Willy, and designates him British Museum. 4 More than ten years afterwards, Chettle paid another tribute tothat sae entle spirit, from whose pe Shakespeare, under the name of Melicert, in his " England's Mourning Garment:" the author is reproaching the leading poets of the Large streames of honie and sweete nectar fowe." day, Daniel, Warner, Chapman, Jonson, Drayton, Sackville, Dekker, &c., for not writing in honour of Queen Elizabeth, who was just If we were to trust printed dates, it would seem that in dead: he thus addresses Shakespeare:-the same year the author of "The Faerie Queene" gave "Nor doth the silver-tongued Melicert another proof of his admiration of our great dramatist: Drop from his honied Muse one sable tear, we allude to a passage in " Colin Clout's come home again," To mourn her death that graced his desert, which was published with a dedication dated 27th DecemAnd to his lays open'd her royal ear. Shepherd, remember our Elizaboth, her, 1591; but Malone proved, beyond all cavil, that for And sing her Rape, done by that Tarquin death." 1591 we ought to read 1594, the printer having made an exThis passage is important, with reference to the Royal encourage- traordinary blunder. In that poem (after the author has ment given to Shakespeare, in consequence of the approbation of his spoken of many living and dead poets, some by their names, plays at Court: Elizabeth had " graced his desert," and " open'd her as Alabaster and Daniel, and others by fictitious and fanciroyal ear" to' his lays." Chettle did not long survive the publica- f appellations he inserts these lines tion of " England's Mourning Garment " in 1603: he was dead in 1607, as he is spoken of in Dekker's " Knight's Conjuring," of that year, (there is.n impression also without date, and possibly a few 5 Malone, with a good deal of research and patience, goes over all months earlier) as a very corpulent ghost in the Elysian Fields. He the pseudo-names in " Colin Clout's come home again," applyinhad been originally a printer, then became a bookseller, and, finally, each to poets of the time; but how uncertain and unsatisfactory any a pamphleteer and dramatist. He was, in various degrees, concerned attempt of the kind must necessarily be may be illustrated in a in about forty plays. single instance. Malone refers the following lines to Arthur Golding: THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxxvii " And there, though last not least, is Eftion; A gentler shepherd may no where be found, PTR Whose Muse, full of high thought's invention, Dothb lile hirnself, heroically sound." Doth, like himself; heroically sound." The dramas written by Shakespeare up to 1594. New docnMalone takes unnecessary pains to establish that this pas- ments relating to his father, under the authority of Sir sage applies to Shakespeare, although he pertinaciously Thomas Lucy, Sir Fulk Greville, &c. Eecusants in Stratdenied that "our pleasant Willy" of "The Tears of the ford-upon-Avon. John Shakespeare employed to value Muses " was intended for him. We have no doubt on either the oods of H. Field. Publication of "Venus and Adopoint; and it is singular, that it should never have struck " durin t pl e in 15 Dediction of ian " Lucrece," 1594, to the Earl of Southampton. Bounty of Malone that the same epithet is given in both cases to the the Earl to Shakespeare, and coincidence between the date person addressed, and that epithet one which, at a subse- of the gift and the building of the Globe theatre on the quent date, almost constantly accompanied the name of Bankside. Probability of the story that Lord SouthampShakespeare. In " The Tears of the Muses" he is called a ton presented Shakespeare with 1000. " gentle spirit," and in " Colin Clout's come home again" we are told that, HAVING arrived at the year 1594, we may take this oppor" A gentler shepherd may no where b e found." tunity of stating which of Shakespeare's extant works, in A.nlrsehr".yowhe e foud our opinion, had by that date been produced. We have alIn the same feeling Ben Jonson calls him " my gentle Shake- ready mentioned the three parts of " Henry VI.," " Titus speare," in the noble copy of verses prefixed to the folio of Andronicus," " The Comedy of Errors," " The Two Gentle1623, so that ere long the term became peculiarly applied men of Verona," and " Love's Labour's Lost," as in being in to our great and amiable dramatist'. This coincidence of 1591; and in the interval between 1591 and 1594, we apexpression is another circumstance to establish that Spenser prehend, he had added to them " Richard II." and " Richard certainly had Shakespeare in his mind when he wrote his III." Of these, the four last were entirely the work of "Tears of the Muses'in 1591, and his " Colin Clout's come our great dramatist: in the others he more or less availed home again " in 1594. In the latter instance the whole de- himself of previous dramas, or possibly, of the assistance scription is nearly as appropriate as in the earlier, with the of contemporaries. addition of a line, which has a clear and obvious reference We must now return to Stratford-upon-Avon, in order to to the patronymic of our poet-: his Muse, says Spenser, advert to a very different subject. "Doth, like himself, heroically sound." A document has been recently discovered in the State These words alone may be taken to show, that between Paper Office, which is highly interesting with respect to These words alone may be taken to show, that between the religious tenets, or worldly circumstances, of Shake1591 and 1594 Shakespeare had somewhat changed the epeare's father in 15922. Sir Thomas Lucy, Sir Fulk Grecharacter of his compositions: Spenser having applauded lpeare Sr Ienr Goodere, Sir John Harrinton, and foure him, in his "Tears of the Muses," for unrivalled talents in e, i H eny Goodere, Sir John Haring to make in others, havm been a Pointed commissioners to mare in comedy, (a department of the drama to which Shakespeare ques "touching all such persons" as were "jesuits, semihad, perhaps, at that date especially, though not exclusively, ny priests, fugitie, or recusantes," in twe county of Wmr devoted himself) in his "Colin Clout" spoke of the " high nary priests, fugitives, or recusantes," in the county of War tdevoted himself) in his "Cohln Clout" spoke of the igh e wick, sent to the Privy Council what they call their "second thought's invention," which then filled Shakespeare's muse, certificate," on the 25th Sept. 15923. It is divided into and made her sound as "heroically" as his name. Of his different heads, according to the respective hundreds, pagenius, in a loftier strain of poetry than belonged to comedy, rishes, &c., and each page is signed by them. One of our great dramatist, by the year 1594, must have given these divisions applies to Stratford-upon-Avon, and the resome remarkable and undeniable proofs. In 1591 he had turn of names there is thus introducedperhaps written his Love's Labour's Lost and "Two Gentlemen of Verona;" but in 1594 he had, no doubt, pro- " The names of all sutch Recusantes as have bene heartoduced one or more of his great historical plays, his " Rich- fore presented for not cominge monethlie to the ard II." and " Richard III.," both of which, as before re- chuch, according to her Majesties lawes, and yet are marked, together with " Romeo and Juliet," came from the thought to forbeare the church for debt, and for feare press in 1597, though the last in a very mangled, imperfect, of rocesse, orfor someother worse faltes, or for age, si1Clrnes, or impotencie of bodie." and unauthentic state. One circumstance may be mentioned, as leading to the belief that " Richard III." was brought The names which are appended to this introduction are the out in 1594, viz. that in that year an impression of " The following:True Tragedy of Richard the Third," (an older play than "Mr. John Wheeler, illim Binton, that of Shakespeare) was published, that it might be John Wheeler, his son, Richard Harrington, bought under the notion that it was the new drama by the Mr. John Shackspere, William Flullen, most popular poet of the day, then in a course of repre- Mr. Nicholas Barneshurste, George Bardolphe4:" sentation. It is most probable that " Richard II." had been Thomas James, alias Gyles, composed before " Richard III.," and to either or both of themn the lines, and opposite to them, separated by a bracket, we read these words: — " Whose Muse, full of high thought's invention, e c n t c Doth, like himself, heroically sound," Doth, like himself, heroically sound," " It is sayd, that these last nine coome not to ch mche for feare of processe of debte." will abundantly apply. The difference in the character of Spenser's tributes to Shakespeare in 1591 and 1594 was oc- Here we find the name of" Mr. John Shakespeare" either casioned by the difference in the character of his produc- as a recusant, or as " forbearing the Church," on account of tions.'the fear of process for debt, or on account of " age, sickness, or impotency of body," mentioned in the introduction to'And there is old Palemon, free from spite, the document. The question is, to which cause we are to ehose careful pie mayt make the hearers rue; and with regard to process for debt, Yet he himself may rued be more right, Who sung so long, until quite hoarse he grew." The passage, in truth, applies to Thomas Churchyard, as he himself l In a passage we have already extracted from Ben Jonson's Disinforms us in his "Pleasant Discourse of Court and Wars," 1596: he coveries," he mentions Shakespeare's "gentle expressions;" but he complains of neglect, and tells us that the Court is is there perhaps rather referring to his style of composition. The platfor whereallpoetsthrie2 We have to express our best thanks to Mr. Lemon for directing our The platform where all poets thrive, attention to this manuscript, and for supplying us with an analysis Save one whose voice is hoarse, they say; of its contents. The stage, where time away we drive, 3 The first certificate has not been found in the State Paper Office, As children in a pageant play." after the most diligent search. In the same way we might show that Malone was mistaken as to 4 Hence we see that Shakespeare took two names in his "Henry other poets he supposes alluded to by Spenser; but it would lead us V." from persons who bore them in his native town. Awdrey was too far out of our way. No body has disputed, that by Etion, the also a female appellation known in Stratford, as appears elsewhere in author of " Colin Clout" meant Shakespeare. the same document. xxxviii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. we are to recollect that it could not be served on Sunday, recusants, and that they had been so prior to the date of so that apprehension of that kind need not have kept him the former return by the same official persons. away from church on the Sabbath. Neither was it likely In considering the subject of the faith of our poet's father, that his son, who was at this date profitably employed in we ought to put entirely out of view the paper upon.,'which London as an actor and author, and who three years before Dr. Drake lays some stress2; we mean the sort of religious was a sharer in the Blackfriars theatre, would have allowed will, or confession of faith, supposed to have been found, his father to continue so distressed for money, as not to be about the year 1770, concealed in the tiling of the house able to attend the usual place of divine worship'. There- John Shakespeare is conjectured to have inhabited. It was fore, although John Shakespeare was certainly in great pe- printed by Malone in 1790, but it obviously merits no atcuniary difficulties at the time his son William quitted tention, and there are many reasons for believing it to be Stratford, we altogether reject the notion that that son had spurious. Malone once looked upon it as authentic, but he permitted his father to live in comparative want, while he corrected his judgment respecting it afterwards. himself possessed more than competence. Upon the new matter we have here been able to pro"Age, sickness, ancl hpotency of body," may indeed duce, we shall leave the reader to draw his own conclusion, have kept John Shakespeare from church, but upon this and to decide for himself whether John Shakespeare forpoint we have no information beyond the fact, that if he bore church in 1592, because he was in fear of. arrest, bewere born, as Malone supposes, in 1530, he was at this date cause he was " aged, sick, and impotent of body," or beonly sixty-two. cause he did not accord in the doctrines of the protestant faith. With regard to his religious opinions, it is certain that We ought not, however, to omit to add, that if John after he became alderman of Stratford, on 4th July 1565, Shakespeare were infirm in 1592, or if he were harassed he must have taken the usual oath required from all pro- and threatened by creditors, neither the one circumstance testants; but, according to the records of the borough, it nor the other prevented him from being employed in Auwas not administered to him until the 12th September fol- gust 1592 (in what particular capacity, or for what precise lowing his election. This trifling circumstance perhaps purpose is not stated) to assist " Thomas Trussell, gentlehardly deserves notice, as it may have been usual to choose man," and "Richard Sponer and others," in taking an inventhe corporate officers at one court, and to swear them in at tory of the goods and chattels of Henry Feelde of Stratthe next. So far John Shakespeare may have conformed ford, tanner, after his decease. A contemporary copy of to the requirements of the law, but it is still possible that the original document has recently been placed in the hands he may not have adopted all the new protestant tenets, or of the Shakespeare Society for publication, but the fact, that having adopted them, like various other conscientious and not the details, is all that seems of importance here3. men, he saw reason afterwards to return to the faith he had In the heading of the paper our poet's father is called " Mr. abandoned. We have no evidence on this point as regards John Shakespeare," and at the end we find his name as him; but we have evidence, as regards a person of the "John Shakespeare senior:" this appears to be the only inname of Thomas G-reene, (who, although it seems very un- stance in which the addition of " senior" was made, and the likely, may have been the same man who was an actor in object of it might be to distinguish him more effectually the company to which Shakespeare belonged, and who was friom John Shakespeare, the shoemaker in Stratford, with a co-sharer in the Blackfriars Theatre, in 1589) who is de- whom, of old perhaps, as in modern times, he was now and scribed in the certificate of the commissioners as then of a then confounded. The fact itself may be material in dedifferent parish, and who, it is added, had confessed that he ciding whether John Shakespeare, at the age of sixty-two, had been "reconciled to the Romish religion." The memo- was, or was not so "aged, sick, or impotent of body" as to randum is in these terms:- be unable to attend protestant divine worship. It certainly " It is here to be remembred that one Thomas Greene, of does not seem likely that he would have been selected for this parisshe, heretofore presented and indicted for a recu- the performance of such a duty, however trifling, if he had sante, hath confessed to Mr. RPobt. Burgoyn, one of the com- been so apprehensive of arrest as not to be able to leave missioners for this service, that an ould Freest reconciled him his dwelling, or if he had been very infirm from sickness or to the Romishe religion, while he was prisoner in Worcester old age. goale. This Greene is not evepie day to be foundeod Whether he were, or were not a member of the protesOn the same authority we learn that the wife of Thomas taut reformed Church, it is not to be disputed that his childGreene was " a most wilful recusant;" and although we are ren, all of whom were born between 1558 and 1580, were by no means warranted in forming even an opinion on the baptized at the ordinary and established place of worship question, whether Mary Shakespeare adhered to the ancient in the parish. That his son William was educated, lived, faith, it is indisputable, if we may rely upon the represen- and died a protestant we have no doubt4. tation -of the commissioners, that some of her family con- We have already stated our distinct and deliberate opintinued Roman Catholics. In the document under considera- ion that " Venus and Adonis " was written before its author tion it is stated, that Mrs. Mary Arden and her servant left his home in Warwickshire. He kept it by him for some John Browne had been presented to the commissioners as years, and early in 1593 seems to have put it into the hands 1 By an account of rents received by Thomas Rogers, Chamber- relation to Field's will. The whole sum at which the goods were lain of Stratford, in 1589, it appears that "John Shakespeare " occu- estimated was ~14. 14s. Od., and the total, with the names of the pied a house in Bridge-street, at an annual rent of twelve shillings, persons making the appraisenment, is thus stated at the end of the acnine shillings of,which had been paid. Perhaps (as Malone thought) count this was John Shaklespeare, the shoemaker; because the father of the " Some totall —14. 14s. Od. poet, having been bailiff and head-alderman, was usually styled.Mr. John Shaksper senior John Shakespeare, as we have before remarked. However, it is a co- By me Richard Sponer incidence to be noted, that the name of John Shakespeare immediately Per me Thomas Trussel follows that of Henry Fylde or Field, whose goods.Mlr. John Shake- Script. present." speare was subsequently employed to value: they were therefore in Of course, unless, as does not appear in this coeval copy, John all probability neighbours. Shakespeare made his mark, the document must have been subscribed 2 ":Shakspeare and his Times," vol. i. p. 8. Dr. Drake seems to by some person on his behalf. be of the opinion that John Shakespeare may have refrained from 4- Nearly all the passages in his works, of a religious or doctrinal attending the corporation halls previous to 1586, on account of his character, have been brought into one view by Sir Frederickr B. Watreligious opinions. son, K. C. H., in a very elegant volume, printed in 1843, for the It has the following title:- benefit of the theatrical funds of our two great theatres. The object " A true and perfect Inventory of the Goodes and Cattells, which of the very zealous and amiable compiler was to counteract a notion, were the Goodes and Cattells of Henry Feelde, late of Stretford-uppon- formerly prevailing, that William Shakespeare was a Roman Catholic, Avon in the County of Warwykre, tanner, now decessed, beynge in and he has done so very effectually, although we do not find among Stretford aforesayd, the 21st daye of Auguste, Anno Domini 1592. By his extracts one which seems to us of great value upon this question: Thomas Trussell, Gentleman, Mr. John Shaksper, Richard Sponer and it forms part of the prophecy of Cranmer, at the christening of Queen ethers." Elizabeth in " Henry VIII." act v. sc. 4. It consists of but five exThe items of the inventory consist of nothing but an enumeration of pressive words, which we think clearly refer to the completion of the old bedsteads, painted cloths, andirons, &c. of no curiosity and of Reformation under our maiden queen. little value. It is to be observed that Thomas Trussel was an attor- " In her days * * * ney of Stratford, and it seems likely that the valuation was made in ~God shall be truly knozon." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxxis of a printer, named Richard Field, who, it has been said, this patron of Shakespeare's that, if I had not been assured was of Stratford, and might be the son of the Henry Feelde, that the story was handed down by Sir William Davenant, or Field, whose goods John Shakespeare was employed to who was probably very well acquainted with his [Shakevalue in 1592. It is to be recollected that at the time speare's] affairs, I should not have Ventured to have inserted; " Venus and Adonis" was sent to the press, while it was print- that my Lord Southampton at one time gave him a thousand Venusg, and when i was publisent ted, the plrgue prevailed in pounds to enable him to go through with a purchase which ing, and when it was published, the plague prevailed in he heard he had a mind to." London to such an excess, that it was deemed expedient by the privy council to put a stop to all theatrical perform- No biographer of Shakespeare seems to have adverted ances'. Shakespeare seems to have availed himself of this to the period when it was likely that the gift was made, in interval, in order to bring before the world a production of combination with the nature of the purchase Lord Southa different character to those which had been ordinarily seen ampton -had heard our great dramn-ltist wished to comfrom his pen. Until "Venus and Adonis" came out, the plete, or, it seems to us, they would not have thought public at large could only have known him by the dramas the tradition by any means so improbable as some have he had written, or by those which, at an earlier date, he had held it. altered, amended, and revived. The poem came fiom The disposition to make a worthy return for the dedicaField's press in the spring of 1593, preceded by a dedica- tions of " Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece" would of tion to the Earl of Southhampton. Its popularity was great course be produced in the mind of Lord Southampton by the and instantaneous, for a new edition of it was called for in publication of those poems; and we are to recollect that it 1594, a third in 1596, a fourth in 1600, and a fifth-in 16022: was precisely at the same date that the Lord Chamberlain's there may have been, and probably were, intervening ii- servants entered upon the project of building the Globe pressions, which have disappeared among the popular and Theatre on the Bankside, not very far to the west of the destroyed literature of the time. We may conclude that Southwark foot of London Bridge. "Venus and Adonis" this admirable and unequalled production first introduced was published in 1593; and it was on the 22nd Dec. in that its author to the notice of Lord Southampton; and it is year that Richard Burbage, the great actor, and the leader evident from the opening of the dedication, that Shake- of the company to which Shakespeare was attached, signed speare had not taken the precaution of ascertaining, in the a bond to a carpenter of the name of Peter Street for the first instance, the wishes of the young nobleman on the sub- construction of the Globe. It is not too much to allow at ject. Lord Southampton was more than nine years younger least a year for its completion; and it was during 1594, than Shakespeare, having been born on 6th Oct. 1573. while the work on the Bankside was in progress, that "LuWe may be sure that the dedication of " Venus and crece" came from the press. Thus we see that the buildAdonis" was, on every account, acceptable, and Shakespeare ing of the Globe, at the cost of the sharers in the Blackfollowed it up by inscribing to the same peer, but in a much friars theatre, was coincident in point of time with the apmore assured and confident strain, his " Lucrece" in the pearance of the two poems dedicated to the Earl of Southsucceeding year. He then " dedicated his love" to his ju- ampton. Is it, then, too much to believe that the young venile patron, having "a warrant of his honourable dispo- and bountiful nobleman, having heard of this enterprise sition" towards his "pamphlet" and himself. " Lucrece" from the peculiar interest he is known to have taken in all was not calculated, from its subject and the treatment of it, matters relating to the stage, and having been incited by to be so popular as "Venus and Adonis," and the first warm admiration of "Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece," edition having appeared from Field's press in 1594, a re- in the fore-front of which he rejoiced to see his own name, print of it does not seem to have been called for until after presented Shakespeare with 10001., to enable him to make the lapse of four years, and the third edition bears the date good the money he was to produce, as his proportion, for of 1600. the completion of the Globe? It must have been about this period that the Earl of We do not mean to say that our great dramatist stood in Southampton bestowed a most extraordinary proof of his need of the money, or that he could not have deposited it high-minded munificence upon the author of " Venus and as well as the other sharers in the Blackfriars4; but Lord Adonis" and " Lucrece." It was not unusual, at that time Southampton may not have thought it necessary to inquire, and afterwards, for noblemen, and others to whom works whether he did or did not want it, nor to consider precisely were dedicated, to make presents of money to the writers what it had been customary to give ordinary versifiers, who of them; but there is certainly no instance upon record of sought the pay and patronage of the nobility. Although such generous bounty, on an occasion of the kind, as that Shakespeare had not yet reached the climax of his excelof which we are now to speak3: nevertheless, wve have lence, Lord Southampton knew him to be the greatest every reliance upon the authenticity of the anecdote, taking dramatist this country had yet produced; he knew him also into account the unexampled merit of the poet, the known to be the writer of two poems, dedicated to himself, with liberality of the nobleman, and the evidence upon which which nothing else of the kind could bear comparison; and the story has been handed down. Rowe was the original in the exercise of his bounty he measured the poet by his narrator of it in print, and he doubtless had it, with other deserts, and " used him after his own honour and dignity," information, from Betterton, who probably received it di- by bestowing upon him a sum worthy of his title and charrectly from Sir William Davenant, and communicated it to acter, and which his wealth probably enabled him without Rowe. If it cannot be asserted that Davenant was strictly difficulty to afford. We do not believe that there has been contemporary with Shakespeare, he was contemporary with any exaggeration in the amount, (although that is more posShakespeare's conterm-oraries, and from them he must have sible, than that the whole statement should have been a ficobtained the original information. Rowe gives the state- tion) and Lord Southampton may thus have intended also ment in these words:- to indicate his hearty good will to the new undertaking of There is one instance so singular in the munificence of the company, and his determination to support it5.' By the following order, derived from the registers:- come down to our day: it had been entered by him as early as " That for avoyding of great concourse of people, which causeth 1.596. increase of the infection, it were convenient that all Playes, Bear- 3 The author of the present Life of Shakespeare is bound to make baytings, Cockpitts. common Bowling-alleyes, and such like unne- one exception, which has come particularly within his own knowlcessarie assemblies, should be suppressed during the time of infection, edge, but of which he does not feel at liberty to say more. for that infected people, after their long keeping in, and before they 4 Neither are we to imagine that Shakespeare would have to conbe cleared of their disease and infection, being desirous of recreation, tribute the whole sum of 10001. as his contribution to the cost of the use to resort to such assemblies, where, through heate and thronge, Globe: probably much less; but this was a consideration whiich, we they infect many sound personnes.:" may feel assured, never entered the mind of a man like Lord SouthIn consequence of the virulence and extent of the disorder, Mich- ampton. aelmas term, 1593, was kept at St. Alban's. It was about this period 5 After the Globe had been burned down in June, 1613, it was rethat Nash's " Summer's Last Will and Testament" was acted as a built very much by the contributions of the Icing and the nobility private entertainment at Croydon. Lord Southampton may have intended the 10001.. in part, as a con2 M'alone knew nothing of any copy of 1594. The impression of tribution to this enterprise, through the hands of an individual whom 1602 was printed for NV. Leake; only a single copy of the edition has he had good reason to distinguish from the rest of the company. xl THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. "The Two Noble Kinsmen;" and an " Antony and Vallea," CHAPTER X. (acted on the 20th June, 1595) as it is called in the barbarous record, which may possibly have had some connexion with The opening of the Globe theatre, on the Bankside, in 1595. " Antony and Cleopatra." We have no reason to think that Union of Shakespeare's associates with the Lord Admiral's Shakespeare did not aid in these representations, although players. The theatre at Newington Butts. Projected repairhe was perhaps, too much engaged with the duties of auand enlargement of the Blackfriars theatre: opposition by torship, at ths date, to take a very busy or prominent the inhabitants of the precinct. Shakespeare's rank in the company in 1596. Petition fromn him and seven others to part as an actor. the Privy Council, and its results. Repair of the Blackfriars The fact that the Lord Chamberlain's players acted at theatre. Shakespeare a resident in Southwark in 1596: Newington until November, 1596, may appear to militate proof that he was so from the papers at Dulwich College. against our notion that the Globe was finished and ready for performances in the spring of 1595; and it is very posWE have concluded, as we think that we may do very fairly, sible that the construction occupied more time than we have that the construction of the new theatre on the Bankside, imagined. Malone was of opinion that the Globe might have subsequently known as the Globe, having been commenced been opened even in 15943; but we postpone that event soon after the signature of the bond of Burbage to Street, until the following year, because we think the time too on 22d Dec. 1593, was continued through the year 1594: short, and because, unless it were entirely completed early we apprehend that it would be finished and ready for the in 1594, it would not be required, inasmuch as the company reception of audiences early in the spring of 1595. It was for which it was built seem to have acted at the Blackfriars a round wooden building, open to the sky, while the stage in the winter. Our notion is, that, even after the Globe was protected from the weather by an overhanging roof of was finished, the Lord Chamberlain's servants now and then thatch. The number of persons it would contain we have performed at Newington in the summer, because audiences, no means of ascertaining, but it was certainly of larger di- having been accustomed to expect them there, assembled mensions than the Rose, the Hope or the Swan, three other for the purpose, and the players did not think it prudent to edifices of the same kind and used for the same purpose, in relinquish the emolument thus to be obtained. The perthe immediate vicinity. The Blackfriars was a private formances at Newington, we presume, did not however intheatre, as it was called, entirely covered in, and of smaller terfere with the representations at the Globe. If any memsize; and from thence the company, after the Globe had bers of the company had continued to play at Newington been completed, was in the habit of removing in the spring, after November 1596, we should, no doubt, have found some perhaps as soon as there was any indication of the setting trace of it in Henslowe's Diary. mi of fine cheerful weather'. Another reason for thinking that the Globe was opened Before the building of the Globe, for the exclusive use in the spring of 1595. is, that very soon afterwards the of the theatrical servants of the Lord Chamberlain, there sharers in that enterprise commenced the repair and encan be little doubt that they did not act all the year round largement of their theatre in the Blackfriars, which had at the Blackfriars: they appear to have performed some- been in constant use for twenty years. Of this proceeding times at the Curtain in Shoreditch, and Richard Burbage, we shall have occasion to say more presently. at the time of his death, still had shares in that playhouse2 We may feel assured that the important incident of the Whether they occupied it in common with any other associa- opening of a new theatre on the Bankside, larger than any tion is not so clear; but we learn from Henslowe's Diary, that that then stood in that or in other parts of the town, was in 1594, and perhaps at an earlier date, the company of celebrated by the production of a new play. Con'sidering which Shakespeare was a member had played at a theatre his station and duties in the company, and his popularity as in Newington Butts, where the Lord Admiral's servants a dramatist, we may be confident also that the new play also exhibited. At this period of our stage-history the per- was written by Shakespeare. In the imperfect' state of our formances usually began at three o'clock in the afternoon; information, it would be vain to speculate which of his for the citizens transacted their business and dined early, dramas was brought out on the occasion; but if the reader and many of them afterwards walked out into the fields will refer to our several Introductions, he will see which of for. recreation, often visiting such theatres as were open the plays according to such evidence as we are acquainted purposely for their reception. Henslowe's Diary shows that with, may appear in his view to have the best claim to the the Lord Chamberlain's and the Lord Admiral's servants distinction. Many years ago we were strongly inclined to had joint possession of the Newington theatre from 3d June think that " Henry V." was the piece: the Globe was round, 1594, to the 15th November, 1596; and during that period and the "wooden O" is most pointedly mentioned in that various pieces were performed, which in their titles resemble drama; so that at all events we are satisfied that it was plays which unquestionably came from Shakespeare's pen. acted in that theatre: there is also a nationality about the That none of these were productions by our great dramatist, subject, and a popularity in the treatment of it, which it is, of course, impossible to affirm; but the strong proba- would render it peculiarly appropriate; but on farther rebility seems to be, that they were older dramas, of which flection and information, we are unwillingly convinced that he subsequently, more or less, availed himself. Among "Henry V." was not written until some years afterwards. these was a "Hamlet," acted on l1th of June, 1594: a We frankly own, therefore, that we are not in a condition "Taming of a Shrew," acted on 11th June, 1594; an " An-' to offer an opinion upon the question, and we are disposed, dronicus," acted on 12th June, 1594; a " Venetian Comedy," where we can, to refrain even from conjecture, when we have acted on 12th Aug. 1594; a " Caesar and Pompey," acted no ground on which to rest a speculation. 8th Nov. 1594; a "Second Part of Ciesar," acted 26th Allowing about fifteen months for the erection and comJune, 1595; a " Henry V.," acted on 28th Nov. 1595; and pletion of the Globe, we may believe that it was in full a " Troy," acted on the 22d June, 1596. To these we might operation in the spring, summer, and autumn of 1595. On add a " Palamon and Arcite," (acted on 17th Sept. 1594) if the approach of cold weather, the company would of course we suppose Shakespeare to have had any hand in writing return to their winter quarters in the Blackfriars, which 1 We know that they did so afterwards, and there is every reason to tain, situate and being in Holywell, in the parish of St. Leonard's believe that such was their practice from the beginning. Dr. For- in Shoreditch, in the county of Middlesex; as also my part, estate, and man records, in his Diary in the Ashmolean Museum, that he saw interest, which I have, or ought to have, in and to all that playhouse "Macbeth " at the Globe, on the 20th April, 1610; " Richard II." on with the appurtenances, called the Globe. in the parish of St. Sathe 30th April, 1611, and " The Winter's Tale " on the 15th May, in viour's, in the county of Surrey."-Chalmers' Supplemental Apology, the same year. See the Introductions to those several plays. p. 165. 2 The same was precisely the case with Pope, the celebrated come- tichard Burbage lived and died (in 1619) in Holywell-street near dian, who died in Feb. 1604. His will, dated 22d July, 1603, con- the Curtain theatre, as'if his presence were necessary for the superintains the following clause: " Item, I give and bequeath to the said tendence of the concern, although he had been an actor at the BlackMary Clark, alias Wood, and to the said Thomas Bromley as well all friars for many years, and at the Globe ever since its erection. my part, right, title, and interest, which I have, or ought to have, 3 Inquiry into the Authenticity, &c. p. 87. in and to all that playhouse, with the appurtenances, called the Cur THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xli was enclosed, lighted from within, and comparatively warm. proprietor of the freehold, was Richard Burbage, who in This theatre, as we have stated, at this date had been in herited it from his father, and transmitted it to his sons; but constant use for twenty years, and early in 1596 the sharers as a body, the parties addressing the privy council (for the directed their, attention to the extensive repair, enlargement, "petition" appears to have been sent thither) might in a and, possibly, entire re-construction of the building. The certain sense call themselves owners of, as well as sharers evidence that they entertained such a design is very deci- in, the Blackfriars theatre. We insert the document in a sive; and we may perhaps infer, that the prosperity of note, observing merely, that like many others of a similar their new experiment at the Globe encouraged them to kind, it is without signatures2. this outlay. On the 9th Jan. 1596 (1595, according to the The date of the year when this petition of the actors was then mode of calculating the year) Lord Hunsdon, who was presented to the privy council is ascertained from that of Lord Chamberlain at the time, but who died about six the remonstrance of the inhabitants which had rendered it months afterwards, wrote to Sir William More, expressing necessary, viz. 1596; but by another paper, among the thea wish to take a house of him in the Blackfriars, and adding atrical relies of Alleyn and Henslowe at Dulwich College, that he had heard that Sir William More had parted with we are enabled to show that both the remonstrance and the a portion of his own residence " to some that mean to make petition were anterior to May in that year. Henslowe a playhouse of it'." (step-father to Alleyn's wife, and Alleyn's partner) seems The truth, no doubt, was, that in consequence of their in- always, very prudently, to have kept up a good understandcreased popularity, owing, we may readily imagine, in a ing with the officers of the department of the revels; and great degree to the success of the plays Shakespeare had on 3rd May, 1596, a person of the name of Veale, servant produced, the company which had occupied the Blackfriars to Edmond Tylney, master of the revels, wrote to Henstheatre found that their house was too small for their audi- lowe, informing him (as of course he must take an interest ences, and wished to enlarge it; but it appears rather sin- in the result) that it had been decided by the privy council, gular that Lord Hunsdon, the Lord Chamberlain, should that the Lord Chamberlain's servants should be allowed not be at all aware of the intention of the players acting un- to complete their repairs, but not to enlarge their house in the der the sanction of his name and office, and should only have Blackfriars; the note of Veale to Henslowe is on a small heard that some persons " meant to make a playhouse " of slip of paper, very clearly written; and as it is short, we here part of Sir William More's residence. We have not a copy insert it:of the whole of Lord Hunsdon's letter-only an abstract "Mr. HIinslowe. This is to enfourme you thatmy Mr., the of it-which reads as if the Lord Chamberlain did not even Maister of the revelles, ath rec. from the LI. of the counsell mknow that there was any theatre at all in the Blackfriars. order that the L. Chamberlen's servauntes shall not be disTwo documents in the State Paper Office, and a third pre- tourbed at the Blackefryars, according with their petition in served at' Dulwich College, enable us to state distinctly that behalfe, but leave shall be given unto theym to make what was the object of the actors at the Blackfriars in 1596. good the decaye of the saide House, butt not to make the The first of these is a representation from certain inhabitants same larger then la former tyme hath bene. From thoffice of the precinct in which the playhouse was situated, notof the Revelles.this 3 of male 1596. " eICH. VEALE." only against the completion of the work of repair and en- Thus the whole transaction is made clear: the company, largement, then commenced, but against all farther per- soon after the opening of the Globe, contemplated the repair formances in the theatre..; and enlargement of the Blackfriars theatre: the inhabitants Of this paper it is not necessary for our purpose to say of the precincts objected not only to the repair and enlargemore; but the answer to it, on the part of the association ment, but to any dramatic representations in that part of of actors, is a very valuable relic, inasmuch as it gives the the town: the company petitioned to be allowed to carry names of eight players who were the proprietors of the out their design, as regarded the restoration of the edifice, theatre or its appurtenances, that of Shakespeare being and the increase of its size; but the privy council consented fifth in the list. It will not have been forgotten, that in only that the building should be repaired. We are to con1589 no fewer than sixteen sharers were enumerated, and elude, therefore, that after the repairs were finished, the that then Shakespeare's name was the twelfth; but it did theatre would hold no more spectators than formerly; but not by any means follow, that because there were sixteen that the dilapidations of time were substantially remedied, sharers in the receipts, they were also proprietors of the we are sure from the fact, that the house continued long building, properties, or wardrobe: in 1596 it is stated that afterwards to be employed for the purpose for which it had Thomas Pope, (from whose will we have already given an been originally constructed3. extract) Richard Burbage, John Hemings, (properly spelt What is of most importance in this proceeding, with reHeminge) Augustine Phillips, William Shakespeare, Wil- ference to Shakespeare, is the circumstance upon which we liam Kempe, (who withdrew from the company in 1601) have already remarked; that whereas his name, in 1589, William Slye, and Nicholas Tooley, were " owners" of the stood twelfth in a list of sixteen sharers, in 1596 itwas adtheatre as well as sharers in the profits arising out of the vanced to the fifth place in an enumeration of eight persons, performances. The fact, however, seems to be that the sole who termed themselves " owners and players of the private owner of the edifice in which plays were represented, the house, or theatre, in the precinct and liberty of the Black1 See "The Loseley Manuscripts," by A. J. Kempe, Esq., 8vo. remaine open, but hereafter to be shut up and closed, to the manifest 1835, p. 496; a very curious and interesting collection of original and great injurie of your petitioners, who have no other meanes documents. whereby to maintain their wives and families, but by the exercise 2 "1 To the right honourable the Lords of her Majesties most hon- of their qualitie as they have heretofore done. Furthermore, that in curable Privie Councell. the summer season your Petitioners are able to playe at their new "The humble petition of Thomas Pope, Richard Burbage, John built house on the Bankside calde the Globe, but that in the winter Hemings, Augustine Phillips, William Shakespeare, William Kempe, they are compelled to come to the Blackfriers; and if your honorable William Slye Nicholas Tooley, and others, servaunts to the Right Lordshipps give consent unto that which is prayde against your PeIHonorable the Lord Chamberlaine to her Majestie. titioners, thay will not onely, while the winter endures, loose the " Sheweth most humbly, that your Petitioners are owners and meanes whereby they now support them selves and their families, players of the private house, or theatre, in the precinct and libertie of but be unable to practise themselves in ante playes or enterludes, the Blackfriers, which hath beene for many yeares used and occu- when calde upon to performe for the recreation and solace of her pied for the playing of tragedies, commedies, histories, enterludes, Matie and her honorable Court, as they have beene heretofore accusand playes. That the same, by reason of its having beene so long tomed. The humble prayer of your Petitioners therefore is, that built, hath fallen into great decay, and that besides the reparation your honorable Lordshipps grant permission to finish the reparations thereof, it hath beene found necessarie to make the same more con- and alterations they have begun; and as your Petitioners have hithvenient for the entertainment of auditories coming thereto. That erto been well ordered in their behaviour, and just in their dealings, to this end your Petitioners have all anid eche of them put down that your honorable Lordshipps will not inhibit them from acting at somroes of money, according to their shares in the said theatre, and their above namde private house in the precinct and libertie of the which they have justly and honestly gained by the exercise of their Blackfriers, and your Petitioners, as in. dutie most bounden, will qualitie of stage-players; but that certaine persons (some of them of ever pray for the increasing honor and happinesse of your honorable honour) inhabitants of the said precinct and libertie of the Black- Lordshipps."; friers have, as your Petitioners are informed, besought your honour- 3 The ultimate fate of this playhouse, and of others existing at the able Lordshipps not to permitt the said private house any longer to same time, will be found stated in a subsequent part of our memoir. C xlii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. friars." It is not difficult to suppose that the speculation of what we have considered the second season at the new at the Globe had been remarkably successful in its first theatre called the Globe, Shakespeare was an inhabitant of season, and that the Lord Chamberlain's servants had there- Southwark. That he had removed thither for the sake of by been induced to expend money upon the Blackfriars, in convenience, and of being. nearer to the spot, is not unlikely, order to render it more commodious, as well as more capa- but we have no evidence upon the point: as there is reason cious, under the calculation, that the receipts at the one to believe that Burbage, the principal actor at the Globe, house during the winter would be greater in consequence of lived in Holywell Street, Shoreditch, near the Curtain playtheir popularity at the other during the summer. house4, such an arrangement, as regards Shakespeare and the Where Shakespeare had resided from the time when he Globe, seems the more probable. first came to London, until the period of which we are now speaking, we have no information; but in July, 1596, he was living in Southwark, perhaps to be close to the scene of action, and more effectually to superintend the performances CHAPTER XI. at the Globe, which were continued through at least seven months of the year. We know not whether he removed Chancery suit il 1597 by John Shakespeare and his wife to there shortly before the opening of the Globe, or whether recover Asbyes: their bill; the answer of John Lambert from the first it had been his usual place of abode; but and the replication of John and Mary Shakespeare. Probble result of the suit. William Shakespeare's annual visit Malone tells us, " From a paper now before me, which r- toStrford. D-thof hison net n 1596. er merly belonged to Edward Alleyn, the player, our poet ap- scarcity in England, and its effects at Stratford. The quanpears to have lived in Southwark, near the Bear-garden, in tity of corn in the hands of William Shakespeare and his 1596'." He gives us no farther insight into the contents of neighbours in February, 1598. Ben Jonson's " Every Man the paper; but he probably referred to a small slip, bor- in his Humour," and probable instrumentality of Shakerowed, with other relics of a like kind, from Dulwich Col- speare in the original production of it on the stage. Henslege, many of which were returned after his death. Among lowe's letter respecting the death of Gabriel Spenser. those returned seems to have been the paper in question, which is valuable only because it proves distinctly, that WE have already mentioned that in 1578 John Shakespeare our great dramatist was an inhabitant of Southwark very and his wife, in order to relieve themselves from pecuniary soon after the Globe was in operation, although it by no embarrassment, mortgaged the small estate of the latter, means establishes that he had not been resident there long called Asbyes, at Wilmecote in the parish of Aston Cantbefore. We subjoin it exactly as it stands in the original: lowe, to Edmund Lambert, for the sum of 401. As it conthe hand-writing is ignorant, the spelling peculiar, and it sisted of nearly sixty acres of land, with a dwelling-house, was evidently merely a hasty and imperfect memorandum.- it must have been worth, perhaps, three times the sum adnaa of Sowtk as he vanced, and by the admission of all parties, the mortgagers o owtherk a have Jc ad this - of were again to be put in possession, if they repaid the money Mr Ma.kis borrowed on or before Michaelmas-day, 1680. According to Mr Tuppin the assertion of John and Mary Shakespeare, they tendered Mr Langorth the 401. on the day appointed, but it was refused, unless Wilsono the pyper other moneys, which they owed to the mortgagee, were reMr Barett paid at the same time. Edmund Lambert (perhaps the Mr Shaksper father of Edward Lambert, whom the eldest sister of Mary Phellipes Shakespeare had married) died in 1586, in possession of Tomsontr G n te Asbyes, and from him it descended to his eldest son, John Mother Goldn the baude Lambert, who continued to withhold it in 1597 from those who claimed to be its rightful owners. Fillpott and no more, and soe well ended." who claimed to be its rightful owners. In order to recover the property, John and Mary ShakeThis is the whole of the fragment, for such it appears to speare filed a bill in chancery, on 24th Nov. 1597, against be, and without farther explanation, which we have not John Lambert of Barton-on-the-Heath, in which they albeen able to find in any other document, in the depository leged the fact of the tender and refusal of the 401. by Edwhere the above is preserved or elsewhere, it is impossible mund Lambert, who, wishing to keep the estate, no doubt to understand more, than that Shakespeare and other in- coupled with the tender a condition not included in the deed. habitants of Southwark had made some complaint in July The advance of other moneys, the repayment of which was 1596, which, we may guess, was hostile to the wishes of the required by Edmund Lambert, was not denied by John and writer, who congratulated himself that the matter was so Mary Shakespeare, but they contended that they had done well at an end. Some of the parties named, including our all the law required, to entitle them to the restoration of great dramatist, continued resident in Southwark long after- their.estate of Asbyes: in their bill they also set forth, that wards, as we shall have occasion in its proper place to John Lambert was "of great wealth and ability, and well show. The writer seems to have been desirous of speaking friended and allied amongst gentlemen and freeholders of derogatorily of all the persons he enumerates, but still he the country, in the county of Warwick," while, on the other designates some as " Mr. Markis, Mr. Tuppin, Mr. Langorth, hand, they were "of small wealth, and, very few friends and Mr. Barett, and Mr. Shaksper;" but " Phellipes2, Tomson, alliance in the said county." The answer of John Lambert Nagges, and Fillpott," he only mentions by their surnames, merely denied that the 401. had been tendered, in consewhile he adds the words " the pyper " and " the baude " after quence of which he alleged that his father became' law"Wilsone3" and " Mother Golden," probably to indicate that fully and absolutely seised of the premises, in his demesne any complaint from them ought to have but little weight. All as of fee." To this answer John and Mary Shakespeare that we certainly collect from the memorandum is what Ma- put in a replication, reiterating the assertion of the tender lone gathered from it, that in July 1596, (Malone only gives and refusal of the 401. on Michaelmas-day, 1580, and praythe year, and adds " near the Bear-garden," which we do not ing Lord Keeper Egerton (afterwards Baron Ellesmcre) to find confirmed by the contents of the paper) in the middle decree in their favour accordingly. T"Inquiry into thei Authenticity," &c. p. 215. He seems to have earliest notice we have of him is prior to the death of Tarlton in reserved particulars for his " Life of Shakespeare," which he did not 1588. live to complete, and which was imperfectly finished by Boswell. 3 It is just possible that by " Wilsone the pyper " the writer meant 2 This may have been Augustine Phillippes, who belonged to the to point out " Jack Wilson," the singer of " Sigh no more, ladies," company of the Lord Chamberlain's servants, and whose name stands in "Much ado about Nothing," who, might be, and probably was, a fourth in the royal license of May 1603. He died as nearly as posi- player upon some wind instrument. See also the " Memoirs of Edble two years afterwards, his will being dated on the 4th May, and ward Alleyn," (printed by the Shakespeare Society) p. 153, for a noproved on the 13th May, 1605. Among other bequests to his friends tice of "Mr. Wilson, the singer," when he dined on one occasion and " fellows," he gave " a thirty-shillings piece of gold " to William wilh the founder of Dulwich College. Shakespeare. He was a distinguished comic performer, and the, Malone's Shakspeare by Boswell, iii. p. 182. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xliii If any decree were pronounced, it is singular that no faithful chronicler, to "the late greatest price'." Malone trace of it should have been preserved either in the records found, and printed, a letter from Abraham Sturley, of Stratof the Court of Chancery, or among the papers of Lord ford-upon-Avon, dated 24th Jan., 1597-8, stating that his Ellesmere; but such is the fact, and the inference is, that "neighbours groaned with the wants they felt through the the suit was settled by the parties without proceeding to dearness of corn4," and that malcontents in great numbers this extremity. We can have little doubt that the bill had had gone to Sir Thoms Lucy and Sir Fulke Greville to been filed with the concurrence, and at the instance, of our complain of the maltsters for engrossing it. Connected with great dramatist, who at this date was rapidly acquiring this dearth, the Shakespeare Society has been put in poswealth, although his father and mother put forward in their session of a document of much value as regards the biobill their own poverty and powerlessness, compared with graphy of our poet, although, at first sight, it may not apthe riches and influence of their opponent. William Shake- pear to deserve notice, it is sure in the end to attract. It is speare must have been aware, that during the last seven- thus headed:teen years his father and mother had been deprived of their right to Asbyes in all probability his money was employed "The noate of come and malte, taken the 4th of February, in order to commence and prosecute the suit in Chancery: 159, i the 40th yea ofthe ran of our most gr cious Soveraigne Ladie, Queen Elizabeth, &C. and unless we suppose them to have stated and re-stated a cou ver e e n abeth, deliberate falsehood, respecting the tender of the 401., it is and in the mar opposite the title ae the words" St very clear that they had equity on their side. We think, frd Buroughe, Warwicke." It was evidently prepared therefore, wema cncud tatJhl Ln~betfidigforde Burroughe, Warwicke." It was evidently prepared therefore, we may conclude that John Lambert, finding in order to ascertain how much corn and malt there really he had no chance of success, relinquished his claim to Asbyes, was in the town; and it is divided into two columns, one perhaps on the payment of the 401. and of the sums which showing the "Townsmen's corn," and the other the " Stranhis father had required from John and Mary Shakespeare ges' malt'." The es of the Townsmen and Strangers in 1.580, and which in 1597 they did not dispute to have ges names of the Townsmen and in l.580, and u he.h in 1597 they did not dispute to have (when known) are all given, with the wards in which they been d oue r m s st fh by Jn L er in his resided, so that we are enabled by this document, among Among other matters set forth by John Lambert in his other tings, to prove in t pt of Stratford the family ose other things, to prove in what part of Stratford the family answer is, that the Shakespeares were anxious to regain of our great poet then dwelt: it was in Chapel-street Ward, possession of Asbyes, because the current lease was near and it appears that at the date of the account William its expiration, and they hoped to be able to obtain an imts expiration, and they oped toha be able tored to taeir- Shakespeare had ten quarters of corn in his possession. As proved rent. Supposing it to have been restored to their some may be curious to see who were his immediate neighhands, the fact may be that they did not let it again, but hours, and in what order the names are given, we copy the cultivated it themselves; and we have at this period some account, as far as it relates to Chapel-street Ward, exactly new documentary evidence to produce, leading to the belief as t stands that our poet was a land-owner, or at all events a land-occupier, to some extent in the neighbourhood of Stratford- CLAPPLE STREET WARD. upon-Avon. 8 Frauncis Smythe, Jun'., 8 quarters. Aubrey infornms us, (and there is not only no reason for 5 John Coxe, 5 quarters. disbeleving his statement, but every ground for giving it 171 M'. Thomas Dyxon, 174 quarters. credit) that William Shakespeare was "wont to go to his 3 Mr. Thomas Barbor, 8 quarters. native country once a year." Without seeking for any evi- 5 Mychaell Hlare, 5 quarters. dence upon the question, nothing is more natural or proba- 6 Mr. Bifielde, 6 quarters. ble; and when, therefore, he had acquired sufficient pro- 6 Hugh Aynger, 6 quarters. perty, he might be anxious to settle his family comfortably 6 T n Basy, quarters-bareley 1 quarter. and independently in Stratford. We must suppose thathis 8 Wm. EmJm etes, 8 quarters. father and mother were mainly dependent upon him, not- 11 [Mr. Aspinall, aboute 11 quarters. withstanding the recovery of the small estate of the latter 10 Wm. Shackespere, 10 quarters. at Wilmecote; and he may have employed his brother 7 Jul. Shawe, 7 quarters." Gilbert, who was two years and a half younger than himself, and perhaps accustomed to agricultural pursuits, to We shall have occasion hereafter again to refer to this look after his farming concerns in the country, while he document upon another point, but in the mean time we may himself was absent superintending his highly profitable remark that the name of John Shakespeare is not found in theatrical undertakings in London. In 1595, 1596, and 1597, any part of it. This fact gives additional probability to the our poet must have been in the receipt of a considerable belief that the two old people, possibly with some of their and an increasing income: he was part proprietor of the children, were living in the house of their son William, for Blackfriars and the Globe theatres, both excellent specula- such may be the reason why we do not find John Shaketions; he was an actor, doubtless earning a good salary, in- speare mentioned in the accuunt as the owner of any corn. dependently of the proceeds of his shares; and he was the It may likewise in part explain how it happened that Wilmost popular and applauded dramatic poet of the day. In liam Shakespeare was in possession of so large a quantity: the summer he might find, or make, leisure to visit his na- in proportion to the number of his family,in time of scartive town, and we may be tolerably sure that he was there city, he would be naturally desirous to be well provided in August, 1596, when he had the misfortune to lose his with the main article of subsistence; or it is very possible only son Hamnet, one of the twins born early in the spring that, as a grower of grain, he might keep some in store for of 1585: the boy completed his eleventh year in February, sale to those who were in want of it. Ten quarters does 1596, so that his death in August following must have been not seem much more than would be needed for his own a very severe trial for his parents'. consumption; but it affords some proof of his means and Stow informs us, that in 1596 the price of provisions in substance at this date, that only two persons in ChapelEngland was so high, that the bushel of wheat was sold for street Ward had a larger quantity in their hands. We are six, seven, and eight shilliugs2: the dearth continued and led to infer from this circumstance that our great dramatist increased through 1597, and in August of that year the may have been a cultivator of land, and it is not unlikely price of the bushel of wheat had risen to thirteen shillings, that the wheat in his granary had been grown on his mofell to ten shillings, and rose again, in the words of the old ther's estate of Asbyes, at Wihnecote, of which we know The following is the form of the entry of the burial in the regis- besides 9 quarters of barley-their peas, beans, and vetches to 15 ter of the church of Stratford:- quarters, and their oats to 12 quarters. The malt, the property of'1596. August 11. HIamnetfilius William Shakspere." Strangers, amounted to 248 quarters and 5 strike, together with 3 2.rnnales, edit. 1615, p. 1279. 3 Ibid. p. 1304. quraters of peas. Besides malt, the Townsmen, it is said, were in 4 Malone's Shakspeare. by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 566. possession of 43 quarters and a half of " wheat and mill-corn," and 5 In the indorsement of the document it is stated, that the Towns- of 10 quraters and 6 strike of barley; but it seems to have been conmen's malt amounted to 449 quarters and two " strike " or bushels, siderably more, even-in Chapel-street Ward. xliv THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. that no fewer than fifty, out of about sixty, acres were afforded him, because he was " as well known, and perhaps arable'. better," than Shakespeare himself. Surely, with all deferWe must now return to London and to theatrical affairs ence for Mr. Gifford's undisputed acuteness and general acthere, and in the first place advert to a passage in Rowe's curacy, we may doubt how Ben Jonson could be better, or Life of Shakespeare, relating to the real or supposed com- even as well known as Shakespeare, when the latter had mencement of the connexion between our great dramatist been for twelve years connected with the stage as author and Ben Jonson2. Rowe tells us that " Shakespeare's ac- and actor, and had written, at the lowest calculation, twelve quaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece dramas, while the former was only twenty-four years old, of humanity and good nature. Mr. Jonson, who was at and had produced no known play but " Every Man in his that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one Humour." It is also to be observed, that Henslowe had no of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted; and pecuniary transactions with Ben Jonson prior to the month the persons into whose hands it was put, after-having turned of August, 1598; whereas, if " Umers " had been purchased it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon return- from him, we could scarcely have failed to find some meing it to him wi'.h an ill-natured answer, that it would be morandum of payments, anterior to the production of the of no service to their company, when Shakespeare, lucidly, comedy on the stage in May, 1597. cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it, as to Add to this, that nothing could be more consistent with engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to re- the amiable and generous character of Shakespeare, than commend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public." This that he should thus have interested himself in favour of a anecdote is entirely disbelieved by Mr. Gifford, and he rests writer who was ten years his junior, and who gave such his incredulity upon the supposition, that Ben Jonson's ear- undoubted proofs of genius as are displayed in " Every Man liest known production, " Every Man in his Humour," was in his Humour." Our great dramatist, established in public originally acted in 1597 at a different theatre, and he pro- favour by such comedies as " The Merchant of Venice" and duces as evidence Henslowe's Diary, which, he states, proves "A Midsummer Night's Dream," by such a tragedy as that the comedy came out at the Rose3. "Romeo and Juliet,' and by such histories as " King John," The truth, however, is, that the play supposed, on the" Richard II.," and " Richard III.," must have felt himself authority of Henslowe, to be Ben Jonson's comedy, is only above all rivalry, and could well afford this act of " hucalled by Henslowe " Humours' or " Umers," as he igno- manity and good-nature," as Rowe terms it, (though Mr. rantly spells it4. It is a mere speculation that this was Ben Gifford, quoting Rowe's words, accidentally omits the two Jonson's play, for it may have been any other performance, last,) on behalf of a young, needy, and meritorious author. by any other poet, in the title of which the word " Hu- It is to be recollected also that Rowe, the original narrator mours" occurred; and we have the indisputable and une- of the incident, does not, as in several other cases, give it as quivocal testimony of Ben Jonson himself, in his own au- if he at all doubted its correctness, but unhesitatingly and thorized edition of his works in 1616, that "Every Man in distinctly, as if it were a matter well known, and entirely his Humour " was not acted until 1598: he was not satisfied believed, at the time he wrote. with stating on the title-page, that it was "acted in the year Another circumstance may be noticed as an incidental 1598 by the then Lord Chamberlain his servants," which confirmation of Rowe's statement, with which Mr. Gifford might have been considered sufficient; but in this instance could not be acquainted, because the fact has only been re(as in all others in the same volume) he informs us at the cently discovered. In 1598 Ben Jonson, being then only end that 1598 was the year in which it was first acted:- twenty-four years old, had a quarrel with Gabriel Spencer, "This comedy was first acted in the year 1598." Are we one of Henslowe's principal actors, in consequence of which prepared to disbelieve Ben Jonson's positive assertion (a they met, fought, and Spencer was killed. Henslowe, writman of the highest and purest notions, as regarded truth ing to Alleyn on the subject on the 26th September, uses and integrity) for the sake of a theory founded upon the these words:-" Since you were with me, I have lost one bare assumption, that Henslowe by "Umers" not only Of my company, which hurteth me greatly; that is Gabriel, meant Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," but could for he is slain in Hoxton Fields by the hands of Benjamin mean nothing else. Jonson, bricklayer5." Now, had Ben Jonson been at that Had it been brought out originally by the Lord Admi- date the author of the comedy called " Umers," and had it ral's players at the Rose, and acted with so much success been his " Every man in his Humour," which was acted by that it was repeated eleven times, as Henslowe's Diary the Lord Admiral's players eleven times, it is not very shows was the case with " Umers," there can be no appa- likely that Henslowe would have been ignorant who Benjarent reason why Ben Jonson should not have said so; and min Jonsoon was, and have spoken of him, not as one of the if he had afterwards withdrawn it on some pique, and car- dramatists in his pay, and the author of a very successful ried it to the Lord Chamberlain's players, we can hardly comedy, but merely as "bricklayer:" he was writing also conceive it possible that a man of Ben Jonson's temper and to his step-daughter's husband, the leading member of his spirit would not have told us why in some other part of his company, to whom he would have been ready to give the works. fullest information regarding the disastrous affair. We only Mr. Gifford, passing over without notice the positive state- adduce this additional matter to show the improbability of ment we have quoted, respecting the first acting of " Every the assumption, that Ben Jonson had anything to do with Man in his Humour" by the Lord Chamberlain's servants the comedy of " Umers," acted by Henslowe's company in in 1598, proceeds to argue that Ben Jonson could stand in May, 1597; and the probability of the position that, as Ben need of no such assistance, as Shakespeare is said to have Jonson himself states, it was originally brought out in 1598 1 Malone's Shakespeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 25. scription (which we have seen in Strype's edit. of Stowe's Survey, 2 For the materials of the following note, which sets rigrht an im- 1720, b. vi. p. 69) informs us also, that Mr. Thomas Fowler was " born portant error relating to Ben Jonson's mother, we are indebted to Mr. at Wicam, in the county of Lancaster." and that he had been Peter Cunningham. "Comptroller and Paymaster of the Works " to Queen Mary, and Malone and Gifford (Ben Jonson's Works, vol. i. p. 5) both came to for the first ten years of Queen Elizabeth. The date of his death is ths conclusion that the Mrs. Margaret Jonson. mentioned in the not stated in the inscription, but by the register of the church' it apregister of St. Martin's in the Fields as having been married, 17th pears that he was buried on the 29th May. 1595. The Mrs. Margaret November, 1575, to Mr. Thomas Fowler, was the mother of Ben Jon- Fowler, who died before 1595, could noit'have been the mother of son, who then took a second husband. "There cannot be a reasona- Ben Jonson, who was living about 1604; and if Ben Jonson's moble doubt of it," says Gifford; but the fact is nevertheless certainly ther masried a second time, we have yet to ascertain who was her otherwise. It appears that Ben Jonson's mother was living after the second husband. comedy of " Eastward Ho!" which gave offence to King James, (and 3 The precise form in which the entry stands in HIenslowe's aewhich was printed in 1605,) was brought out.-(Laing's edit. of count book is this:"Ben Jonson's Conversations," p. 20.) It is incontestable that the " Maye 1597. 11. It. at the comodey of Vmers." MIrs. Margaret Fowler, who was married in 1575, was dead before 5 Ben Jonson's Works, 8vo. 1816, vol. i. p. 46. 1595; for her husband, Mr. Thomas Fowler, was then buried, and in 5 See " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 51. The author of that the inscription upon his tomb, in the old church of St. Martin's in work has since seen reason to correct himself on this and several other the Fields, it was stated that he survived his three wives, Ellen, Mar- points. garet, and Elizabeth, who were buried in the same grave. The in1 ____________.._.._~....m~Z~ —*~-l~~_O~il- ~CZ=L~l.~. __ ^ ~ _ _. _ ~. ~ _._~.^ -- i^i_-m_ _ _ _ __ __.. ____~5 -~~-=~lP._ _ _.___ _ _~~ — -'^~- a — -- I THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xlv by "the then Lord Chamberlain's servants." It may have that the magistrates had been written to on the 28th July, been, and probably was, acted by them, because Shake- 1597, requiring that no plays should be acted during the speare had kindly interposed with his associates on behalf summer, and directing, in order to put an effectual stop to of the deserving and unfriended author. such performances, because " lewd matters were handled on stages," that the two places above named should be " plucked downS." The magistrates were also enjoined to send for the owners of "any other common play-house " within their CHAPTER XII. jurisdiction, and not only to forbid performances of every description, but" so to deface " all places erected for theatriRestriction of dramatic performances in and near London in cal representations, " as they might not be employed again to 1597. Thomas Nash and his play, "The Isle of Dogs:" such use." This command was given just anterior to the imprisonment of Nash, and of some of the players of the production of Nash's "Isle of Dogs'" which was certainly Lord Admiral. Favour shown to the companies of the not calculated to lessen the objections entertained by any Lord Chamberlain and of the Lord Admiral. Printing of persons in authority about the Court Shmas, puishe s P lays in 1597. The list of his known dr- The Blackfriars, not being, according to the terms of the mas, published by F. Meres in 1598. hakespare author- order of the py council, "a common play-house," but ized the printing of none of his plays, and never correcte od er the privy council a comon play-ouse," but the press. Carelessness of dramatic authors in this respect. wha was called a private theatre, does not seem to have "The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599. Shakespeare's reputation been included in the general ban; but as we know that as a dramatist. similar directions had been conveyed to the magistrates of the county of Surrey, it is somewhat surprising that they IN the summer of 1597 an event occurred which seems to seem to have produced no effect upon the performances at have produced for a time a serious restriction upon dramatic the Globe or the Rose upon the Bankside. We must attriperformances. The celebarted Thomas Nash, early in the bute this circumstance, perhaps, to the exercise of private year, had written a comedy which he called " The Isle of influence; and it is quite certain that the necessity of keepDogs:" that he had partners in the undertaking there is no ing some companies in practice, in order'that they mlight doubt; and he tells us, in his tract called " Lenten Stuff," be prepared to exhibit, when required, before the Queen, printed in 1599, that the players, when it was acted by the was made the first pretext for granting exclusive " licenses" Lord Admiral's servants in the beginning of August, 1597, to the actors of the Lord Chamberlain, and of the Lord had taken most unwarrantable liberties with his piece, by Admiral. We know that the Earls of Southampton and making large additions, for which he ought not to have Rutland, about this date and shortly afterwards, were in the been responsible. The exact nature of the performance is frequent habit of visiting the theatres4: the Earl of Notnot known, but it was certainly satirical, no doubt personal. tingham also seems to have taken an unusual interest on and it must have had reference also to some of the polemi- various occasions in favour of the company acting under cal' and political questions of the day. The representation his name, and to the representations of these noblemen we of it was forbidden by authority, and Nash, with others, are, perhaps, to attribute the exemption of the Globe and was arrested under an order from the privy council, and the Rose from the operation of the order " to deface " all sent to the Fleet prison'. Some of the offending actors had buildings adapted to dramatic representations in Middlesex escaped for a time, and the privy council, not satisfied with and Surrey, in a manner that would render them unfit for what had been already done in the way of punishment, any such purpose in future. We have the authority of the wrote from Greenwich on 15th August, 1597, to certain registers of the privy council, under date of 19th Feb. 1597-8, magistrates, requiring them strictly to examine all the par- for stating that the companies of the Lord Chamberlain ties in custody, with a view to the discovery of others not and of the Lord Admiral obtained renewed permission " to yet apprehended. This important official letter, which has use and practise stage-plays," in order that they might be hitherto been unmentioned, we have inserted in a note from duly qualified, if called upon to perform before the Queen. the registers of the privy council of that date; and by it This privilege, as regards the players of the Lord Admiwe learn, not only that Nash was the author of the " sedi- ral, seems the more extraordinary, because that was the very tious and slanderous" comedy, but possibly himself an ac- company which only in the August preceding had given such tor in it, and " the maker of part of the said play," especi- offence by the representation of Nash's "Isle of Dogs," that ally pointed at, who was in custody2, its farther performance was forbidden, the author and some Before the (ate of this incident the companies of various of the players were arrested and sent to the Fleet, and play-houses in the county of Middlesex, but particularly at vigorous steps taken to secure the persons of other parties the Curtain and Theatre in Shoreditch had attracted atten- who for a time had made their escape. It is very likely tion, and given offence, by the licentious character of their that Nash was the scape-goat on the occasion, and that the performances; and the registers of the privy council show chief blame was thrown upon him, although, in his tract, The circumstance was thus alluded to by Francis Meres in the quire yew to examine these of the plaiers that are comytted, whose next year:-" As Actmon was wooried of his owne hounds, so is Tom names are knowne to you, Mr. Topclyfe, what is become of the rest Nash of his Ile of Dogs. Dogges were the death of Euripides; but of theire fellowes that either had their partes in the devysinge of that bee not disconsolate, gallant young Juvenall; Linus the sonne of sedytious matter, or that were actours or plaiers in the same, what Apollo died the same death. Yet, God forbid, that so brave a witte copies they have given forth of the said playe, and to whome, and should so basely perish: thine are but paper dogges; neither is thy soch other pointes as you shall thinke meete to be demaunded of banishment, like Ovid's, eternally to converse with the barbarous them; wherein you shall require of them to deale trulie, as they will Getes: therefore, comfort thyselfe, sweete Tom, with Cicero's glori- looke to receave anie favour. Wee praie yow also to peruse soch paous return to Rome, and with the counsel Aeneas gives to his sea- pers as were fownde in Nash his lodgings, which Ferrys, a messenbeaten soldiors, lib. i. Aeneid:- ger of the Chamber, shall delyver unto yow, and to certyfie us the Pluck up thine heart, and drive from thence both feare and care exaynations ounctaie So &c. Greenwich, 15- Aug 1597." From the Council Register. To thinke on this may pleasure be perhaps another day.' Eliz. No. 13. p. 346. 3 We find evidence in a satirist of the time, that about this date " Dualto, et temet rebus se?vato secundis.1"-Pallad'is Tamia, 1598, the Theatre was abandoned, though not "plucked down." fo. 286. "But see yonder 2 The minute in the registers of the privy council (pointed out to One, like the unfrequented Theare, us by Mr. Lemon) is this:- Walkes in darke silence, and vast solitude."; A letter to Richard Topclyfe, Thomas Fowler, and Ric. Skeving- Edw. Guilpin's "Skialetheia," 8vo. 1598. Sign. D 6. ton, Esquires, Doctour Fletcher, and IMr. Wilbraham. "Upcn information given us of a lewd plaie, that was p]aied in one The theatre, in all probability, was not used for plays afterwards. of the plaie howses on the Bancke side, containing very seditious 4 See Vol. ii. p. 132 of the'" Sidney Papers," where Rowland and sclaunderous matters, wee caused some of the players to be ap- White tells Sir Robert Sydney, "My Lord Southampton and Lord prehended and comytted to pryson, whereof one of them was not only Rutland come not to the court: the one doth but very seldom. They an actor, but a maker of parte of the said plaie. For as much as yt pass away the time in London merely in going to plays every day." ys thought meete that the rest of the players or actours in that mat- This letter is dated 11th October, 1599, and the Queen was then at ter shal be apprehended, to receave soche punyshment as there lewde Nonesuch. and mutynous behavior doth deserve; these shall be, therefore, to re xlvi THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. before mentioned, he maintains that he was the most inno- work of Meres came from the press3. It is a remarkable cent party of all those who were concerned in the transac- circumstance, evincing strikingly the manner in which the tion. It seems evident, that in 1598 there was a strong various companies of actors of that period were able to disposition on the part of some members of the Queen's keep popular pieces from the press, that until Shakespeare government to restrict dramatic performances, in and near had been a writer for the Lord Chamberlain's servants ten or London, to the servants of the Lord Chamberlain and of the eleven years not a single play by him was published; and Lord Admiral. then four of his first printed plays were without his name As far as we can judge, there was good reason for show- as if the bookseller had been ignorant of the fact, or as if ing favour to the association with which Shakespeare was he considered that the omission would not affect the sale: one connected, because nothing has reached us to lead to the of them, " Romeo and Juliet," was never printed in any early belief that the Lord Chamberlain's servants had incurred quarto as the work of Shakespeare, as will be seen from any displeasure: if the Lord Admiral's servants were to be our exact reprint of the title-pages of the editions of 1597, permitted to continue their performances at the Rose, it 1599, and 1609, (see Introduc.') The reprints of " Richard would have been an act of the grossest injustice to have II." and "' Richard III." in 1598, as before observed, have prevented the Lord Chamberlain's servants from acting at Shakespeare's name on the title-pages, and they were issued, the Globe. Accordingly, we hear of no interruption, at perhaps, after Meres had distinctly assigned those "histothis date, of the performances at either of the theatres in ries " to him. the receipts of which Shakespeare participated. It is our conviction, after the most minute and patient To the year 1598 inclusive, only five of his plays had examination of, we believe, every old impression, that been printed, although he had then been connected with the Shakespeare in no instance authorized the publication of his stage for about twelve years, viz. "Romeo and Juliet," playsi: we do not consider even "Hamlet" an exception, "Richard II." and "Richard III." in 1597, and "Love's La- although the edition of 1604 was probably intended, by hour's Lost" and "Henry IV." part i. in 15981; but, as we some parties connected with the theatre, to supersede the learn from indisputable contemporaneous authority, he had garbled and fraudulent edition of 1603: Shakespeare, in written seven others, besides what he had done in the way our opinion, had nothing to do with the one or with the of alteration, addition, and adaptation. The earliest enu- other. He allowed most mangled and deformed copies of meration of Shakespeare's dramas made its appearance in several of his greatest, works to be circulated for many 1598, in a work by Francis Meres entitled " Palladis I'a- years, and did not think it worth his while to expose the mia, Wits Treasury." In a division of this small but thick fraud, which remained, in several cases, undetected, as far as volume (consisting of 666 8vo. pages, besides "The Table,") the great body of the public was concerned, until the apheaded "A comparative discourse of our English Poets, pearance of the folio of 1623.'Our great dramatist's indifwith'the Greeke, Latine and Italian Poets," the author in- ference upon this point seems to have been shared by many, serts the following paragraph, which we extract precisely if not by most, of his contemporaries; and if the quarto as it stands in the original, because it has no where, that we impression of any one of his plays be more accurate in recollect, been quoted quite correctly. typography than another, we feel satisfied that it arose out of the better state of the manuscript, or the greater pains " As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for Comedy and fidelity of the printer. and Tragedy among the Latines: so Shakespeare among ye We may here point out a strong instance of the carelessEnglish is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage; for ness of dramatic authors of that period respecting the couComuedy, witnes his Getleme of Veronat, his Errors, his LZone dition in which their productions came into the world: others a.bors lost, his Loue labIours woznne, his idclsumners night might be adduced without much difficulty, but one will be dreane, & his Merchant q/ Venice: for Traogedy his Richard m a dduced without much difficulty, but one will be the 2. Richard the 8. Jhenry the 4. King John, Titus An- sufficient. Before his "Rape of Lucrece," a drama first dronicus and his Romeo and Juliet2." printed in 1608, Thomas Heywood inserted an address to the reader, informing him (for it was an exception to the Thus we see that twelve comedies, histories, and trage- general rule) that he had given his consent to the publicadies (for we have specimens in each department) were tion; but those who have examined that impression, and known as Shakespeare's in the Autumn of 1598, when the its repetition in 1609, will be aware that it is full of thei I It is doubtful whether an edition of " Titus Andronicus "-had not Plautus, Terence,. Nsmuius, Sext. Turpilius, Licinius Imbrex, a.ni I appeared am early as 1594; but no earlier copy than that of 1600, in Virgilius Romanus; so the best for comedy amongst us bee Eciward the library of Lord Francis Egerton, is known. It is necessary to Earle of Oxforde, Doctor Gager of Oxforde, Maister Rowleyv once a bear, in mind, that the impression of " Romeo and Juliet" in 1597 rare scholler of learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge, Ma'iser 1Ei1was only a mangled and mutilated representation of the state in wardes, one of her Maiesties Chappell, eloquent and wittie.iohn which the tragedy came from the hand of its author. Lilly, Lodge, Gascoyne, Greene, Shakespeare, Thomas Nash, Tilorans 2 The following passages, in the same division of the work of Heywood, Anthony Mundye. our best plotter, Chapman, Porter, wVi[Meres, contain mention of the name or works of Shakespeare. son, Hathway, and Henry Chettle." fol. 283. "As the soule of Euphorbus was thought to liue in Pythagoras, "As these are famous among the Greeks for elegie. Bl\elanthu:. so'the sweete wittie soule of Ouid liues in mellifluous and hony- Mymnerus Colophonius, Olympius Mysius, Parthenius'Nicuis. h.itongued Shakespeare; witnes his Fesnus and Adonis, his Lucrece, his letas Cous, Theogenes Megarensis, and Pigres Halicarnasceus; and sugred sonnets among his priuate friends &c." fol. 281. these among the Latines, Mecrenas, Ouid, Tibullus, Propertius. T. "As Epius Stolo said, the Muses would speake with Plautus Valgius, Cassius Seuerus, and Clodius Sabinus; so these are the tongue, if they would speak Latin; so I say the Muses would speak most passionate among us to bewaile and bemoane the perplexities with Shakespeare's fine-filed phrase, if they would speak English." of loue: Henrie Howard Earle of Surrey, sir Thomas Wyat the elder, fol. 282. sir Francis Brian, sir Philip Sidney, sir Walter Rawley, sir Edward "And as Horace saith of his, Exegi monumentu rsre perennius, Dyer, Spencer, Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, WVhetstone, Gascoyne, Regaliq; situ pyramidum altius; Quod non imber edax; Non Aquilo Samuell Page sometime fellowe of Corpus Christi Colledge in Oximpotens possit diruere, aut innumerabilis annorurn series et fuga ford, Churchyard, Bretton." fol. 283. temporum; so say I severally of Sir Philip Sidneys, Spencers, Dan- 3 It was entered for publication on the Stationers' Registers in Sepiels, Draytons, Shakespeares. and Warners workes." fol. 282. tember, 1598. Meres must have written something in verse which 1"As Pindarus, Anacreon, and Callimachus among the Greekes, and has not reached our day, because in 1601 he was addressed by C. Horace and Catullus among the Latines, are the best lyrick poets; Fitzgeoffrey, in his.Jffamsie, as a poet and theologian: he was cerso in this faculty the best amog our poets are Spencer (who excelleth tainly well acquainted with the writings of all the poets of his time, in all kinds) Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, Bretto." fol. 282. whatever might be their department. Fitzgeoffrey mentions Mlteres "As these tragicke poets flourished in Greece, JEschylus, Euripe- in co.mpany with Spenser, Daniel, Drayton, Ben Jonson, Sylvester, des, Sophocles, Alexander Aetolus, Achmus Erithrieus, Astydamas Chapman, Marston, &c. Atheniesis, Apollodorus Tarsensis, Nicomachus Phrygius, Thespis'4 The same remark will apply to " Henry V." first printed in 4to, Atticus, and Timon Apolloniates; and these among the Latines, 1600, and again in 1602, and a third time in 1608, without the name Accius, M. Attilius, Pomponius Secundus and Seneca; so these are of Shakespeare. However, this "history" never appeared in any our best for tragedie; the Lord Buckhurst, Doctor Leg of Cambridge, thing like an authentic shape, such as we may suppose it came from Dr. Edes of Oxford, Maister Edward Ferris, the Authour of the Xeir- Shakespeare's pen, until it was included in the folio of 1623. roeir for MagIieistrates, Marlow, Peele, Wvatson, Kid, Shakespeare, It will be observed that we confine this opinion to the plays, Drayton', Chapman, Declker, and Beniamin lohnson." fol. 233. because with respect to the poems, especially "' Venus and Adonis" " The best poets for comedy among the Greeks are these: Menan- and " Lucrece," we feel quite as strongly convinced that Shakespeare, der, Aristophanes, Eupolis Atheniensis Alexis, Terius, Nicostratus, being instrumental in their publication, and more anxious about Amipsias A.theniensis, Anaxadrides Rhodius, Aristonymus, Archip- their correetness, did see at least the first editions through the press. pus Atheniesis, and Callias Atheniensis; and among the Latines, THE LIFE OF WILLIA}M SHAKESPEARE. xlvii very grossest blunders, which the commonest corrector of Kempe are introduced as characters, the one of whom had the press, much less the author, if he had seen the sheets, obtained such celebrity in the tragic, and the other in the could not have allowed to pass. Nearly all plays of that comic parts in Shakespeare's dramas: we allude to " The time were most defectively printed, but Heywood's "Rape Return from Parnassus," which was indisputably acted before of Lucrece," as it originally came from the press with the au- the death of Queen Elizabeth. In a scene where two young thor's imprirantur, is, we think, the worst specimen of ty- students are discussing the merits of particular poets, one of pography that ever met our observation'. them speaks thus of Shakespeare: Returning to the important list of twelve plays furnisheds le o e by Meres, we may add, that although he does not mention His sweeter verse contains heart-robbing life; them, there can be no doubt that the three parts of " Henry Could but a graver subject him content, VI." had been repeatedly acted before 1598: we may pos- Without love's foolish, lazy languishment.." sibly infer, that they were not inserted because they were then well known not to be the sole work of Shakespeare. Not the most distant allusion is made to any of his By "Henry IV." it is most probable that Meres intended dramatic productions, although the poet criticised by the both parts of that "history." "Love's Labour's Won" has young students immediately before Shakespeare was Ben been supposed, since the time of Dr. Farmer, to be " All's Jonson, who was declared to be " the wittiest fellow, of a Well that ends Well," under a different title: our notion is bricklayer, in England," but "a slow inventor." Hence we (see Introduction) that the original name given to the pla might be led to imagine that, even down to as late a period was " Love's Labour's Won;" and that, when it was revived as the commencement of the seventeenth century, the repuwith additions and alterations, in 1605 or 1606, it received tation of Shakespeare depended rather upon his poems than also a new appellation. upon his plays; almost as if productions for the stage were In connexion with the question regarding the interest not looked upon, at that date, as part of the recognized taken by Shakespeare in the publication of his works, we literature of the country. may notice the impudent fraud practised in the year after the appearance of the list furnished by Meres. In 1599 came out a collection of short miscellaneous poems, under the title of " The Passionate Pilgrim:" they were all of them CHAPTER XIII. imputed, by W. Jaggard the printer, or by W. Leake the bookseller, to Shakespeare, although some of them were New Place, or, "the great house," in Stratford, bought by notoriously by other poets. In the Introduction to our Shakespeare in 1597. Removal of the Lord Admiral's reprint of this little work we have stated all the known players fiom the Bankside to the Fortune theatre in Cripparticulars regarding it; but Shakespeare,s fa as ap- plegate. Rivalry of the Lord Chamberlain's and Lord Adpears from any evidence that has descended to us, miral's company. Order in 1600 confining the acting of took no notice of the trick played upon him m: possibly he plays to the Globe and Fortune: the influence of the two never heard of it, or if he heard of it, left it to its own assciatios occmpyiges those theatres. Disobedieny e of various comnpanllles to the order of 1600. Plays by Shakedetection, not thinking it worth while to interfere2. It pear p isi The " Fist art of the ife of spearn published in 1600. The "First Part of the Life of serves to establish, what certainly could not otherwise be ir John lcstleprinted i 1600, falsely ipute to Sir Johin Oldcastle, printed iu 1600, falsely imputed to doubted, the popularity of Shakespeare in 1599, and the Shakespeare, and cancelling of the title-page. manner in which a scheming printer and stationer endeavoured to take advantage of that popularity. IT will have been observed, that, in the document we have Yet it is singular, if we rely upon several coeval authori- produced, relating to the quantity of corn and malt in Stratties, how little our great dramatist was about this period ford, it is stated that William Shakespeare's residence was known and admired for his plays. Richard Barnfield pub- in that division of the borough called Chapel-street ward. lished his " Encomion of Lady Pecunia," in 1598, (the year This is an important circumstance, because we think it may in which the list of twelve of Shakespeare's plays was be said to settle decisively the disputed question, whether printed by Meres) and from a copy of verses entitled our great dramatist purchased what was known as "the "Remembrance of some English Poets," we quote the great house," or "New Place," before, in, or after 1597. It following notice of Shakespeare: was situated in Chapel-street ward, close to the chapel of the Holy Trinity. We are now certain that he had a house "Pled anhakespare theu, whoses oney-floing ei, the ward in February, 1597-8, and that he had ten quar — Pleasing- the world, thy praises doth contain Whose?enus, and whose Lucrece, sweet and chaste, %hc b b r Cp t Whose Vhenus, and whose Lulzcrece, sweet andy chaste, ters of corn there; and we need not doubt that it was the Thy name in Fame's immortal book hath plac'd; dwelling which had been built by Sir Hugh Clopton in the Live ever you, at least in fame live ever: reign of Henry VII.: the Cloptons subsequently sold it to a Well may the body die, but fame die never." person of the name of Botte3, and he to Hercules Underhill, -who disposed of it to Shakespeare. We therefore find him, Here Shakespeare's popularity, as "pleasing the world," in the beginning of 1598, occupying one of the best houses, is noticed; but the proofs of it are not derived from the in one of the best parts of Stratford. He who had cuitted stage, where his dramas were in daily performance before his native town about twelve years before, poor and comcrowded audiences, but from the success of his " Venus and paratively friendless, was able, by the profits of his own Adonis " and " Lucrece," which had gone through various exertions, and the exercise of his own talents, to return to it, editions. Precisely to the same effect, but a still stronger and to establish his family in more comfort and opulence instance, we may refer to a play in which both Burbage and than, as far as is known, they had ever before enjoyed4. 1 We cannot wonder at the errors in plays surreptitiously procured 3 Botte probably lived in it in 1564, when he contributed 4s. to the and hastily printed, which was the case with many impressions of poor who were afflicted with the plague: this was the highest amount that day. Upon this point Heywood is an unexceptionable witness, subscribed, the bailiff only giving 3s. 4d., and the head alderman 2s. 8d. and he tells us of one of his dramas, 4: That Shakespeare was considered a man who was in a condition "1that some by stenography drew to lend a considerable sum, in the autumn of 1598, we have upon the — The p tha p t i some by scatenography drew evidence of Richard Quyney, (father to Thomas Quyney, who subseThe plot p t s e oe wd t " quently married Shakespeare's youngest daughter Judith) who then Other dramatists make the same complaint; and there can be no doubt applied to him for a loan of 301., equal to about 1501. of our present that it was the practice so to defraud authors and actors, and to palm money, and in terms which do not indicate any doubt that our poet wretchedly disfigured pieces upon the public as genuine and authen- would be able to make the advance. This application is contained in tic works. It was, we are satisfied, in this way that Shakespeare's a letter which must have been sent by hand, as it unluckily contains' Romeo and Juliet," Henry V.," and " Hamlet," first got out into no direction: it is the only letter yet discovered addressed to Shakethe world. speare, and it was first printed by Boswell from Malone's papers, vol. 2When " The Passionate Pilgrim" was reprinted in 1612, with ii. p. 585. some additional pieces by Thomas Heywood, that dramatist pointed' Loving Contryman, I am bolde of yo-, as of a frende, craveing out the imposition, and procured the cancellinfg of the title-page in yowr helpe wth xxxlb, uppon Mr Bushell & my securytee, or Mr Mytwhich the authorship of the whole was assigned to Shakespeare. tens with me. Mr Rosswell is not come to London as yeate, & I have xlviii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. We consider the point that Shakespeare had become owner 1599, when Henslowe and Alleyn resolved to abandon of New Place in or before 159'7 as completely made out, as, Southwark. However, it may be doubted whether they at such a distance of time, and with such imperfect informa- would not have continued where they were, recollecting the tion upon nearly all matters connected with his history convenient proximity of Paris Garden, (where bears, bulls, could be at all expected'. &c. were baited, and in which they were also jointly interWe apprehend likewise, as we have already remarked ested) but for the success of the Lord Chamberlain's players (p. xxi), that the confirmation of arms in 1596, obtained as at the Globe, which had been in use four or five years2. we believe by William Shakespeare, had reference to the Henslowe and Alleyn seem to have found, that neither their permanent and substantial settlement of his family in plays nor their players could stand the competition of their Stratford, and to the purchase of a residence there consistent rivals, and they accordingly removed to a vicinity where no with the altered circumstances of that family-altered by play-house had previously existed. its increased wealth and consequence, owing to the success The Fortune theatre was commenced in Golding Lane, of our great poet both as an actor and a dramatist. Cripplegate, in the year 1599, and finished in 1600, and The removal of the Lord Admiral's players, under thither without delay Henslowe and Alleyn transported Henslowe and Alleyn, from the Rose theatre on the Bank- their whole dramatic establishment, strengthened in the side, to the new house called the Fortune, in Golding-lane, spring of 1602 by the addition of that great and popular Cripplegate, soon after the date to which we are now comic performer, William Kempe3. The association at the referring, may lead to the opinion that that company did Globe was then left in almost undisputed possession of the not find itself equal to sustain the rivalship with the Lord Bankside. There were, indeed, occasional, and perhaps not Chamberlain's servants, under Shakespeare and Burbage, at unfrequent, performances at the Rose, (although it had been the Globe. That theatre was opened, as we have adduced stipulated with the public authorities that it should be reasons to believe, in the spring of 1595: the Rose was a pulled down, if leave were given for the construction of the considerably older building, and the necessity for repairing Fortune) as well as at the Hope and the Swan, but not by it might enter into the calculation, when Henslowe and the regular associations which had previously occupied Alleyn thought of trying the experiment in a different part them; and after the Fortune was opened, the speculation of the town, and on the Middlesex side of the water. Thea- there was so profitable, that the Lord Admiral's players tres being at this date merely wooden structures, and much had no motive for returning to their old quarters4. frequented, they would soon fall into decay, especially in a The members of the two companies belonging to the marshy situation like that of the Bankside: so damp was Lord Chamberlain and to the Lord Admiral appear to have the soil in the neighbourhood, that the Globe was surrounded possessed so much influence in the summer of 1600, that by a moat to keep it dry; and, although we do not find the (backed perhaps by the puritanical zeal of those who were fact any where stated, it is most likely that the Rose was runfriendly to all theatrical performances) they obtained an similarly drained. The Rose was in the first instance, and order from the privy council, dated 22d June, that no other. as far back as the reign of Edward VI., a house of entertain- public play-houses should be permitted but the Globe in ment with that sign, and it was converted into a theatre by Surrey, and the Fortune in Middlesex. Nevertheless, the Henslowe and a grocer of the name. of Cholmley about the privy council registers, where this order is inserted, also year 1584; but it seems to have early required considerable contain distinct evidence that it was not obeyed, even in reparations, and they might be again necessary prior to May 1601; for on the 10th of that month the Lords wrote especiall cawse.* Yow shall frende me muche in helpeing me out of 2 We may be disposed to assign the following lines to about this all the debeits I owe in London, I thanck god, and muche quiet to my period, or a little earlier: they relate to some theatrical wager in mynde wCl wolde not be indebited. I am now towards the Cowrte, which Alleyn, of the Lord Admiral's players, was, for a part not in hope yr answer for the dispatche of my Buysenes. Yow shall named, to be matched against Kempe, of the Lord Chamberlain's nether loose creddytt nor monney by me, the Lorde willinge; & nowe servants. By the words' Will's new play," there can be little doubt butt pswade your' selfe soe as I hope & yow shall nott need to feare; that some work by Shakespeare was intended; and we know from but with all hartie thanckfullness I wyll holde my tyme & content Heywood's," Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels," 1635, that ShakeyoTv frend, & yf we Bargaine farther, yow shall be the palie m' speare was constantly familiarly called Will." The document is your selfe. My tyme bidds me to hasten to an ende, & soe I comitt preserved at Dulwich, and it was first printed in the " Memoirs of thys [to] yoWr care & hope of yoer helpe. I feare I shall nott be backe Edward Alleyn," p. 13. this night from the Cowrte. haste. the Lorde be wth yow & wth us Sweet Nedde, nowe wynne an other wager all. amen. From the Bell in Carter Lane, the 25 october 1598. For thine old frende. and fellow stager. " Yowrs in all kvyndenes, Tarlton himselfe thou doest excell, " lRYc. QUYNEY. And Bentley beate, and conquer Knell, "To my Loveing good frend And now shall Kempe orecome as well. & contryman Mr' W"a The moneyes downe, the place the Hope; Shackespe thees. Phillippes shall hide his head and Pope. The deficiency as regards the direction of the letter, lamented by Feare not, the victorie is thine; The deficiency Thou still as machales Ned shall shyne. Malone, is not of so much importance, because we have proved that Thou stcl as ichheaes Ned shall shyne. Shakespeare was resident in Southwark in 1596; and he probably If Roscius ichard foames and fumes, was so in 1598, because the reasons which, we have supposed, in- ThIfe Gobe shall havet; and Wil roomes play duced him to take up his abode there would still be in operation, inShall be reherst Willes ewe playe as much force as ever. as much force as ever. Shall be rehearst some other daye. 1 In the garden of this house it is believed that Shakespeare planted Consent, then, Nedde; do us this grace: a mulberry tree, about the year 1609: such is the tradition, and we Thou cannot faile in anie case; are disposed to think that it is founded in truth. In 1609, King For in the triall, come what maye, James was anxious to introduce the mulberry (which had been im- All sides shall brave Ned Allin saye." ported about half a century earlier) into general cultivation, and the By "Roscius Richard " the writer of these lines, wn.o was the records in the State Paper Office show that in that year letters were backer of Alleyn against Kempe, could have meant nobody but written upon the subject to most of the justices of peace and deputy Richard Burbage. It will be recollected, that not very long afterlieutenants in the kingdom: the plants were sold by the State at 6s. wards Kempe became a member of the association of which Alleyn the hundred. On the 25th November, 1609, 9351. were paid out of the was the leader, and quitted that to which Shakespeare and Burbage public purse for the planting of mulberry trees " near the palace of were attached. It is possible that this wager, and Kempe's success Westminster." The mulberry tree, said to have been planted by in it, led Alleyn and Henslowe to hold out inducements to him to Shakespeare, was in existence up to about the year 1755; and in the join them in their undertaking at the Fortune. Upon this point, spring of 1742, Garrick, Macklin, and Delane the actor (not Dr. however, we have no other evidence, than the mere fact that Kempe Delany, the friend of Swift, as Mr. Dyce, in his compendious Memoir. went over to the enemy. p. lix., states,) were entertained under it by Sir Hugh Clopton. New 3 After his return from Rome. where he was seen in the autumn Place remained in possession of Shakespeare's successors until the of 1601. Restoration; it was then repurchased by the Clopton family: about 4 It was at the Fortune that Alleyn seems to have realized so much 1752 it was sold by-the executor of Sir I-Iugh Clopton to a clergyman. money in the few first years of the undertaking, that he was able in of the name of Gastrell, who, on some offence taken at the authorities Nov. 1604 to purchase the manor of Kenningcton for ~1065., and in the of the borough of Stratford on the subject of rating.the house, pulled next year the manor of Lewisham'and Dulwich for ~5000. These it down, and cut down the mulberry tree. According to a letter in two sums, in money of the present day, would be equal to at least the Annual Register of 1760, the wood was bought by a silversmith, ~25,000; but it is to be observed that for Dulwich, Alleyn only paid who " made many odd things of it for the curious." In our time we ~2000 down, while the remaining sum was left upon mortgage. In have seen as many relics, said to have been formed from this one the commencement of the seventeenth century theatrical speculations mulberry tree, as could hardly have been furnished by all the mul- generally seem to have been highly lucrative. See " The Alleyn berry trees in the county of Warwick. Papers," (printed by the Shakespeare Society,) p. xiv. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xlix to certain magistrates of Middlesex requiring them to put a came out, on the title-page of which the name of William stop to the pbirformance of a play at the Curtain, in which Shakespeare appeared at length. We find by ]Henslowe's were introduced "some gentlemen of good desert and Diary that this drama was in fact the authorship of four quality, that are yet alive," but saying nothing about the poets, Anthony Munday, Michael Drayton, Roberft Wilson closing of the house, although it was open in defiance of the and Richard Hathway; and to attribute it to Shakespeare imperative command of the preceding year. We know was evidently a mere trick by the bookseller, T[homas] also upon other testimony, that not only the Curtain, but P[avier], in the hope that it would be bought as his work. theatres on the Bankside, besides the Globe, (where per- Malone remarked upon this fraud, but he was not aware., formances were allowed) were then in occasional use. It is when he wrote, that it had been detected and corrected at fair to presume, therefore, that the order of the 22d June, the time, for since his day more than one copy of the " First 1600, was never strictly enforced, and one of the most. Part, &c. of Sir John Oldcastle " has come to light, upon remarkable circumstances of the times is, the little atten- the title-page of whichf no name is to be found, the book. tion, as regards theatricals, that appears to have been paid seller apparently having been compelled to cancel the leaf to the absolute authority of the court. It seems exactly as containiuig it. From the indifference Shakespeare seems if restrictive measures had been adopted in order to satisfy uniformly to have displayed on matters of the kind, we the importunity of particular individuals, but that there was may, possibly, conclude that the cancel was made at the no disposition on the part of persons in authority to carry instance of one of the four poets who were the real authors them into execution. Such was probably the fact; for a of the play; but we have no means of speaking decisively year and a half after the order of the 22d June had been upon the point, and the step may have been in some way issued it was renewed, but, as far as we can learn, with just connected with the objection taken by living members of the as little effect as before.' Oldcastle family to the name, which had been assigned by Besides the second edition of " Romeo and Juliet" in Shakespeare in the first instance to Falstaff'. 1599, (which was most likely printed from a play-house manuscript, being very different fi'om the mutilated and manufactured copy of 1597) five plays by our great dramatist found their way to the press in 1600, viz. "Titus An- CHAPTER XIV. dronicus," (which as we have before remarked had probably been originally published in 1594) " The Merchant of Ve- Death of John Shakespeare in 1601. Performance of" Twelfth nice," "' A Midsummer Night's Dream'," "Henry IV." part Night" in February, 1602. Anecdote of Shakespeare and ii., and " Much Ado about Nothing." The last only was not Burbage: Man-ninghan's Diary in the British Museum tlhe mentioned by Meres in 1598; and as to the periods when authority for it. " Othello," acted by Burbage anto others we may suppose the others to have been written, we must at the Lord Keeper's in Angust, 1602. Death of Elizabeth, refer the reader to our several Introductions, where we a hob actors have givnthe existing information upon the subject. " The Scotland in 159, ad aain in 1599, 1600, and 1601: large have given the existing information upon the subject. "The r ewards to themi. The freedom of Aberdeen contferred in Chronicle History of Henry V." also came out in the same 1601 upon Laurence Fletcher, the leader of the English year, but without the name of Shakespeare upon the title- company in Scotland. Probability that Shakespeare never page, and it is, if possible, a more imperfect and garbled was in Scotland. representation of the play, as it proceeded from the author's pen, than the " Romeo and Juliet" of 1597. Whether any THE father of our great poet died in the autumn of 1601, of the managers of theatres at this date might not some- and he was buried at Stratford-upon-Avon5. He seems to times be concerned in selling impressions of dramas, we have left no will, and if he possessed any property, in land have no sufficient means of deciding; but we do not believe or houses, not made over to his family, we know not how it it, and-we are satisfied that dramatic authors in general was divided. Of the eight children which his wife, Mary were content with disposing of their plays to the several Ardefi, had brought him, the following were then alive, and companies, and looked, for no emolument to be derived miight be present at the funeral:-William, Gilbert, Joan, from publication'. We are not without something like Richard, and Edmund. The latter years of. John Shakeproof that actors now and then sold their parts in plays to speare (who, if born in 1530 as Malone supposed, was in booksellers, and thus, by the combination of them and other his seventy-first year) were doubtless easy and comfortable, assistance, editions of popular plays were surreptitiously and the prosperity of his eldest son must have placed him printed. beyond the reach of pecuniary difficulties. We ought not to pass over without notice a circumstance Early in the spring of 1602, we meet with one of those Which happened in 1600, and is connected with the question rare facts which distinctly show how uncertain all conjecof the authorized or unauthorized publication of Shake- ture must be respecting the date when Shakespeare's dramas speare's plays. In that year a quarto impression of a play, were originally written and produced. Malone and Tyrcalled " The first part of the true and honourable History whitt, in 1190, conjectured that " Twelfth Night " had been of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham," written in 1614: in his second edition Malone altered it to 1 See "Hist. E ngl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage," Vol. i. p. 316, For though he heer inclosed bee in plaister, where the particulars, which are here necessarily briefly and summa- When he was free he was this townes school-master. rily dismissed, are given in detail. This Well you see, is not that Arethusa, 2 The clothing of Snug the joiner in a "lion's fell " in this play, The Nymph of Sicile: Noe, men may carous a Act v. sc. 1, seems to have suggested the humorous speech to King Health of the plump Lyzeus, noblest grapes, James at Linlithgow, on 30th June 1617, eight lines of which only From these faire conduits, and turne drunk like apes. are given in Nichols's "s Progresses ": of that monarch, Vol. iii. p. 326. This second spring I keep, as did that dragon The whole address, of twenty-two lines, exists in the State Paper Hesperian apples. And nowe, sir, a plague on office, where it was discovered by Mr. Lemon. It seems to have been This your poore towne, if to't you bee not welcome! the original MS. which was placed at the time in the hands of the But whoe can doubt of this, when, loe! a Well come king, and as it is a curiosity, we subjoin it. Is nowe unto the gate? I would say more, "A moveing engine, representing a fountaine, and running wine, lBut words now failing, dare not, least I roare. came to the gate of the towne, in the midst of which was a lyon, The eight lines in Nichols's "Progresses of James I." are from and in the lyon a man, who delivered this learned speech to his Drummond's Poem, and there can be little doubt that the whole majestie. speech was from his pen. "Most royall sir, heere I doe you beseech, 3 It was a charge against Robert Greene, that, driven by the presWho are a lyon, to hear a lyon's speech; sure of necessity, he had on one occasion raised money by making A miracle; for since the dayes of -/Esop, " a double sale " of his play called " Orlando Furioso," 1594, first to Till ours, noe lyon yet his voice did hois-up the players and afterwards to the press. Such may have been the To such a Majestie. Then, King of Men, fact, but it was unquestionably an exception to the ordinary rule. The king of beasts speaks to thee from his denn, 4 See the Introduction to " Henry IV." Part I. A fountaine nowe. That lyon, which was ledd 5 On the Sth September, as we find by the subsequent entry in the By Androdus through Rome. had not a head parish register:More rationall then this. bredd in this. nation, "1601. Septembr. 8..Mr. Johanes Shakspeare." Whoe in thy presence warbleth this oration. 1 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 1'607, and Chalmers, weighing the evidence in favour of players brought down to the Lord Keeper's seat in Hertone date and of the other, thought neither correct, and fixed fordshire for the purpose) was represented before her. In upon 16131', an opinion in which Dr. Drake fully concurred2. this case, as in the preceding one respecting "Twelfth The truth is, that we have irrefragable evidence, from an Night," all that we positively learn is that such drama was eye-witness, of its existence on 2nd February, 1602, when performed, and we are left to infer that it was a new play it was played at the Reader's Feast in the Middle Temple. from other circumstances, as well ags from the fact that it This eye-witness was a barrister of the name of Manning- was customary on such festivities to exhibit some drama ham, who left a Diary behind him, which has been pre- that, as a novelty, was then attracting public attention. served in the British Museum; but as we have inserted his Hence we are led to believe, that "Twelfth Night" (not account of the plot in our introduction to the comedy, (Vol. printed until it formed part of the folio of 1623) was writiii. p. 317) no more is required here, than a mere mention ten at the end of 1600, or in the beginning of 1601'; and of the circumstance. However, in another part of the same that " Othello" (first published in 4to, 1622,) came from the manuscript', he gives an anecdote of Shakespeare and Bur- author's pen about a year afterwards. bage, which we quote, without farther remark than that it In the memorandum ascertaining the performance of has been supposed to depend upon the authority of Nicho-" Othello " at Harefield, the company by which it was relas Tooley4, but on looking at the original record again, we presented is called " Burbages Players," that designation doubt whether it came from any such source. A " Mr. arising out of the fact, that he was looked upon as the Towse " is repeatedly introduced as a person from whom leader of the association: he was certainly its most celeManningham derived information, and that name, though brated actor, and we find from other sources that he was blotted, seems to be placed at the end of the paragraph, the representative of " the Moor of Venice7." Whether certainly without the addition of any Christian name. This Shakespeare had any and what part in the tragedy, either circumstance may make some difference as regards the an- then or upon other occasions, is not known; but we do not thenticity of the story, because we know not who Mr. think any argument, one way or the other, is to be drawn Towse might be, while we are sure that Nicholas Tooley from the fact that the company, when at Harefield, does was a fellow-actor in the same company as both the indi- not seem to have been under his immediate government. viduals to whom the story relates. At the same time it Whether he was or was not one of the "players" in was, very possibly, a mere invention of the " roguish play- "Othello," in August 1602, there can be little doubt that as ers," originating, as was often the case, in some older joke, an actor, and moreover as one " excellent in his quality," he and applied to Shakespeare and Burbage, because their must have been often seen and applauded by Elizabeth. Christian names happened to be William and Richa-d5. Chettle informs us after her death, in a passage already Elizabeth, from the commencement of her reign, seems quoted, that she had "opened her royal ear to his lays;" to have extended her personal patronage, as well as her but this was obviously in his capacity of dramatist, and we public countenance, to the drama; and scarcely a Christmas have no direct evidence to establish that Shakespeare had or a Shrovetide can be pointed out during the forty-five ever performed at Court'. years she occupied the throne, when there were not dra- James I. reached Theobalds, in his journey from Edinmatic entertainments, either at Whitehall, Greenwich, None- burgh to London, on the'7th May, 1603. Before he quitted such, Richmond, or Windsor. The latest visit she paid to his own capital he had had various opportunities of witany of her nobility in the country was to the Lord Keeper, nessing the performances of English actors; and it is an inSir Thomas Egerton, at Harefield, only nine or ten months teresting, but at the same time a difficult question, whether before her death, and it was upon this occasion, in the very Shakespeare had ever appeared before him, or, in other beginning of August, 1602, that "Othello6" (having been words, whether our great dramatist had ever visited Scotgot up fir her amusement, and the Lord Chamberlain's land? We have certainly no affirmative testimony upon Supplemental Apology, &c. p. 467. Harry shall not be seen as King or Prince, 2. Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii. p. 262. They died with thee, dear Dick,3 MS. Harl. No. 5353. Not to revive again. Jeronimo 4 Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 331. The Shall cease to mourn his son Horatio. Christian name is -wanting in the Harl. MS. They'cannot call thee from thy naked bed 5 See "Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage," vol. i. p. 331. By horrid outcry; and Antonio's dead. The writer of that work thus introduces the anecdote:-" If in the Edward shall lack a representative; course of my inquiries, I have been unlucky enough (I may perhaps And Crookback, as befits, shall cease to live. say) to find anything which represents our great dramatist in a less Tyrant Macbeth, with unwash'd bloody hand, favourable light, as a human being with human infirmities, I may We vainly now may hope to understand. lament it, but I do not therefore feel myself at liberty to conceal and Brutus and Marcius henceforth must be dumb, suppress the fact " The anecdote is this. For ne'er thy like upon our stage shall come, "Upon a tyme when Burbage played Rich. 3, there was a citizen To charm the faculty of ears and eyes, grew so farre in liking with him, that before shee went from the Unless we could command the dead to rise. play, shee appointed him to come that night unto her, by the name Vindex is gone, and what a loss was he! of Rich. the 3. Shakespeare, overhearing their conclusion, went be- Frankford, Brachiano, and Malevole. fore, was entertained, and at his game ere Burbages came. Then. Heart-broke Philaster, and Amintas too, message being brought, that Rich. the 3. was at the dore, Shake- Are lost for ever, with the red-hair'd Jew, speare caused returne to be made, that William the Conqueror was Whlich sought the bankrupt Merchant's pound of flesh, before Rich. the 3. Shakespeare's name Willm." By woman-lawyer caught in his own mesh. * This story may be a piece of scandal, but there is no doubt that And his whole action he would change with ease Burbage was the original Richard III. As to the custom of ladies. From ancient Lear to youthful Pericles. inviting players home to supper, see Middleton's "Mad World, my But let me not forget one chiefest part Masters," Act v. sc. 2, in "lDodsley's Old Plays," last edit. The Wherein.beyond the rest, he mov'd the heart; players, in turn, sometimes invited the ladies, as we find-by Field's The grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave, " Amends for Ladies," Act iii. sc. 4, in the supplementary volume to Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave, " Dodsley's Old Plays," published in 1829. Then slew himseff upon the bloody bed. 6 See the "Introduction" to " Othello." Also "The Egerton Pa- All these, and many more, with him are dead," &c. pers," printed by the Camden Society, 1840, p. 343. The MS. from which the above lines are copied seems, at least in one 7 In a former note we have inserted the names of some of the place, defective, but it might be cured by the addition of the words, principal characters, in plays of the time, sustained by Burbage, as "and not long since they are given in the Epitaph upon his death, in 1619. Our readers 8 A ballad was published on the death of Elizabeth, in the commay like to see the manner in which these characters are spoken of mencement of which Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and Thomas Greene," by the contemporaneous versifier. The production opens with this author of " A Poets Vision and a Prince's Glorie." 4to, 1603, were couplet:- called upon to contribute some verses in honour of the late Queen: " Some skilful limner help me, if not so, " You poets all, brave Shakespeare, Johnson, Greene, Some sad tragedian to express my woe;I SBestow your time to write for England's Queene," &c. which certainly does not promise much in the way of excellence; Excepting for this notice of;" brave Shakespeare," the production but the enumeration of parts is all that is valuable, and it is this:- is utterly contemptible, and must have been the work of some of the " No more young Hamlet, though but scant of breath, " goblins and underelves " of poetry, who, according to a poem in H. Shall cry, Revenge! for his dear father's death: Chettle's "England's Mourning Garment," had put forth upon the Poor Romeo never more shall tears beget occasion "_rude rhimes, and metres reasonless." For Juliet's love, and cruel Capulet: THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. li the point, beyond what may be derived fiom some passages leader of the association which performed in Edinburgh and in " Macbeth," descriptive of particular localities, with elsewhere, because it appears fiom the registers of the town which passages our readers must be familiar: there is, council of Aberdeen, that on the 9th October, 1601, the however, ample room for conjecture; and although, on the English players received 32 marks as a gratuity, and that whole, we are inclined to think that he was never north of on 22d October the freedom of the city was conferred upon the Tweed, it is indisputable that the company to which he Laurence Fletcher, who is especially styled "comedian to belonged, or a part of it, had performed in Edinburgh and his Majesty." The company had arrived in Aberdeen, and Aberdeen, and doubtless in some intermediate places. We i had been received by the public authorities, under the sanewill briefly state the existing proofs of this fact. tion of a special letter from James VI.; and, although they The year 1599 has been commonly supposed the earliest were in fact the players of the Queen of England, they date at which an association of English actors was in Scot- might on this account be deemed and treated as the players land; but it can be shown beyond contradiction that " her of the King of Scotland. Majesty's players," meaning those of Queen Elizabeth, were Our chief reason for thinking it unlikely that Shakespeare in Edinburgh ten years earlier'. In 1589, Ashby, the am- would have accompanied his fellows to Scotland, at all bassador extraordinary from England to James VI. of events between October, 1599, and December, 1601, is that, Scotland, thus writes to Lord Burghlcy, under date of the as the principal writer for the company to which he was 22d October:- attached, he could not well have been spared, and because "My Lord Bothw[ell] begins to shew himself willing and we have good ground for believing that about that period ready to do her Majesty any service, and desires hereafter to he must have been unusually busy in the composition of be thought of as he shall deserve: he sheweth great kindness plays. No fewer than five dramas seem, as far as evidence, to our nation, using her Majesties Players and Canoniers with positive or conjectural, can be obtained, to belong to the all courtesie2." interval between 1598 and 1602; and the proof appears to us tolerably conclusive, that " Henry V.," " Twelfth Night," In 1589, the date of Ashby's dispatch, Shakespeare had u tolerably conclusive, that " ee elry V.," Twelfth Night," quitted Stratford about three years, and the question is, and "Hamlet," were written respectively in 1599, 1600, and what company was intended to be designated as "her Ma- ti 1601. Besides, as far as we are able to decide such a point, what company was intended to be designated as "her Ms- the company to which our great dramatist belonged conjesty's players." It is an admitted fact, that in 1583 the the company to which our great damattenec Queen selected twelve leading performers from the theat- tinued to perform in London; for although a detachment en sel eted twelve leaing performeof hr nob a t re theat- under Laurence Fletcher may have been sent to Scotland, rial servants of some of her nobility, and they were after- the main body of the association called the Lord Chamberwards called "her Majesty's players;" and we also now in's players exhibited at court at the usual seasons in know, that in 1590 the Queen had two companies acting lain's players exhibited at court at the usual seasons in know, her name 1590 the aueen had tho comp anies actings 1599, 1600, and 16015. Therefore, if Shakespeare visited under her name the autumn of the preceding year, it iScotland at all, we tlhink it must have been at an earlier likely that one of these associations had been sent to the Soand at all was undoubtedly ample been t eaie Scottish capital for the amusement of the young king, and period, and there was undoubtedly ample time between the the company formed 1583 ma have been divide into years 1589 and 1599 for him to have done so. Neverthethe company formed in 1583 may have been divided into less, we have no tidings that any English actors were in any two bodies for this express purpose. Sir John Sinclair, in pls ofw Scotland during those ten years. his "Statistical Account of Scotland," established that a pa body of comedians was in Perth in June,' 1589; and although we are without evidence that they were English players, we may fairly enough assume that they were the same company spoken of by Ashby, as having been used HAPTER XV. courteously by Lord Bothwell in the October following. We have no means of ascertaining the names of any of the Proclamation by James I. against plays on Sunday. Renewal players, nor indeed, excepting the leaders Laneham and of theatrical performances in London. Patent of May 17th, Dutton, can we state who were the members of the Queen's 160 to Lauece Fletcher, William Shakespeare, and others. Roval patronage of three companies of actors. two companies in 1590. Shakespeare might be one of others. Royal patronage of three compaies of lctors, them; but if he were, he might not belong to that division Shakespeares additiona in tchases in Stratfof 10pon-Avon. othcmaywc sdpth toScoShakespeare in London in the autumn of 1603: and a canof the company which was dispatched to Scotland. Saepr didate for the office of Master of the Queen's Revels. ChaIt is not at all improbable that English actors, having racters Shakespeare is known to have performed. Elis found their way north of the Tweed in 1589, would speedily retirement from the.stage, as an actor, after April 9th, 1604. repeat their visit; but the next we hear of them is, not until after a long interval, in the autumn of 1599. The public BEFORE he even set foot in London, James I. thought it nerecords of Scotland show that in October, 1599, (exactly the cessary to put a stop to dramatic performances on Sunday. same season as that in which, ten years earlier, they are This fact has never been mentioned, because the proclamaspoken of by Ashby) 431. 6s. 8d. were delivered to "his tion he issued at Theobalds on 7th May, containing the para-:,Highness' self," to be given to " the English comedians:" in graph for this purpose, has only recently come to light. the next month they were paid 411. 12s. at various times. There had been a long pending struggle between the In December they received no less than 3331. 6s. 8d.; in Puritans and the players upon this point, and each party April, 1600, 101.; and in December, 1601, the royal bounty seemed by turns to gain the victory; for various orders amounted to 400l.4 were, from time to time, issued from authority, forbidding Thus we see, that English players were in Scotland from exhibitions of the kind on the Sabbath, and those orders had,October, 1599, to December, 1601, a period of more than been uniformly more or less contravened. We may suptwo years; but still we are without a particle of proof that pose, that strong remonstrances having been made to the Shakespeare was one of the association. We cannot, how- King by some of those who attended him from Scotland, a ever, entertain a doubt that Laurence Fletcher, (whose clause with this special object was appended to a proclamaname, we shall see presently, stands first in the patent tion directed against monopolies and legal extortions. The granted by King James on his arrival in London) was the mere circumstance of the company in which this paragraph, 1 Between September, 1589, and September, 1590, Queen Eliza- 4 For these particulars of payments, and some other points conbeth had sent, as a present to the young King of Scotland on his nected with them, we are indebted to Mr. Laing. of Edinburgh. who marriage, a splendid mask, with all the necessary appurtenances, has made extensive and valuable collections for a history of the Stage and we find it charged for in the accounts of the department of the in Scotland. revels for that period. See " Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the 5 The accounts of the revels' department at this period are not so Stage," vol. i. p. 270. It is most likely that the actors from London complete as usual, and in Mr. P. Cunningham s book we find no deaccompanied this gift. tails of any kind between 1587 and 1604. The interval was a period 2 From MS. Harl. 4647, being copies of despatches from Mr. Ashby of the greatest possible interest, as-regards the performance of the proto different members of the Council in London. We are indebted to ductions of Shakespeare, and we earnestly hope that the missing Mr. N. Hill for directing our attention to this curious notice. accounts may yet be recovered. 3 See Mr. P. Cunningham's " Extracts from the Revels' Accounts," (printed for the Shakespeare Society,) p. xxxii. lii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. against dramatic, performances on Sunday, is found, seems have been omitted in the patent, as an established actor, C;& prove that it was an after-thought, and that it was in- and a man of some property and influence; but he, as well serted, because his courtiers had urged that James ought as Kempe, not long subsequently rejoined the association not even to enter his new capital, until public steps had with which they had been so long connected. been taken to put an end to the profanation1. We may assume, perhaps, in the absence of any direct The King, having issued this command, arrived at the testimony, that Laurence Fletcher did not acquire his promCharter-house on the same day, and all the theatrical com- inence in the company by any remarkable excellence as an panices, which had temporarily suspended their performances, actor. He had been in Scotland, and had performed with began to act again on the 9th May2. Permission to this his associates before James in 1599, 1600, and 1601, and in effect was given by James I., and communicated through the latter year he had been registered as "his Majesty's the ordinary channel to the players, who soon found reason Comedian" at Aberdeen. He might, therefore, have been a to rejoice in the accession of the new sovereign; for ten favourite with the King, and being also a considerable sharer days after he reached London he took the Lord Chamber- in the association, he perhaps owed his place in the patent lain's players into his pay and patronage, calling them "the of May, 1603, to that circumstance4. The name of ShakeKing's servants," a title they always afterwards enjoyed. speare comes next, and as author, actor, and sharer, we For this purpose he issued a warrant, under the privy seal, cannot be surprised at the situation he occupies. His profor making out a patent under the great seal3, authorizing gress upward, in connexion with the profession, had been the nine following actors, and others, to perform in his name, gradual and uniform: in 1589 he was twelfth in a company not only at the Globe on the Bankside, but in any part of of sixteen members: in 1596 he was fifth in a company of the kingdom; viz. Laurence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, eight members; and in 1603 he was second in a company Richard Burbage, Augustine Phillippes, John Heminge, of nine members. Henry Condell, William Sly, Robert Armyn, and Richard The degree of encouragement and favour extended to acCowley. tors by James I. in the very commencement of his reign is We miss from this list the names of Thomas Pope, Wil- remarkable. Not only did he take the Lord Chamberlain's liam Kempe, and Nicholas Tooley, who had belonged to the players unto his own service, but the Queen adopted the company in 1596; and instead of them we have Laurence company which had acted under the name of the Earl of Fletcher, Henry Condell, and Robert Armyn, with the ad- Worcester, of which the celebrated dramatist, Thomas Heydition of Richard Cowley. Pope had been an actor in 1589, wood, was then one; an'd the Prince of Wales that of the and perhaps in May, 1603, was an old man, for he died in Lord Admiral, at the head of which was Edward Alleyn, thile February following. Kempe had joined the Lord Ad- the founder of Dulwich College. These three royal assomiral's players soon after the opening of the Fortune, on his ciations, as they may be termed, were independent of others return from the Continent, for we find him in Henslowe's under the patronage of individual noblemen5. pay in 1602. Nicholas Tooley had also perhaps withdrawn The policy of this course at such a time is evident, and from the association at this date, or his name would hardly James'I. seems to have been impressed with the truth of 1 The paragraph is in these terms, and we quote them because they The patent under the great seal, made out in consequence of this have not been noticed by any historian of our stage. warrant, bears date two days afterwards. "And for that we are informed, that there hamh been heretofore 4 Nothing seems to be known of the birth or origin of Laurence great neglect in this kingdome of keeping the Sabbath day; for the Fletcher, (who died in September, 160S,) but we may suspect that he better observing of the same and avoyding all impious prophanation, was an elder brother of John Fletcher, the dramatist. Bishop Fletcher, We do straightly charge and commaund that no Beare-bayting, But- the father, died on 15 June, 1596, having made his will in October, bayting, Enterludes, common Playes, or other like disordered or un- 1594, before he was translated from Worcester to London. This doclawful exercises. or pastimes, be frequented, kept, or used at any time ument seems never to have been examined, but it appears from it, as hereafter upon the Sabbath day. Mr. P. Cunningham informs us, that he had no fewer than nine Given at our Court at Theobalds, the 7 day of May, in the children, although he only mentions his sons Nathaniel and John by first yeare of our Reigne." name. He died poor, and among the Lansdowne MSS. is one, enti2 This fact we have upon the authority of Henslowe's Diary. See tied "Reasons to move her Majesty to some commiseration towards the Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 346. the orphans of the late Bishop of London, Dr. Fletcher:" this is 3 It runs verbatim et literatim thus:-printed in Birch's "Memoirs." He incurred the lasting displeasure of Queen Elizabeth by marrying, for his second wife, Lady Baker BY THE KING. of Kent, a woman of more than questionable character, if we may " Right trusty and welbeloved Counsellor we greete you well, and believe general report, and a satirical poem of the time, handed down will and commaund you, that under our privie Seale in your custody only in anucript, whic begins thus for the time being, you cause our letters to be derected to the keeper "The pride of prelacy, which now long since of our greate seale of England, commaunding him under our said Was banish'd with the Pope, is sayd of late greate Seale, he cause our letters to be made patents in forme follow- To have arriv'd at Bristowe, and from thence ing. James, by the grace of God, King of E ngland, Scotland, Fraunce, By Worcester into London brought his state." and Irland, defender of the faith, &c. To all Justices. Maiors, Sheriffs, It afterwards goes on thus Constables, Headboroughes, and other our officers and loving subjects greeting. Know ye, that we of our speciall grace, certaine know- The Romaine Tarquin, in his folly blind, ledge, and meere motion have licenced and authorized, and by these Of faire chaste Lucrece did a Lais make; presentes doe licence and authorize, these our servants. Lawrence But owr proud Tarquin beares a braver mind, Fletcher, William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, Augustine Phil- And of a Lais doth a Lucrece make." lippes, John Hemmings, Henrie Condell, William Sly, Robert Armyn, We cannot venture to quote the coarse epithets liberally bestowed Richard Cowlye, and the rest of their associats, freely to use & exer- upon Lady Baker, but the poem ends with these lines:cise the arte and faculty of playing Comedies. Tragedies. Histories, But yet, if any will the reason find, Enterludes, Moralls, Pastoralls, Stage plaies, and such other like, as Why he that look'd as lofty as a steeple, that thei have already studied or hereafter shall use or studie, aswell Should be so base as for to come behind, for the recreation of our loving subjects, as for our solace and plea- And take the leavings of the common people, sure, when we shall thinke good to see them, during our pleasure.'T is playne; for in processions, you Inow, And the said Comedies, Tragedies, Histories, Enterludes, Moralls,Thepriemus heeople gee Pastoralls, Stage plaies, and such like, to shew & exercise publiquely to their best commoditie, when the infection of the plague shall de- We ought to have mentioned that the poem is headed " Bishop crease, as well within theire now usuall howse called the Globe, Fletcher and my Lady Baker." The Bishop had buried his first within our county of Surrey, as also within ante towne halls, or mout wife, Elizabeth, at Chelsea Church in December, 1592. Nathaniel halls, or other convenient places within the liberties & freedome of Fletcher. mentioned above as included with his brother John in his any other citie, universitie. towne, or borough whatsoever within our father's will, is spoken of on a preceding page as "servant " to Mrs. said realmes and dominions. Willing and commaunding you, and White; but who Mrs. White might be, or what was the precise every of you, as you tender our pleasure, not only to permit and suffer nature of " Nat. Fletcher's " servitude, we have no information. them heerin, without any your letts, hinderances, or molestations, 5 However, an Act of Parliament was very soon passed (1 Jac.. c. during our said pleasure, but also to be ayding or assisting to them, 7,) to expose strolling actors, although protected by the authority of yf any wrong be to them offered. And to allowe them such former a peer, to the-penalties of 39 Eliz. c. 4. Itseems to have been found courtesies, as hathe bene given to men of their place and qualitie: that the evil had increased to an excess which required this degree and also what further favour you shall shew to these our servants for of correction; and Sir Edward Coke in his Charge to the Grand Jury our sake, we shall take kindly at your hands. And these our letters at Norwich in 1607, (when at was printed) observes, "The abuse of shall be your sufficient warrant and discharge in this behalfe. Given stage-players, wherewith I find the country much troubled, may under our Signet at our manner of Greenewiche, the seaventeenth easily be reformed, they having no commission to play in any place day of May in the first yere of our raigne of England, France, and without leave; and therefore by your ~willingness if they be not enIreland, & of Scotland the six & thirtieth. Ex per Lake." tertained, you may soon be rid of them." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHIAKESPEARE. liii the passage in " Hamlet," (brought out, as we apprehend, most of the companies of players who had left London for very shortly before he came to the throne) where it is said the provinces, on account of the prevalence of the plague, of these " abstracts and brief chronicles of the time," that and the consequent cessation of dramatic performances, had it is " better to have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while returned to the metropolis; and it is not at all unlikely that you live." James made himself sure of their good report; Shakespeare was one of those who had returned, having and an epigram, attributed to Shakespeare, has descended taken the. opportunity of visiting his family at Stratfordto us, which doubtless was intended in some sort as a grate- upon-Avon. ful return for the royal countenance bestowed upon the Under Elizabeth the Children of the Chapel (originally stage, and upon those who were connected with it. We the choir-boys of the royal establishment) had become an copy it from a coeval manuscript in our possession, which acknowledged company of players, and these, besides her seems to have belonged to a curious accumulator of mat- association of adult performers, Queen Anne took under ters of the kind, and which also contains an unknown pro- her immediate patronage, with the style of the Children of duction by Dekker, as well as various other pieces by dra- her Majesty's Revels, requiring that the pieces they promatists and poets of the time. The lines are entitled, posed to represent should first be submitted to, and have " SAESEPEARE: O P KING. the approval of, the celebrated poet Samuel Daniel. The "SaA oESPEE ON THIE KING. "Crowns hvtecopslntoinstrument of their appointment bears date 30th January, C'r1' s haivm their tompbs, length of dae their date, 1603-4; and from a letter from Daniel to his patron, Sir Triumphs their tomb, felicity her fiate: Of nought hbut earth can earth make us partaker, Thomas Egerton, preserved among his papers, we may perBut knowledge makes a king most like his Maker." haps conclude that Shakespeare, as well as Michael Drayton, had been candidates for the post of master of the We have seen these lines in more than one other old Queen's revels: he says in it, " I cannot but know, that I manuscript, and as they were constantly attributed to am lesse deserving than some that sued by other of the noShakespeare, and in the form in which we have given them bility unto her Majestie for this roome;" and, after introabove, are in no respect unworthy of his pen, we have little ducing the name of " his good friend,!" Drayton, he adds the doubt of their authenticity'. following, which, we apprehend, refers with sufficient disHaving established his family in " the great house " called tinctness to Shakespeare:-" It seemeth to myne humble "New Place " in his native town in 1597, by the purchase judgement that one who is the authour of playes, now daylie of it from Hercules Underhill, Shakespeare seems to have presented on the public stages of London, and the possessor contemplated considerable additions to his property there. of no small gaines, and moreover him selfe an actor in the In May, 1602, he laid out ~320 upon 107 acres of land, Kinges companie of comedians, could not with reason prewhich he bought of William and John Combe2, and attached tend to be Master of the Queene's Majesties Revells, for as it to his dwelling. The original indenture and its counter- much as he wold sometimes be ask'dd to approve and allow part are in existence, bearing date 1st May, 1602, but to of his own writings." neither of them is the signature of the poet affixed; and it This objection would have applied with equal force to seems that he being absent, his brother Gilbert was his im- Drayton, had we not every reason to believe that before mediate agent in the transaction, and to Gilbert Shakespeare this date he had ceased to be a dramatic author. He had the property was delivered to the use of William Shake- been a writer for Henslowe and Alleyn's company during speare. In the autumn of the same year he became the several years, first at the Rose, and afterwards at the Forowner of a copyhold tenement (called a cotagimn in the tune; but he seems to have relinquished that species of instrument) in Walker's Street, alias Dead Lane, Stratford, composition about a year prior to the demise of Elizabeth, surrendered to him by Walter Getley'. In November of the last piece in which he was concerned, of which we have the next year he gave Hercules Underhill ~60 for a mes- any intelligence, being noticed by Henslowe under date of suage, barn, granary, garden, and orchard close to or in Strat- May, 1502: this play was called "The Harpies," and he ford; but in the original fine, preserved in the Chapter House, was assisted in it by Dekker, Middleton, Webster,.and Westminster, the precise situation is not mentioned. In Munday. 1603, therefore, Shakespeare's property, in or near Strat- It is lhighly probable that Shakespeare was a suitor for ford-upon-Avon, besides what he might have bought of, or this office, in contemplation of a speedy retirement as an inherited from, his father, consisted of New Place, with 107 actor. We have already spoken of the presumed excelacres of land attached to it, a tenement in Walker's Street, lence of his personations on the stage, and to the tradition and the additional messuage, which he had recently pur- that he was the original player of the part of the Ghost in chased from Underhill. "Hamlet." Another character he is said to have sustained Whether our great dramatist was in London at the period is Adam, in " As you like it;" and his brother Gilbert, (who when the new king ascended the throne, we have no means in 1602 had received, on behalf William Shakespeare, the of knowing, but that he was so in the following autumn we 107 acres of land purchased from William and John Combe) have positive proof; for in a letter written by Mrs. Alleyn, who probably survived the Restoration, is supposed to have (the wife of Edward Alleyn, the actor) to her husband, been the author of this tradition5. He had acted also in then in the country, dated 20th October, 1603, she tells him Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour," in 1598, after that she'had seen "Mr. Shakespeare of the Globe" in (as we believe) introducing it to the company; and he is Southwark'. At this date, according to the same authority, supposed to have written part of, as well as known to have 1 Boswell appears to have had a manuscript copy of this epigram, waite, from being imputed to him in that volume, and by a passage but the general position in the last line was made to have a particu- in "Maroccus Extaticus," a tract printed as early as 1595, it is very lar application by the change of " a " to the. See Shakspeare by evident that the connexion between the Devil and John a Combe, or Boswell, vol. ii. p. 481. There were other variations for the worse in John of Comber (as he is there called) was much older:-" So hee had Boswell's copy, but that which we h'ave noticed completely altered had his rent at the daie, the devill and John of Comber should not the character of the production, and reduced it from a great general have fetcht Kate L. to Bridewell." There is no ground for supposing truth to a mere piece of personal flattery —"But knowledge makes that Shakespeare was ever on bad terms with any of the Combes, t:7e king most like his Maker." and in his will he expressly left his sword to Mr. Thomas Combe. 2 Much has been said in all the Lives of our poet, from the'time In a MS. of that time, now before us, we find the following given of Aubrey (who first gives the story) to our own, respecting asatirical as an epitaph upon Sir William Stone:epitaph upon a person of the name of John a Combe, supposed to " Heer ten in the hundred lies dead and ingraved: have been made extempore by Shakespeare: Aubrey words it thus:- But a hundred to ten his soul is not saved."': Ten in the hundred the devil allows, And the couplet is printed in no very different form in "The More But Combe will have. twelve, he swears and he vows. the Merrier," by H. P., 1608, as well as in Camden's "Remains." If any one ask, Who lies in this tomb? 3 A coeval copy of the court-roll is in the hands of the Shakespeare Ho! quoth the devil,'tis my John a Combe." Society. Malone had seen it, and put his initials upon it. No doubt Rowe changes the terms a little, but the point is the same, and in it was his intention to have used it in his unfinished Life of ShakeBrathwaite's' Remains," 1618, we have another version of the lines, speare. where they are given as havin. g been written by that author "upon 4 See the "Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," printed for the Shakeone John Combe, of Stratford-upon-Avon, a notable usurer." We speare Society, p. 63. are by no means satisfied that they were originally penned by Brath- 5 See the Introduction to " As you like it." liv THIE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. performed in, the same author's " Sejanus," in 16031. This is not hear upon the same or any other authority, but no such the last we hear of him upon the stage, but that he continued drama has come down to us. a member of the company until April 9, 1604, we have In the next year (at what particular part of it.is not the evidence of a document preserved at D lwich College, stated) Sir Leonard Haliday, then Lord Mayor of London, where the names of the King's players are enumerated in backed no doubt by his brethren of the corporation, made the following order:-Burbage, Shakespeare, Fletcher, a complaint against the same company, " thattKempe, (who Phillips, Condell, Heminge, Armyn, Sly, Cowley, Ostler, at this date had rejoined the association) Armyn, and others, and Day. If Shakespeare had not then actually ceased to players at the Blackfriars, have again not forborne to bring perform, we need not hesitate in deciding that he quitted upon their stage one or more of the worshipful aldermen that department of the profession very shortly afterwards. of the city of London, to their great scandal and the lessening of their authority;" and the interposition of the privy council to prevent the abuse was therefore solicited, What was done in consequence, if anything were done, does not CHAPTER XVI. appear in any extant document. In the spring of the next year a still graver charge was Immediate consequences of Shakespeare's retirement. Of- brought against the body of actors of whom Shakespeare, fences given by the company to the court, and to private until very recently, had been one; and it originated in no individuals. " Gowry's Conspiracy:" "Biron's Conspi- less a person than the French ambassador. George Chapracy " and "Tragedy." Suspension of theatrical perform.- man' had written two plays upon the history and execution ances. Purchase of a lease of the tithes of Stratfbrd, &c., of the Duke of Biron, containing, in the shape in which they by Shakespeare. " Hamlet' printed in 1603 and 1604. were originally produced on the stage, such matter that 1M. 1- Henry VIII." " Macbeth." Supposed autograph letter Beaumont, the represeutative of the King of France in of King James to Shakespeare. Susanna Shakespeare and Beauont, the representative of the ng of rance John hall married in 16'07. Death of Edmund Shake- London, thought it necessary to remonstrate against the respeare in tihe same year. Death of Mary Shakespeare in petition, and the performance of it was prohibited: as soon, 1608. Shakespeare's great popularity: rated to the poor however, as the court had quitted London, the King's playof Southwark. ers persisted in acting it; in consequence of which three of the players were arrested, (their names are not given) Mo sooner had our great dramatist ceased to take part in but the author made his escape. These two dramas were the public performances of the King's players, than the printed in 1608, and again in 1625; and looking through company appears to have thrown off the restraint by which them, we are at a loss to discover anything, beyond the hisit had been usually controlled ever since its formation, and torical incidents, which could have given offence; but the to have produced plays which were objectionable to the truth certainly is, that all the objectionable portions were court, as well as offensive to private persons. Shakespeare, omitted in the press: there can be no doubt, on the authorfrom his abilities, station, and experience, must have pos- ity of the despatch from the French ambassador to his sessed great influence with the body at large, and due de- court, that one of the dramas originally contained a scene ference, we may readily believe, was shown to his know- in which the Queen of France and Mademoiselle Verneuil ledge and judgment in the selection and acceptance of were introduced, the former, after having abused her, giving plays sent in for approbation by authors of the time. The the latter a box on the ear. contrast between the conduct of the association immediately This information was conveyed to Paris under the date before, and immediately after his retirement, would lead us of the 5th April, 1606; and the French ambassador, appato conclude, not only that he was a man of prudence and rently in order to make his court acquainted with the lawdiscretion, but that the exercise of these qualities had in less character of dramatic performances at that date in many instances kept his fellows from incurring the displea- England, adds a very singular paragraph, proving that the sure of persons in power, and from exciting the animosity King's players, only a few days before they had brought the of particular individuals. We suppose Shakespeare to have Queen of France upon the stage, had not hesitated to introceased to act in the summer of 1604, and in the winter of duce upon the same boards their own reigning sovereign in that very year we find the King's players giving offence to a most unseemly manner, making him swear violently, and "some great counsellors" by performing a play upon the beat a gentleman for interfering with his known propensity subject of G-owry's conspiracy. This fact we have upon for the chase. This course indicates a most extraordinary the evidence of one of Sir R. Winwood's correspondents, degree of boldness on the part of the players; but, neverJohn Chamberlaine, who, in a letter dated 18th December, theless, they were not'prohibited fi-om acting, until M. 1604, uses these expressions:-" The tragedy of Gowry, Beaumont had directed the attention of the public authoriwith all action and actors, hath been twice represented by ties to the insult offered to the Queen of France: then, an the King's players, with exceeding concourse of all sorts of order was issued putting a stop to the acting of all plays people; but whether the matter or manner be not well in London; but, according to the same authority, the cornhandled, or that it be thought unfit that princes should be panics had clubbed their money, and, attacking James I. on played on the stage in their lifetime, I hear that some great his weak side, had offered a large sum to be allowed to counsellors are much displeased with it, and so, it is thought, continue their performances. The French ambassador himit shall be forbidden." Whether it was so forbidden we do self apprehended that the appeal to the King's pecuniary 1 From lines' preceding it in the 4to, 1605, -we know that it was " Ho, you Theodines! you must not dreame brought out at the Globe, and Ben Jonson admits that it was ill re- Y'are thus dismist in peace: seas too extreame ceived by the audience. Your song hath stir'd up to be calm'd so soone: 2 We may here notice two productions by this great and various Nay, in your haven yoe shipwracke: y'are undone. author, one of which is mentioned by Ant. Wood (Ath. Oxon. edit. Your Perseus is displeas'd, and sleighteth now Bliss. vol. ii. p. 575), and the other: by Warton (Hist. Engl. Poetr. Your work as idle, and as servile yow. vol. iv. p. 276, edit. 8vo), on the authority merely of the stationers' The peoples god-voice hath excltim'd away registers; but none of our literary antiquaries seem to have been able Your mistie clouds; and he sees, cleare as day, to meet with them. They are both in existence. The first is a de- Y'ave made him scandal'd for anothers wrong-, fence of his "Andromeda Liberata." 1614, which he wrote in cele- Wishing unpublisht your unpopular song." bration of the marriage of the Earl'of Somerset and the Countess of The other production, of which our knowledge has also hitherto Essex, which Chapman tells us had been " most maliciously misin- been derived from the stationers' registers, is called " Petrarch's tetpreted:" it is called "A free and offenceless Justification " of his Seven Penitentiall Psalms, paraphrastically translated," with other poem, and it was printed in 1614. It is chiefly in prose, but at poems of a miscellaneous kind at the end: it was printed in small the end is a dialogue in rhyme, between Pheme and Theodines, the 8vo, in 1612, dedicated to Sir Edward Phillips, Master of the Rolls, last being meant for Chapman: Wood only supposes that Chapman where Chapman speaks of his yet unfinished translation of Homer, wrote it, but if he could have read it he would have entertained no which, he adds, the Prince of Wales had commanded him to comdoubt. It appears that Somerset himself had conceived that " An- plete. The editor of the present work has a copy of Chapman's dromeda Liberata" was a covert attack upon him, and from this no- " Memorable Masque " on the marriage of the Palsgrave and Princess tion Chapman was anxious to relieve himself. The poetical dialogue Elizabeth, corrected by Chapman in his owh hand; but the errors is thus opened by Pheme, and sufficiently explains the object of the are few, and not very important. It shows the patient accuracy of writer. the accomplished writer. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SIIAKESPEARE. lv wants would be effectual, and that permission, under certain appearance of plays in print, lest to a certain extent the restrictions, would not long be withheld'. public curiosity should thereby be satisfied. Whatever emoluments Shakespeare had derived from the The point is, of course, liable to dispute, but we have. Blackfriars or the Globe theatres, as an actor merely, we little doubt that "Henry VIII." was represented very soon may be tolerably certain he relinquished when he ceased after the accession of James I., to whom and to whose family to perform. He would thus be able to devote more of his it contains a highly complimentary allusion;. and "Mactime to dramatic composition, and, as he continued a sharer beth," having been written in 1605, we suppose to have in the two undertakings, perhaps his income on the whole been produced at the Globe in the spring of 1606. Alwas not much lessened. Certain it is, that in 1605 he was though it related to Scottish annals, it was not like the in possession of a considerable sum, which he was anxious play of Gowry's Conspiracy " (mentioned by Chamberlaine to invest advantageously in property in or near the place at the close of 1603), founded, to use Von Raumer's words, of his birth. Whatever may have been the circumstances upon " recent history;" and instead of running the slightest under which he quitted Stratford, he always seems to have risk of giving offence, many of the sentiments and allusions contemplated a permanent return thither, and kept his eyes it contained, especially that to the " two-fold balls and treble constantly turned in the direction of his birth-place. As sceptres," in Act iv. scene 1, must have been highly acceptlong before as January, 1598, he had been advised " to deal able to the King. It has been supposed, upon the authority in the matter of tithes" of Stratford'2; but perhaps at that of Sheffield Duke of Buckingham, that King James with date, having recently purchased New Place, he was not in his own hand wrote a letter to Shakespeare in return for sufficient funds for the purpose, or possibly the party in the compliment paid to him in " Macbeth:" the Duke of possession of the lease of the tithes, though not unwilling Buckingham is said to have had Davenant's evidence for to dispose of it, required more than it was deemed worth. this anecdote, which was first told in print in the advertiseAt all events, nothing was done on the subject for more than ment to Lintol's edition of Shakespeare's Poems in 11105. six years; but on the 24th July, 1605, we find William Rowe says nothing of it in his "Life," either in 1109 or 1114, Shakespeare, who is described as "of Stratford-upon-Avon, so that, at all events, he did not adopt it; and it seems very gentleman," executing an indenture for the purchase of the improbable that James I. should have so far condescended, unexpired term of a long lease of the great tithes of "corn, and very probable that the writer of Lintot's advertisement grain, blade, and hay," and of the small tithes of " wool, should not have been very scrupulous. We may conjeclamb, and other small and privy tithes, herbage, oblations," ture, that a privy seal under the sign manual, (then the usual &c., in Stratford, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, form of proceeding) granting to the King's players some in the county of Warwick. The vendor was Raphe Hu- extraordinary reward on the occasion, has been misrepreband, of Ippesley, Esquire; and from the draft of the deed, sented as a private letter from the King to the dramatist. now before us', we learn that the original lease, dated as far Malone speculated that " Macbeth " had been played beback as 1539, was "for four score and twelve years;" so fore King James and the King of Denmark, (who arrived that in 1605 it had still twenty-six years to run, and for in England on 6th July, 1606) but we have not a particle this our great dramatist agreed to pay 4401: by the receipt, of testimony to establish that a tragedy relating to the ascontained in the same deed, it appears that he paid the sassination of a monarch by an ambitious vassal was ever whole of the money before it was executed by the parties. represented at court: we should be surprised to discover He might very fitly be described as of Stratford-upon- any proof of the kind, because such incidents seem usuall Avon, because he had there not only a substantial, settled to have been carefully avoided. residence for his family, but he was the owner of consider- The eldest daughter of William and Anne Shakespeare, able property, both in land and houses, in the town and Susanna, having been born in May, 1583, was rather more neighbourhood; and he had been before so described in than twenty-four years old when she was married, on 5th 1602, when he bought the 107 acres of William and John June, 1607, to Mr. John Hall, of Stratford, who is styled Combe, which he annexed to his dwelling of New Place. " gentleman " in the register6, but he was a professor of A spurious edition of " Hamlet" having been published medicine, and subsequently practised as a physician. There in 1603', a more authentic copy came out in the next year, appears to have been no reason on any side for opposing containing much that had been omitted, and more that had the match, and we may conjecture that the ceremony was been grossly disfigured and misrepresented. We do not performed in the presence of our great dramatist, during believe that Shakespeare, individually, had anything to do one of his summer excursions to his native town. About six with this second and more correct impression, and we doubt months afterwards he lost his brother Edmund7, and his much whether it was authorized by the company, which mother in the autumn of the succeeding year. seems at all times to have done its utmost to prevent the There is no doubt that Edmund Shakespeare, who was 1 We derive these very curious and novel particulars from M. Von deale in the matter of our tithes. By the instructions you can give Raumer's "History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries," him theareof, and by the frendes he can make therefore. we thinke it translated by Lord Francis Egerton, vol. ii. p. 219. The terms are a faire marke for him to shoote at, and not unpossible to hitt. it obworth quoting. tained would advance him.in deede, and would do us much good." "April 5, 1606. I caused certain players to be forbid from acting The terms of this letter prove that Shalespeare's townsmen were of the History of the Duke of Biron: when, however, they saw that'opinion that he was desirous of advancing himself among the- inthe whole court had left town, they persisted in acting it; nay. they habitants of Stratford. brought upon the stage the Queen of France and Mademoisell.e er- 3 Itis about to be Printed entire by the Shakespeare Society, to the neuil. The former, having first accosted the latter with very hard council of which it has been handed over by the owner for the words, gave her a box on the ear. At my suit three of them were purpose. asrested; but the principal person, the author, escaped.,4 The only copy of this impression is in the library of his Grace "One or two days before, they had brought forward their own the Duke of Devonshire, and we have employed it to a certain extent King and all his favorites in a very strange fashion: they made him in settling and explaining the text of the tragedy. See the Introcurse and swear because he had been robbed of a bird, and beat a duction to c etamlet. gentleman because he had called off the hounds from the scent. That the story came through the DBke of Backingham from DaThey represent him as drunkr at least once a-day, &c. venant, seems to have been a conjectural addition by Oldys: the " He has upon this made order, that no play shall be henceforth words in Lintot's advertisement are these:- That most learned acted in London; for the repeal of which order they have already Prince. and great patron of learning, King James the. First, was offered 100,000 livres. Perhaps the permission will be again granted, pleased with his own hand to write an amicable letter to Mr. Shakebut upon condition that they represent no recent history, nor speak sPare which letter, tlough now lst remained lon- in the hands of the present time." of Sir villiam Davenant, as a credible person now living can testify." Dr. Farmer was the first to give currency to the notion, that 2 In a letter from a resident in Stratford of the name of Abraham the compliment to the Stuart family in - Macbeth " was the occasion Sturley. It was originally published by Boswell (vol. ii. p. 566) at of the letter. length, but the only part which relates to Shakespeare runs thus: The terms are these:we have not thought it necessary to preserve the uncouth abbrevia- "1607. unii 5. John Hall gentlema & Susanna Shaxpere." tions of the original. "This is one special remembrance of your father's motion. It 7 He was buried at St. Saviour's Southewark, in the immediate seemeth by hinm that our countrisman, Mr. Shakespesare, is willing to vicinity of the Globe theatre; the registration being in the following disburse some money upon some od yardeland or other at Shottery, form, specifying, rather unusually, the occupation of tie deceased. or near about us: he thinketh it a very fitt patterne to move him to 1 "1607, Dec. 31. Edmund Shakespeare, a player." Ivi THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. not twenty-eight at the time of his death, had embraced the dwelling-house occupied by himself. This is very possibly profession of a player, having perhaps followed the fortunes the fact; but, on the other hand, the truth may be, that he of his brother William, and attached himself to the same paid the rate not for any habitation, good or bad, large or company. We, however, never meet with his name in any small, but in respect of his theatrical property in the Globe, list of the associations of the time, nor is he mentioned as an which was situated in'the same district-. The parish regactor among the characters of any old play with which we ister of St. Saviour's establishes, that in 1601 the churchare acquainted. We may presume, therefore, that he attain- wardens had been instructed by the vestry " to talk with ed no eminence; perhaps his principal employment might the players" -respecting the payment of tithes and contribube under his brother in the management of his theatrical tions to the maintenance of the poor; and it is not very unconcerns, while he only took inferior parts when the assistance likely that some arrangement was made under which the of a larger number of performers than usual was necessary. sharers in the Globe, and Shakespeare as one of them, would MIary Shakespeare survived her son Edmund about eight be assessed. As a confirmatory circumstance we may add, months, and was buried at Stratford on the 9th Sept. 1608'. that when Henslowe and Alleyn were about to build the There are few points of his life which can be stated with Fortune play-house, in 1599-1600, the inhabitants of the more confidence than that our great dramatist attended the Lordship of Finsbury, in the parish of Cripplegate, petifuneral of his mother: filial piety and duty would of course tioned the privy council in favour of the unrdertaking; one impel him to visit Stratford on the occasion, and in proof of their reasons being, that "the erectors were contented to that he did so, we may mention that on the 16th of the give a very liberal portion of money weekly towards the next month he stood godfather there to a boy of the name relief of the poor." Perhaps the parties interested in the of William Walker. Shakespeare's mother had probably Globe were contented to come to similar terms, and the resided at New Place, the house of her son; from whence, parish to accept the money weekly from the various indiwe may presume also, the body of her husband had been viduals. Henslowe, Alleyn, Lowin, Town, Juby, &c., who carried to the grave seven years before. If she were of were either sharers, or actors and sharers, in that or other full age when she was married to John Shakespeare in theatres in the same neighbourhood, contributed in different 1557, she was about 72 years old at the time of her decease. proportions for the same purpose, the largest amount being The reputation of our poet as a dramatist seems at this six-pence per week, -which was paid by Shakespeare, Hensperiod to have been at its height. His " King Lear" was lowe, and Alleyn3. printed three times for the same bookseller in 1608; and in The ordinary inhabitants included in the same list, doubtorder perhaps to increase its sale, (as well as to secure the less, paid for their dwellings, according to their several purchaser against the old " King Leir," a play upon the rents, and such may have been the case with Shakespeare: same story, being given to him instead) the name of " M. all we contend for is, that we ought not to conclude at once, William Shake-speare" was placed very conspicuously, and that Shakespeare was the tenant of a house in the Liberty most unusually, at the top of the title-page. The same ob- of the Clink, merely from the circumstance that he was servation will in part apply to "Pericles," which came out rated to the poor. It is not unlikely that he was the occuin 1609, with the name of the author rendered particularly pier of a substantial dwelling-house in the immediate neighobvious, although in the ordinary place. "Troilus and bourhood of the Globe, where his presence and assistance Cressida," which was published in the same year, also has would often be required; and the amount of his income at the name of the author very distinctly legible, but in a some- this period would warrant such an expenditure, although we what smaller type, In both the latter cases, it would like- have no reason for thinking that such a house would be wise seem, that there were plays by older or rival drama- needed for his wife and family, because the existing evitists upon the same incidents. The most noticeable proof dence is opposed to the notion that they ever resided with of the advantage which a bookseller conceived he should him in London. derive from the announcement that the work he published was by our poet, is afforded by the title-page of the collection of his dispersed sonnets, which was ushered into the CHAPTER XVII. world as "Shakespeare's Sonnets," in very large capitals, as Attempt of the Lord Mayor and aldermen in 1608 to expel the if that mere fact would be held a sufficient recommendation. King's players from thle Blackfriars, and its failure. NlegoIn a former part of our memoir (p. xiv.) we have alluded tiation by the corporation to purchase the theatre and its to the circumstance, that in 1609 Shakespeare was rated to appurtenances: interest and property of Shakespeare and the poor of the Liberty of the Clink in a sum which might other sharers. The income of Richard Burbage at his possibly indicate that he was the occupant of a commodious death. Diary of the ERa. J. Ward, Vica r of Stratford, and dwelling-h e in S w rk Th ft tht or ge his statement regarding Shakespeare's expenditure. Copy dwelling-house in Southwark. The fact that our great of a letter from Lord Southampton on behllf of Shakespeare dramatist paid six-pence a week to the poor there, (as high and Burbage. Probable decision of Lord Chancellor Ellesa sum as anybody in that immediate vicinity was assessed mere in favour of the company at thle Blackfriars theatre. at) is stated in the account of the Life of Edward Alleyn, printed by the Shakespeare Society, (p. 90) and there it is WE have referred to the probable amount of the income of too hastily inferred that he was rated at this sum upon a our great dramatist in 1609, and within the last ten years a 1 The following is a copy of the register. Francis Carter.......ijd 2T 1608, Septemb. 9, Mayry Shaxspere, Wydowe." Gilbert Catherens. ijd 2 The account (preserved at Dulwich College) does not state that and twenty-one others. The next division includes a list of nineteen the parties enumerated (consisting of 57 persons) were rated to the names, and at the head of it we find, poor for dwelling-houses, but merely that they were rated and as- Mr. Shakespeare....jd sessed to a weekly payment towards the relief of the poor, some for Mr. Edw. Collins.jd dwelling-houses, and others perhaps in respect to different kinds of John Burret.jd property: it is thus entitled:- and all the rest pay a rate of either 2ed or Id, including the following'" A breif noat taken out of the poores booke, contayning the names actors: of all thenhabitantes of this Liberty, which are rated and assessed to Mr. Toune iid ob. a weekely paimeht towardes the relief of the poore. As it standes Mr. Jubye....... o. now encreased, this 6th day of Aprill, 1609. Delivered up to Phillip Richard Hunt.....d obh. BIenslowe, Esquior, churchwarden, by Francis Carter, one of the Simon Bird jd ob. ovreseers of the same Liberty.~" It commences with' these names:- IThe third division consists of seven persons who only paid one penny Phillip Henslowe, esquior, assessed at weekely. vjd per week, and among them we perceive the name of no individnul Ed. Alleyn, ass.essed at weekely.. vjd who, according to other evidence, appears to have been in any way The Ladye Buckley, weekly. iiijd concerned with theatres: Malone (see his "Inquiry," p. 215,) had The account is in three divisions; and in the first, besides the above, seen this document, but he mis-states that it belongs to the year 1608, we find the names of and not 1609. Mr. Langworthe. iijd 3 John Northbrooke, in his Treatise against Plays, Players. &c., Mr. Benfield.iijd (Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 126.) informs us that in 1577 people Mr. Griffin... ijd contributed weekly to the support of the poor'"according to their Mr. Toppin.ijd ability, some a penny, some-two-pence, another four-pence, and the Mr. Louens [i. e. Loin]...... ijd best commonly giveth but six-pence." THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Ivii document has been discovered, which enables us to form well as to the widows and orphans of deceased actors: the some judgment, though not perhaps an accurate estimate, purchase money of the whole property was thus raised to of the sum he annually derived from the private theatre in at least 70001. the Blackfriars. Each share, out of the twenty into which the receipts of From the outset of the undertaking, the Lord Mayor and the theatre were divided, yielded, as was alleged, an annual aldermen of London had been hostile to the establishment profit of 331. 6s. 8d.; and Shakespeare, owning four of these of players within this precinct, so near to the boundaries, shares, his annual income, from them only, was 1331. 6s. 8d.: but beyond the jurisdiction of the corporation; and, as we he was besides proprietor of the wardrobe and properties, have already shown, they had made several fruitless efforts stated to be worth 5001.: these, we may conclude, he lent to dislodge them. The attempt was renewed in 1608, when to the company for a certain consideration, and, reckoning Sir Henry Montagu, the Attorney General of the day, gave wear and tear, ten per cent. seems a very low rate of payan opinion in favour of the claim of the citizens to exercise ment; we will take it, however, at that sum, which would their municipal powers within the precinct of the late dis- add 501. a year to the 1331. 6s. 8d. already mentioned, making solved monastery of the Blackfriars. The question seems together 1831. 6s. 8d., besides what our great dramatist must in some shape to have been brought before Baron Elles- have gained by the profits of his pen, upon which we have mere, then Lord Chancellor of England, who required from no data for forming any thing like an accurate estimate. the Lord Mayor and his brethren proofs that they had ex- Without including any thing on this account, and supposing ercised any authority in the disputed liberty. The distin- only that the Globe was as profitable for a summer theatre guished lawyers of the day retained by the city were imme- as the Blackfriars was for a winter theatre, it is evident diately employed in searching for records applicable to the that Shakespeare's income could hardly have been less than point at issue; but as far as we can judgo, no such proofs, 3661. 13s. 4d. Taking every known source of emolument as were thought necessary by the highest legal authority into view, we consider 4001. a year the very lowest amount of the time, and applicable to any recent perio'd, were forth- at which his income can be reckoned in 1608. coming. Lord Ellesmere, therefore, we may conclude, was The document upon which this calculation is founded is opposed to the claim of the city. preserved among the papers of Lord Ellesmere, but a reFailing in this endeavour to expel the King's players from inarkable incidental confirmation of it has still more recently their hold by force of law, the corporation appears to have been brought to light in the State-paper office. Sir Dudley taken a milder course, and negotiated with the players for Carlton was ambassador at the Hague in 1619, and John the purchase of the Blackfriars theatre, with all its proper- Chamberlaine, writing to him on 19th of March in that ties and appurtenances. To this negotiation we are proba- year, and mentioning the death of Queen Anne, states that bly indebted for a paper, which shows with great exactness "the funeral is put off to the 29th of the next month, to the and particularity the amount of interest then claimed by great hinderance of our players, which arie forbidden to play each sharer, those sharers being Richard Burbage, Laurence so long as her body is above ground: one speciall man Fletcher', William Shakespeare, John Heminge, Henry among them, Burbage, is lately dead, and hath left, they Condell, Joseph Taylor, and John Lowin, with four other say, better than 3001. land'." persons not named,' each the owner of half a share. Burbage was interred at St. Leonard's, Shoreditch, on We have inserted the document entire in a note2, and 16th March, 1619, three days anterior to the date of Chamhence we find that Richard Burbage was the owner of the berlaine's letter4, having made his nuncupative will four froeehold or fee, (which he no doubt inherited from his days before his burial: in it he said nothing about the father) as well as the owner of four shares, the value of all amount of his property, but merely left his wife Winifred which, taken together, lie rated at 19331. 6s. 8d. Laurence his sole executrix. There can be no doubt, however, that Fletcher (if it be he, for the Christian name is written the correspondent of Sir Dudley Carlton was correct in his'' Laz,") was proprietor of three shares, for which he claimed information, and that Burbage died worth " better than" 7001. Shakespeare was proprietor of the wardrobe and 3001. a year in land, besides his "goods and chattels:" 8001. properties of the theatre, estimated at 5001., as well as of a year at that date was about 15001. of our present money, four shares, valued, like those of Burbage and Fletcher, at and we have every reason to suppose that Shakespeare was 331. 6s. 8d. each, or 9331. 6s. 8d., at seven years' purchase: quite in as good, if not in better circumstances. Until the his whole demand was 14331. 6s. 8cd., or 5001. less than that letter of Chamberlaine was found, we had not the slightest of Burbage, in as much as the fee was considered worth knowledge of the amount of property Burbage had accu10001., while Shakespeare's wardrobe and properties were mulated, he having been during his whole life merely an valued at 5001. According to the same calculation, Hem- actor, and not combining in his own person the profits of a inge and Condell each required 4661. 13s. 4d. for their two most successful dramatic author with those of a performer. shares, and Taylor 3501. for his share and a half, while the Nevertheless, it must not be forgotten, that although Shakefour unnamed half-sharers put in their claim to be compen- speare continued a large sharer with the leading members sated at the same rate, 4661. 13s. 4dc. This mode of esti- of the company in 1608, he had retired from the stage about mating the Blackfriars theatre made the value of it 61661. four years before; and having ceased to act, but still re138s. 4d., and to this sum was to be added remuneration to taining his shares in the profits of the theatres with which the hired men of the company, who were not sharers, as he was connected, it is impossible to say what arrangement 1 These transactions most probably occurred before September, Item. Lowing also one share and an halfe. 350 0 0 1603, because Laurence Fletcher died in that month. I-Iowever, it is Item. Foure more playeres with one halfe share to eche not quite certain that the "Laz. Fletcher," mentioned in the docu- of them.466 13 4 ment, was Laurence Fletcher: we know of no person named Lazarus Fletcher, though he may have been the personal representative of Summa totalis. 6166 13 4 Laurence Fletcher. Moreover, the hired men of the Companie demaund some recompence 2 It is thu.s headed- for their great losse, and the Widowes asnd Orphanes of Players, who ": For avoiding of the Playhouse in the Precinct of the Blacike Friers. are paide by the Sharers at divers rates and proportions, so as in the whole it will cost the Lo. Mayor and the Citizens at least 70001." I s.. 3 This new and valuable piece of information was pointed out to Imp. Richard B3urbidge oweth the Fee, and is alsoe a us by Mr. Lemon, who has been as indefatigable in his researches as sharer therein. His interest he rateth at the grosse liberal in the communication of the results of them. summe of 10001. for the Fee, and for his foure shares 4 The passage above quoted renders IMiddleton's epigram on the in.the summe of 9331. 6s. 8d. 1933 6 8 death of Burbage (Works by Dyce, vol. v. p. 503) quite clear:Items. Laz. Fletcher oweth three shares, which he ratetih r Dc,. vi at 7001., that is, at seven yeares purchase for each "Astronomers and star-gazers this year share, or 331. 6s. 8d., one ye.are with another.. 700 0 0four ecllpses; five appear. Item. W,. Shakespeare asketh for the wardrobe and Death interposing Burbage, and their staying, properties of the same playhouse 5001., and for hisHath made a visible elips of playing." 4 shares, the same as his fellowes, Burbidge and It has been conjectured that "their staying' referred to a temporary Fletcher; viz. 9331. 6s. 8d.. 1433 6 8 suspension of plays in consequence of the death of Burbage; but the Item. IHeminge and Condell eche 2 shares. 933 6 8 stay was the prohibition of acting until after the funeral of Queen Item. Joseph Taylor I share and an halfe.. 350 0 0 Anne. D Iviii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. he may have made with the rest of the company for the sovereign: he had many important public duties to discharge regular contribution of dramas, in lieu perhaps of his own besides those belonging to his great office; and notwithpersonal exertions. standing he had shown himself at all times a liberal patron In a work published a few years ago, containing extracts of letters, and had had many works of value dedicated to from the Diary of the Rev. John Ward, who was vicar of him, we may readily imagine, that although he must have Stratford-upon-Avon, and whose memoranda extend from heard of Shakespeare and Burbage, he was in some degree 1648 to 169'`, it is stated that Shakespeare "in his elder of ignorance as to their individual deserts, which this comdays lived at Stratford, and supplied the stage with two munication was intended to remove. That it was not sent plays every year, and for it had an allowance so large, that to him by Lord Southampton, who probably was acquainted he spent at the rate of 10001. a year, as I have heard." We with him, may afford a proof of the delicacy of the Earl's only adduce this passage to show what the opinion was as mind, who would not seem directly to interpose while a to Shakespeare's circumstances shortly after the Restora- question of the sort was pending before a judge, (though tion2. We take it for granted that the sum of 10001. (equal possibly not in his judicial capacity) the history of whose to nearly 50001. now) is a considerable exaggeration, but it life establishes that where the exercise of his high functions may warrant the belief that Shakespeare lived in good style was involved he -was equally deaf to public and to private and port, late in life, in his native town. It is very possible, influence. too, though we think not probable, that after he retired to We have introduced an exact copy of the document in a Stratford he continued to write, but it is utterly incredible note3, and it will be observed that it is without date; but that subsequent to his retirement he "supplied the stage the subject of it shows beyond dispute that it belongs to this with two plays every year." He might not. be able at once period, while the lord mayor and aldermen were endeavourto relinquish his old and confirmed habits of composition; ing to expel the players from a situation where they had but such other evidence as we possess is opposed to Ward's been uninterruptedly established for more than thirty years. statement, to which he himself appends the cautionary There can be no doubt that the object the players had in words, "as I have heard." Of course he could have known view was attained, because we know that the lord mayor nothing but by hearsay forty-six years after our poet's de- and his brethren were not allowed, until many years aftercease. He might, however, easily have known inhabitants wards, to exercise any authority within the precinct and of Stratford who well recollected Shakespeare, and, consid- liberty of the Blackfriars, and that the King's servants conering the opportunities he possessed, it strikes us as very tinned to occupy the theatre long after the death of Shakesingular that he collected so little information. speare. We have already adverted to the bounty of the Earl of --- Southampton to Shakespeare, which we have supposed to have been consequent upon the dedication of " Venus and CHAPTER XVIIL Adonis," and "Lucrece," to that nobleman, and coincident in point of date with the building of the Globe Theatre. Warrant to Daborne, Shakespeare, Field, and Kirkham, for Another document has been handed down to us among the the Children of the Queen's Revels, in Jan. 1610. Popupapers of Lord Ellesmere, which proves the strong interest larity of juvenile companies of actors.. Stay of Daborne's Lord Southampton still took, about fifteen years afterwards, warrant, and the reasons for it. Plays intended to be acted in Sfhakespeare's affairs, and in the prosperity of tie corn by the Childrei of the Queen's Revels. Shakespeare's in Shakespeare's affabe, and i the prosperity of the cornpany to which he was attached: it has distinct reference dramas between 1609 and 1612. Hlisretirementto Stratford, and disposal of hlis property in the Blackfriars and Globe also to the pending and unequal struggle between the cor- theatres. Alleyn's purchases in Blackfrlars in 1612. Shakeporation of London and the players at the Blackfiiars, of speare's purchase of a house in Blackfriars from Henry which we have already spoken. It is the copy of a letter Walker in 1613, and the possible cause of it explained. subscribed H. S. (the initials of the Earl) to some nobleman Shakespeare described as ot'Stratford-upon-Avon. in favour of our great dramatist, and of the chief performer in many of his plays, Richard Burbage; and recollecting THERE is reason for believing that the important question what Lord Southampton had before done for Shakespeare, of jurisdiction had been decided in favour of the King's and the manner in which from the first he had patronized players before January, 1609-10, because we have an inour stage and drama, it seems to us the most natural thing strument of that date authorizing a juvenile company to in the world for him to write a letter personally on behalf exhibit at Blackfriars, as well as the association which had of parties who had so many public and private claims. We been in possession of the theatre ever since its original conmay conclude that the original was not addressed to Lord struction. One circumstance connected with this document, Ellesmere, or it would have been found in the depository to which we shall presently advert, may however appear of his papers, and not merely a transcript of it; but a copy to cast a doubt upon the point, whether it had yet been of it may have been furnished to the Lord Chancellor, in finally determined that the corporation of London was by order to give him some information respecting the charac- law excluded from the precinct of the Blackfriars. ters of the parties upon whose cause he was called upon to It is a fact, of which it may be said we have conclusive decide. Lord Ellesniere stood high in the confidence of his proof, that almost from the first, if not from the first, the I Diary of the Rev. John Ward, &c. Arranged by Charles Severn, and good behaviour, he hath be come possessed of the Blacke Fryers M. D. London, 8vo, 1839.' playhouse, which hath bene imployed for playes sithence it was 2 Mr. Ward was appointed to the vicarage of Stratford-upon-Avon builded by his Father, now nere 50 yeres agone. The other is a man in 1662. no whitt lesse deserving favor, and my especiall friende, till of late 3 The copy was made upon half a sheet of paper, and without ad- an actor of good account in the companie, now a sharer in the same, dress: it runs as follows and writer of some of our best English playes, which, as your Lord"oMy verie honored Lord. The iansl good offices I hans remained ship knoweth, were most singularly liked of Quene Elizabeth, when aLordthi' ie hyr Lors htihep' manh s w h fohs to m e b w rd Enginask the companie was called uppon to performe before her Mate'stie at at your Lordship's hands, which ought to make me backward in asking Court'at Christmas and Shrovetide. His most gracious Maiestie Kin further favors, onely imbou deneth me to requie more in the same James also sence his coming to the crown h ath extended his roy kinde. Your Lordship will be warned howe hereafter you grannt favour tothe copni in divers aies and at sendrie temei. This anie sut, seeing it draweth on more and greater demaunds. This the opanie in divers ais and at ndrie tymes. This you ca, to be other hath to name William Shakespeare, and they are bot/h of one which now presseth is to request your Lordship, in a ntis, and indeeds alimost of one mowne: both are right famous in good to the poore players of the Black Fryers, who call them selves by their qualityss, though it longeth not of your Lo. granitie and wiseauthoritie the servaunts of his Majestie, and asks for the protection dome to resort vnto the places where they are wont to delight the of their most gracious Maister and Sovereigne in this the tyme of their publique ar. Their trust and sue Oe is not to bee molested in treble. They are threatened by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of their way of life, whereby they maintains them selves and their London, never friendly to their calling, with thedistinctionof th eir i ay of life whereby they maintatne them selves and their L ondon never friendly to their calling with of their plaishons, which wives and families, (being both married and of good reputation) as meanes of livelihood, by the pulling doae well as the widows and orphanes of some of their dead fellows. is a priuate theatre, and hath neuer giuen occasion of anger by ane "Your Lo most bunden at om. disorders. These bearers are two of the chiefe of the companic; oneYorLmsbunnacm of them by name Richard Burbidge, who humblie sneth for your Copia vera.. Lordship's kinde helpe, for that he is a man famous as our English Lord Southampton was -clearly mistaken when he stated that the Roscius, one who fitteth the action to the word, and the word to the Blackfriars theatre had been built nearly fifty years: in 1608 it had action most admirably. By the exercise of hIis qualitye, industry, been bualt about thirty-three years. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. lix Blackfriars theatre had been' in the joint possession of the to proceed4; and it is a circumstance deserving notice, that Lord Chamberlain's servants and of a juvenile company "the Children of the Queen's Revels" were thereby called the Children of the Chapel: they were also known as licensed not only to act "tragedies, comedies," &c. in the "her Majesty's Children," and "the Children of the Black- Blackfriars theatre, but "elsewhere within the realm of friars;" and it is not to be supposed that they employed England;" so that even places where the city authorities the theatre on alternate days with their older competitors, had indisputably a right to exercise jurisdiction were not but that, when the Lord Chamberlain's servants acted else- exempted. where in the summer, the Children of the Chapel corn- It will be recollected that this had been a point in dismenced their performances at the Blackfriars.' After the pute in 1574, and that the words "as well within our city opening of the Globe in 1595, we may presume that the of London" were on this account excluded from the patent Lord Chamberlain's servants usually left the Blackfriars granted by Elizabeth to the players of Lord Leicester, theatre to be occupied by the Children of the Chapel during though found in the privy seal dated three days earlier., the seven months from April to October. For the same reason, probably, they are not contained in The success of the juvenile companies in the commence- the patent of James I. to Fletcher, Shakespeare, and others, ment of the reign of James I., and even at the latter end in 1603. We may be satisfied that the warrant of 1609-10 of that of Elizabeth, was great; and we find Shakespeare to Daborne and his partners was not carried into effect, and alluding to it in very pointed terms in a well-known passage possibly on that account: although it may have been decided in " Hamlet," which we suppose to have been written in the at this date that the lord mayor and aldermen had no power winter of 1601, or in the spring of 1602. They seem to forcibly to exclude the actors from the Blackfriars, it may have gone on increasing in popularity, and very soon after have been held inexpedient to go the length of authorizing James I. ascended the throne, Queen Anne took a company, a young company to act within the very boundaries of the called "the Children of the Queen's Revels," under her city. So far the corporation may have prevailed, and this immediate patronage. There is no reason to doubt that may be the cause why we never hear of any steps having they continued to perform at Blackfriars, and in the very been taken under the warrant of 1609-10. The word commencement of the year 1610 we find that Shakespeare " stayed" is added at the conclusion of the draft, as if some either was, or intended to be, connected with them. At this good ground had been discovered for delaying, if not for period he probably contemplated an early retirement from entirely withholding it. Perhaps even the question of juristhe metropolis, and might wish to avail himself, for a short diction had not been completely settled, and it may have period, of this new opportunity of profitable employment. been thought useless to concede a privilege which, after all, Robert Daborne, the author of two dramas that have been by the operation of the law in favour of the claim of the printed, and of several'others that have been lost,2 seems to city, might turn out to be of no value, because it could not have been a man of good family, and of some interest at court; be acted upon. Certain it is, that the new scheme seems and in January 1609-10, he was able to procure a royal to have been entirely abandoned; and whatever Shakegrant, authorizing him and others to provide and educate a speare may have intended when he became connected with number of young actors, to be called " the Children of the it, he continued, as long as he remained in London, and as Queen's Revels." As we have observed, this was not a new far as any evidence enables us to judge, to write only for association, because it had existed under that appellation, and the company of the King's players, who persevered in their under those of " the Children of the Chapel" and " the Chil- performances at the Blackfriars in the winter, and at the dren of the Blackfriars," from near the beginning of the reign Globe in the summer. of Elizabeth. Daborne, in 1609-10, was placed at the head It will be seen that to the draft in favour of " Daborne of it, and not, perhaps, having sufficient means or funds of his and others," as directors of the performances of the Children own, lie had, as was not unusual, partners in the undertak- of the Queen's Revels, a list is appended, apparently of ing: those partners were William Shakespeare, Nathaniel dramatic performances in representing which the juvenile Field, (the celebrated actor, and very clever author) and company was to be employed. Some of these may be conEdward Kirkham, who had previously enjoyed a privilege sidered, known and established performances, such as "Anof the, same kind3. A memorandum of the warrant to tonio," which perhaps was intended for the "Antonio and,' Daborne and others," not there named, is inserted in the Mellida" of Marston, printed in 1602; " Grisell," for the "' Entry Book of Patents and Warrants for Patents," kept " Patient Grisell" of Dekker, Chettle, and Haughton, printed by a person of the name of Tuthill, who was employed by in 1603; and "K. Edw. 2.," for AMarlowe's "Edward II.," Lord Ellesmere for the purpose, and which book is pre- printed in 1598. Of others we have no information from served among the papers handed down by his lordship to any quarter, and only two remind us at all of Shakespeare: his successors. In the same depository we also find a draft " Kinsmen," may mean " The two Noble Kinsmen," in writof the warrants itself, underwhich Daborne and his partners, ing which, some suppose our great dramatist to have been therein named, viz. Shakespeare, Field, and Kirkham, were concerned; and "Taming of S," is possibly to be taken for 1 See Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. iii. p. 275, where wife, hath for her pleasure and recreation appointed her setvaunts such is conjectured to have been the arrangement. Robert Daiborne, &c. to provide and bring upp a convenient nomber 2 " The Christian turned Turk." 1612. and " The Poor Man's Com- of children, who shall be called the Children of her Majesties Revells, fort," 1655. In " The Alleyn' PIapers,"'? (printed by the Shakespeare knowe ye that we have appointed and authorized, and by these preSociety,) may be seen much correspondence between Daborne and sents doe appoint and authorize the said Robert Daiborne, William Henslowe respecting plays he was then writing- for the Fortune'the- Shakespeare, Nathaniel Field, and Edward Kirkham, from time to atre. By a letter from him, dated 2nd August, 1614, it appears that time to provide and bring upp a convenient nomber of children, and Lord Willoughby had sent for him, and it is most likely that a- them to instruct and exercise in the quality of playing Tragedies, borne went to Ireland under this nobleman's patronage. It is certain Comedies, &c., by the name of the Children of the Revelts to the that. having been regularly educated, he went into the Church, and Queene, within the Blaclfryers, in our Citie of London, or els where had a living at or near liraterford, where, in 1GIS, he preached a within our realm of England. Wherefore we will and command sermon which is extant. While writing for Henslowe he was in you, and everie of you, to permitt her said servaunts to keepe a congreast poverty, having sold most of the property he had with his wife. enient nomber of children, by the name of the Children of the WVe have no information as to the precise time of his death. but his I Revells to the Qeueene, and them to exercise in the qualitie of playc: Poor Man's Comfort " was certainly a posthumous production: he ins according to her royal pleasure. Provided alwaies, that no playes, had sold it to one of the companies of the day before he took holy &c. shall be by them presented, but such playes, &c. as have received orders, and, like various other plays, after long remaining in manu- the approbation and allowance of our Maister of the PRevells for the script, it was published. His lost plays, some of which he wrote in tyme being. And these our tres. shall be your sufficient warrant in conjunction with other dramatists, appear from " The Alleyn Papers' this behalfe. In witnesse whereof, &c., 40 die Janij. 1609. to have been-i. Machiavel and the Devil; 2. The Arraignment of "Proud Povertie. Engl. Tragedie. London; 3. The Bellman of London;4. The Owl; 5. The She Saint; Widow's MIite. False Friends. besides others the titles of which are not given. Antonio. Hate and Love. He vwaq one of the masters of the Children of the Queen's Revels Kinsmen. Taming of S. in 1603-4. See Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. Triumph of Truth. K. Edw. 2. p. 352. Touchstone. Mirror of Life. 4 It runs thus:- Grisell. "Right trusty and welbeloved, &c., James, &c. To all Mayors. Stayed." Sheriffs, Justices of the Peace, &c. Whereas the Queene, our dearest I 5 See Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 212. I ~ ~ ~ ~~~~ ~ ~~~ ~~~~~~~~ Sos Hit ~Egl ] )am P o tr ac th Stg o, ~. Ix THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. "The Taming of the Shrew," or for the older play, with close of 1612, and for aught we know, that might be the nearly the same title, upon which it was founded. period Shakespeare had in his mind fixed upon for the ter" Troilus and Cressida" and "Pericles" were printed in mination of his toils and anxieties. 1609, and to our mind there seems but little doubt that they It has been ascertained that Edward Alleyn, the actorhad been written and prepared for the stage only a short founder of the college of "God's Gift" at Dulwich, purtime before they came from the press. With the single chased property in the Blackfriars in April 1612', and alexception of "Othello," which came out in 4to in 1622, no though it may possibly have been theatrical, there seems other new drama by Shakespeare appeared in a printed sufficient reason to believe that it was not, but that it conform between 1609 and the date of the publication of the sisted of certain leasehold houses, for which according to folio in 1623'. We need not here discuss what plays, first his own account-book, he paid a quarterly rent of 401. The found in that volume, were penned by our great dramatist brief memorandum upon this point, preserved at Dulwich, after 1609, because we have separately considered the certainly relates to any thing rather than to the species of claims of each in our preliminary Introductions. "Timon interest which Shakespeare indisputably had in the wardof Athens," " Coriolanus," "Antony and Cleopatra," "Cym- robe and properties of the Blackfriars theatre4: the terms beline," "The Winter's Tale," and "The Tempest," seem to Alleyn uses would apply only to tenements or ground, and belong to a late period of our poet's theatrical career, and as Burbage valued his freehold of the theatre at 10001., we some of them were doubtless written between 1609 and the need not hesitate in deciding that the lease Alleyn purperiod, whatever that period might be, when he entirely chased for 5991. 6s. 8d. was not a lease of the play-house. relinquished dramatic composition. We shall see presently that Shakespeare himself, though Between January 1609-10, when Shakespeare was one under some peculiar circumstances, became the owner of a of the parties to whom the warrant for the Children of the dwelling-house in the Blackfriars, unconnected with the Queen's Revels was conceded, and the year 1612, when it theatre, very soon after he had taken up his abode at Strathas been reasonably supposed that he quitted London to ford, and Alleyn probably had made a similar, but a larger take up his permanent residence at Stratford, we are in investment in the same neighbourhood in 1612. Whatever, possession of no facts connected with his personal history2. in fact, became of Shakespeare's interest in the Blackfriars It would seem both natural and prudent that, before he theatre, both as a sharer and as the owner of the wardrobe withdrew from the metropolis, he should dispose of his and properties, we need not hesitate in concluding that, in theatrical property, which must necessarily be of fluctuating the then prosperous state of theatrical affairs in the metroand uncertain value, depending much upon the presence polls, he was easily able to procure a purchaser. and activity of the owner for its profitable management. He must also have had a considerable stake in the Globe, In his will (unlike some of his contemporaries who expired but whether he was also the owner of the same species of in London) he says nothing of any such property, and we property there, as at the Blackfriars, we can only speculate. are left to infer that he did not die in possession of it, We should think it highly probable that, as far as the mere having disposed of it before he finally retired to Stratford. wardrobe was concerned, the same dresses were made to It is to be recollected also that the species of interest he serve for both theatres, and that when the summer season had in the Blackfriars theatre, independently of his shares' commenced on the Bankside, the necessary apparel was in the receipts, was peculiarly perishable: it consisted of the conveyed across the water from the Blackfriars, and rewardrobe and properties, which in 1608, when the city mained there until the company returned to their winter authorities contemplated the purchase of the whole estab- quarters. There is no hint in any existing document what lishment, were valued at 5001.; and we may feel assured became of our great dramatist's interest in the Globe; but that he would sell them to the company which had had the here again we need not doubt, from the profit that had constant use of them, and doubtless had paid an annual always attended the undertaking, that he could have had no consideration to the owner. The fee, or freehold, of the difficulty in finding parties to take it off his hands. Burbage house and ground was in the hands of Richard Burbage, we know was rich, for he died in 16195 worth 3001. a year and from him it descended to his two sons: that was a per- in land, besides his personal property, and he and others manent and substantial possession, very different in its would have been glad to add to their capital, so advantagecharacter and durability from the dresses and machinery ously employed, by purchasing Shakespeare's interest. which belonged to Shakespeare. The mere circumstance It is possible, as we have said, that Shakespeare ccntiof the nature of Shakespeare's property in the Blackfriars nued to employ his pen for the stage after his retirement seems to authorize the conclusion, that he sold it before he to Stratford, and the buyers of his shares might even make retired to the place of his birth, where he meant to spend it a condition that he should do so for a time; but we much the rest of his days with his family, in the tranquil enjoy- doubt whether, with his long experience of the necessity of ment of the independence he had secured by the exertions personal superintendence, he would have continued a shareof five and twenty years. Supposing him to have begun holder in any concern of the kind over which he had no his theatrical career at the end of 1586, as we have ima- control. During the whole of his life in connexion with the gined, the quarter of a century would be completed by the stage, even after he quitted it as an actor, he seems to have 1 One copy of the folio is known with the date of 1.622 upon the If this paper had any relation at all to the theatre in the Blackfriars, title-page. The volume was entered at Stationers' Hall on the 8th it is very evident that Shakespeare could neither grant nor sell a Nov. 1623, as if it had not been published until late in that year, lease; and it is quite clear that Burbage did not, because he remained unless we suppose the entry made by Blount and Jaggard some time in possession of the playhouse at the time of his death: his sons enafter publication, in order to secure their right to the plays first joyed it afterwards: and Alleyn continued to pay 401. a quarter for printed there, which they thought might be invaded. the property he held until his decease in 1626. 2 yWre ought, perhaps to except a writ issued by the borough court 5 We have already inserted an extract from an epitaph upon Burin- June 1610, at the suit of Shakespeare, for the recovery of a small bage, in which the writer enumerates many of the characters he sussum. A similar occurrence had taken place in 1604, when our poet tained. The following lines in Sloane MS. No. 1786, (pointed out sought to recover 11. 15s. Od. from a person of the name of Rogers, for to us by Mr. Bruce) are just worth preserving on account of the emicorn sold to him. These facts are ascertained from the existing nence of the man to whom they relate. records of Stratford. "An Epitaph on Mr. RICHARD BURBAGE, the Player, 3 See the " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 105, where a conjecture " This life's a play, scean'd out by nature's art, is hastily hazarded that it might be Shakespeare's interest in the Where every man has his allotted parte. Blaclfriars theatre. Upon this question we agree with Mr. Knight This man hath now, as many men can tell, in "Shakspere, a Biography," prefixed to his pictorial edition of the Ended his part, and he hath acted well. Poet's works. The play now ended, thinke his grave to bee 4 It is in the following form, upon a small damp-injured piece of The retiring house of his sad tragedie; paper, and obviously a mere memorandum. Where to give his fame this be not afraid:Here lies the best Tragedian ever play'd." "April 1612, From hence we might infer, against other authorities, that what "Money paid by me E. A. for the Blackfryers. 1601i was called the " tiring room " in theatres, was so called because the More for the Blackfryers.. 126" actors retired to it, and not atti,'ed in it. It most likeiy answered More again for the Leasse 310"1 both purposes, but we sometimes find it called " the attiring room" The writinges for the same and other small charges 31' 6s 8'd by authors of the time. --- - --- ----— P —~~ I ~ ~ UII —I LC-^ U I s-C-i- IIY(~I —~~ —I.I- gy~ L~~U - - THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. lxi been obliged to reside in London, apart from his family, for preferred to be called " of Stratford-upon-Avon," contemthe purpose of watching over his interests in the two thea- plating, as he probably did through the whole of his theatres to whicb he belonged: had he been merely an author, trical life, a return thither as soon as his circumstances after he ceased to be an actor, he might have composed his would enable him to do so with comfort and independence. dramas as well at Stratford as in London, visiting the me- We are thoroughly convinced, however, that, anterior to tropolis only while a new play was in rehearsal and pre- March, 1613, Shakespeare had taken up his permanent reparation; but such was clearly not the case, and we may sidence with his family at Stratford. be confident that when he retired to a place so distant from the scene of his triumphs, he did not allow his mind to be encumbered by the continuance of professional anxieties. CHAPTER XIX. It may seem difficult to reconcile with this consideration the undoubted fact, that in the spring of 1613 Shakespeare Members of the Shakespeare family at Stratford in 1612. purchased a house, and a small piece of ground attached to Joan Shakespeare and William Hart: their marriage and it, not far from the Blackfriars theatre, in which we believe family. William Shakespeare's chancery suit respecting him to have disposed of his concern in the preceding year. the tithes of Stratford and the income he derived from the lease. The Globe burnt in 1613: its reconstruction. The documents relating to this transaction have come down Destructive fie at Strtford in 1614. Shakespeares visit to.s, and *h e mdenturc ass igning.h e i.roloerty f rom HenryI~Destructive fire at Stratford in 1614. Shakespeare's visit to us, and the indenture assigning the property from Henry to London afterwards. Proposed inclosure of Welcombe Walker, " citizen of London and minstrel of London," to fields. Allusion to. Shakespeare in the historical poem of William Shakespeare, "of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the." The Ghost of Richard the Third," published in 1614. county of Warwick, gentleman," bears date 10th March, 1612-131: the consideration'money was 1401.; the house THE immediate members of the Shakespeare family rewas situated "within the precinct, circuit, and compass of sident at this date in Stratford were comparatively few. the late Blackfriars," and we are. farther informed that it Richard Shakespeare had died at the age of forty', only stood "right against his Majesty's Wardrobe." It appears about a month before William Shakespeare signed the to have been merely a dwelling-house with a small yard, deed for the purchase of the house in Blackfriars. Since and not in any way connected with the theatre, which was the death of Edmund, Richard had been our poet's youngest at some distance from the royal wardrobe, although John brother, but regarding his way of life at Stratford we have Heminge, the actor, was, with Shakespeare, a party to the no information. Gilbert Shakespeare, born two years and deed, as well as William Johnson, vintner, and John Jack- a half after William, was also probably at this time an inson, gentleman. habitant of the borough, or its immediate neighbourhood, Shakespeare may have made this purchase as an accomi- and perhaps married, for in the register, under date of 3rd modation in some way to his " friend and fellow" Heminge, February, 1611-12, we read an account of the burial of and the two other persons named; and it is to be re- " Gilbertus Shakspeare, adolescens," who might be his son. marked that, on the day after the date of the conveyance, Joan Shakespeare, who was five years younger than her Shakespeare mortgaged the house to Henry Walker, the brother William, had been married at about the age of vendor, for 601., having paid down only 801. on the 10th thirty to William Hart, a hatter, in Stratford; but as the March. It is very possible that our poet advanced the 80/. ceremony was not performed in that parish, it does not apto Heminge, Johnson, and Jackson, expecting that they pear in the register. Their first child, William, was bapwould repay him, and furnish the remaining 60/. before the tized on 28th August, 1600, and they had aftetwards chil29th September, 1613, the time stipulated in the mortgage dren of the names of Mary, Thomas, and Michael, born redeed; but as they did not do so, but left it to him, the spectively in 16034, 1605, and 16085. Our poet's eldest house of course continued the property of Shakespeare, and daughter, Susanna, who, as we have elsewhere stated, was after Lis death it was necessarily surrendered to the uses married to Mr. John, afterwards Dr. Hall, in June, 1607, of his will by Heminge, Johnson, and Jackson2. produced a daughter who was baptized Elizabeth on 21st Such may have been the nature of the transaction; and February, 1607-8; so that Shakespeare was a grandfather if it were, it will account for the apparent (and, we have no before he had reached his forty-fifth year; but Mrs. Hall doubt, only apparent) want of means on the part of Shake- had no farther increase of family. speare to pay down the whole of the purchase-money in the By whom New Place, otherwise called "the great first instance: he only agreed to lend 801., leaving the par- house," was inhabited at this period, we can only conjecture. ties whom he assisted to provide the rest, and by repaying That Shakespeare's wife and. his youngest daughter Judith him what he had advanced (if they had done so) to entitle (who completed her twenty-eighth year in February, 1612,) themselves to the house in question. resided in it, we cannot doubt; but as it would be much Shakespeare must have been in London when he put his more than they would require, even after they were persignature to the conveyance; but we are to recollect, that manently joined by our great dramatist on his retirement the circumstance of his being described in it as " of Strat- from London, we may perhaps conclude that Mr. and Mrs. ford-upon-Avon" is by no means decisive of the fact, that Hall were joint occupiers of it, and aided in keeping up his usual place of abode' in the spring of 1613 was his the vivacity of the family circle. Shakespeare himself native town: he had a similar description in the deeds bv only completed his forty-eighth year in April, 1612, and which he purchased 107 acres of land from John and Wil- every tradition and circumstance of his life tends to establiam Combe in 1602, and a lease of a moiety of the tithes lish not only the gentleness and kindness, but the habitual from Raphe Huband in 1605, although it is indisputable cheerfulness of his disposition. that at those periods he was generally resident in London. Nevertheless, although we suppose him to have sepaFrom these facts it seems likely that our great dramatist rated himself from the labours and anxieties attendant 1 It was sold by auction by Messrs. Evans, of Pall Mall, in 1841, 3 The register of Stratford merely contains the following among for 1621. 15s. The autograph of our poet was appended to it, in the the deaths in the parish:usial manner. In the next year the instrument was again brought "' 1612. Feb. 4 Rich. Shalspeare." to the hammer of the same parties, when it produced nearly the sum 4 It appears by the register that Mary Hart died in 1607. When for which it had been sold in 1841. The autograph of Shakespear hakespeare msade his will, a blank was left for the name of his neon the fly-leaf of Florio's translation of Montaigne's-Essays, folio, phew Thomas Hart, as if he had not recollected it; but perhaps it 1603, (which we feel satisfied is genuine) had been previously sold was merely the omission of the scrivener. The Harts lived in a Dy auction for 100l., and it is now deposited in the British Museum. house belonging to Shakesofeare. We have a copy of the same book, but it has only upon the title- 5 It has been generally stated that Charles Hart, the celebrated page the comparatively worthless signature of the reigning actor after the Restoration. was the grand-nephew of Shakespeare, monarch. son to the eldest son of Shakespeare's sister Joan, but we are without 2 By his will he left this house, occupied by a person of the name positive evidence upon the point. In 1622 a person of the name of of John Robinson to his daughter occupied by a person of the name art kept a house of entertainment close to the Fortune theatre, and of John Roinson, to hs dg he may have been the son of Shakespeare's sister Joan, and the I father of Charles Hart the actor, who died about 1679. Ixii THE LJFE OF WILLIAM SHITAKESPEARE. upon his theatrical concerns, he was not without Iris an- had often acted, fi'om which he had derived so much profit, noyances, though of a different kind. We refer to a chan.. and in the continuance of the performances at which so cery suit in which he seems to have been involved by the many of his friends and fellows were deeply interested. purchase, in 1605, of the remaining term of a lease of part of He must himself have had an escape from a similar disthe tithes of Stratford. It appears that a rent of 2l. 13.s. 4dc. aster at Stratford in the very next year. Fires had broken had been reserved, which was to be paid by certain lessees out in the borough in 1594 and 1595, which had destroyed under peril of forfeiture, but that some of the parties, disre- many of the houses, then built of wood, or of materials not garding the consequences, had refused to contribute their pro- calculated to resist combustion; but that which occurred on portions; and Richard Lane, of Awston, Esquire, Thomas the 9th July, 1614, seems to have done more damage than Greene, of Stratford-upon-Avon, Esquire, and William both its predecessors. At the instance of various gentlemen Shakespeare, "of Stratford-upon-Avon, gentleman," were in the neighbourhood, including Sir Fulk Greville, Sir Richunder the necessity of filing a bill before Lord Ellesmere, to ard Verney, and Sir Thomas Lucy, King James issued a compel all the persons deriving estates under the dissolved proclamation, or brief, dated 11th May, 1615, in favour of college of Stratford to pay their shares. What was the the inhabitants of Stratford, authorizing the collection of issue of the suit is not any where stated; and the only im- donations in the different churches of the kingdomn for the portant point in the draft of the bill, in the hands of the restoration of the town; and alleging that within two hours Shakespeare Society, is, that our great dramatist therein the fire had consumed "fifty-four dwelling-houses, many of stated the value of his "moiety" of the tithes to be 60l. per them being very fair houses, besides barns, stables, and annum. other houses of office, together also with great store of corn, In the summer of 1613 a calamity happened which we hay, straw, wood, and timber." The amount of loss is stated, do not believe affected our author's immediate interests, on on the same authority, to be "eight thousand pounds and account of the strong probability that he had taken care to upwards4." What was the issue of this charitable appeal divest himself of all theatrical property before lie finally to the whole kingdom, we know not. took up his residence.in his birth-place. The Globe, which It is very certain that the dwelling of our great dramahad been in use for about eighteen years, was burned down tist, called New Place, escaped the conflagration, and his on 29th June, 1613, in consequence of the thatch, with property, as far as we can judge, seems to have been situwhich it was. partially covered, catching fire from the dis- ated in a part of the town which fortunately did not suffer charge of some theatrical artillery'. It is doubtful what from the ravages of the fire. play was then in a course of representation: Sir HIenry The name of Shakespeare is not found among those of Wotton gives it the title of " All is True," and calls it "a inhabitants whose certificate was stated to be the immediate new play;" while Howes, in his continuation of Stowe's ground for issuing the royal brief5, but it is not at all usnAnnales, distinctly states that it was " Henry the Eighth2." likely that he was instrumental in obtaining it. We are It is very possible that both may be right, and that Shake- sure that he was in London in November following the fire6, speare's historical drama was that night revived under a and possibly was taking some steps in favour of his fellownew name, and therefore mistakenly called " a new play" townsmen. However, his principal business seems to have by Sir Henry Wotton, although it had been nearly ten related to the projected inclosure of certain common lands years on the stage. The Globe was rebuilt in the next in the neighbourhood of Stratford in which he had an inyear, as we are told on what may be considered good autho- terest. Some inquiries as to the rights of various parties rity, at the cost of King James and of many noblemen and were instituted in September, 1614, as we gather from a gentlemen, who seem to have contributed sums of money document yet preserved, and which is now before us. The for the purpose. If James I. lent any pecuniary aid on the individuals whose claims are set out are, " Mr. Shakespeare," occasion, it affords another out of many proofs of his dis- Thomas Parker, Mr. Lane, Sir Francis Smith, Mace, Arthur position to encourage the drama, and to assist the players Cawdrey, and " Mr. Wright, vicar of Bishopton." All that who acted under the royal name3. Although Shakespeare it is necessary to quote is the following, which refers to might not be in any way pecuniarily affected by the event, Shakespeare, and which, like the rest, is placed under the we may be sure that he would not be backward in using head of " Auncient Freeholders in the fields of Old Strathis influence, and perhaps in rendering assistance by a gift ford and Welcome." of money, for the reconstruction of a playhouse in which he "Mr. Shakspeare, 4 yard land:. nee common, nor ground x John Taylor, the water-poet, was a spectator of the calamity, " The play house in Salisbury Court, in Fleete streete, was pulled (perhaps in his own wherry) and thus celebrated it in an epigram down by a company of souldiers, set on by the Sectaries of these sad which he printed in 1614 in his " Nipping and Snipping of Abuses," times, on Saturday, the 24th day of March, 1649. &c. 4to.'The Phenix. in Druery Lane, was pulled down also this day, being Saturday the 24th of March, 16419, by the same souldiers. "UPON THE BaURNIG OF T-E GaLUnBE.~ "The Fortune play house, between White Crosse streete and Gold"Aspiring Phaeton, with pride inspirde, ing Lane, was burned down to the ground in the year 1618. And Misguiding Phoebus carre, the worlde he firde; built againe, with bricke worke on the outside, in the year 1622; and But Ovid did with fiction serve his turne, now pulld downe on the inside by these souldiers, this 1649. And I in action saw the Globe to burne."' The Hope, on the Banke side in Southlwarke. commonly called 2 See 1"1Hist. of REngl. Dramn. Poetry and the Stage," vol. i. p. the Beare Garden: a play house for stage playes on Mundays, Wedz Se L -lst.ofEnl.Dr386,am and the vS Pol. iii. p. 298. }nesdayes, Fridayes, and Saterdayes; and for the baiting of the beares 386, and. vol. iii.'. 298. on Tuesdays and Thursdayes-the stage being made to take up and 3 This fact, with several other new and curious particulars respect- downe when they please. It was built in the year 1610; and now ing the fate of the Blackfriars theatre, the Whitefriars (called the pulled downe to make tenements by Thomas Walker, a peticoate Salisbury Court) theatre, the Phcenix, the Fortune, and the Hope maker in Cannon Streete, ons Tuesday the 25 day of March, 1656. (which was also at times used for bear-baiting) is contained in some Seven of Mr. Godfries beares, by the command of Thomas Pride, then manuscript notes to a copy of Stowe's Annales, by Howes, folio, 1631, hie Sherefe of Surry, were shot to death on Saturday, the 9 day of in the possession of Mr. Pickering: they appear to have been made February, 1655, by a company of souldiers." just after the last event mentioned in them. The burning of the 4 We take these particulars from a copy of the document " printed Globe is there erroneously fixed in 1612. When, too, it is said that by Thomas Purfoot," who then had a patent for all proclamations the Hope was built in 1610, the meaning must be that it was then &c. It has the royal arms, and the initials I. H. at the top of it as reconstructed, so as to be adapted to both purposes,.stage-plays and usual. It is in the possession of the Shakespeare Society. bear-baiting. The memoranda are thus headed: "A note of such The name of his friend-William Combe is found among the " espassages as have beene omitted, and as I have seene, since the print- quires" enumerated in the body of the instrument.'ing of Stowe's Survey of London in 4to, 1618, and this Chronicle at 6 This fact appears in a letter, written by Thomas Greene, on 17th large, 1631." November, 1614, in which he tells some person in Stratford that he " PLAY HOUSESc-Tfhe Globe play house, on the Bank side in had been to see l'his cousin Shakespeare," who had reached town the Southwarke. was burnt downe to the ground in the yeare 1612. And day before. new built up againe in the yeare 1613, at the great charge of King? Malone informs us, without mentioning his authority, that in James, and many noble men, and others. And now pulled downe to the fields of Old Stratford, where our poet's estate lay, a yard land the- ground by Sir Mlathew Brand on Miunday, the 15 of April, 1644, contained only about twenty-seven acres," but that it varied much to make tenements in the rome of it. in different places: he derives the term from the Saxon ryrd land, " The Bla,ck Friers play house, in Black Friers London, which had virata te2rra. —Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 25. Accordin - stood many yeares, was pulled down to the ground on 1Munday, the to the same authority, a yard land in Wilmecote consisted of more 6 day of August, 1655, and tenements built in the roome. than fifty acres. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. lxiii beyond Gospell bushe: noe ground in Sandfield, nor none in dicate that he would be capable of a work of such power Slow Hill field beyond Bishopton, nor none in the enclosures and variety. It is divided into three portions, the "Chabeyond.Bisis:.,opton."1,,,, racter," the "Legend," and the " Tragedy" of Richard III.; The date of this paper is 5th September, 1614, and, as andsthe second part opens with the following stanzas, which we have said, we may presume that it was chiefly upon this show the high estimate the writer had formed of the genius business that Shakespeare came to London on the 16th No- of Shakespeare: they are extremely interesting as a convember. It should appear that Thomas Greene, of Strat- temporaneous tribute. Richard, narrating his own history, ford, was officially opposing the inclosure on the part of the thus speaks: corporation; and it is probable that Shakespeate's wishes "o him that impt my fame with Clio's quill, were accordant with those of the majority of the inhabi- Whose magick rais'd me from Oblivion's den, tants: however this might be, (and it is liable to dispute That writ my storie on the Muses hill, which party Shakespeare favoured) the members of the mu- And with my actions dignified his pen; nicipal body of the borough were nearly unanimous, and, as He that from Helicon sends many a rill, far as we can learn from the imperfect particulars remain- Whose nectared veines are drunke by thirstie men; ing upon this subject, they wished our poet to use his influence Crown'd be his stile with fame, his head with bayes, to resist the project, which seems to have been supported nd none detract, bt gratulte his praise. by Mr. Arthur Mainwaring, then resident in the family of " Yet if his scuenes have not engrost all grace, Lord Ellesmere as auditor of his domestic expenditure. The much famn'd action could extend on stage; It is very likely that Shakespeare saw Mainwaring; and, If Time or Memory haveleft a place as it was only five or six years since his name had been es- For e to fl, tenfore this inorant age, To that intent I shew my horrid face, pecially brought under the notice of the Lord Chancellor, Imprest with feare and characters of rage: in relation to the claim of the city authorities to jurisdiction Nor wits nor chronicles could ere containe in the Blackfriars, it is not impossible that Shakespeare The hell-deepe reaches of my soundlesse braine3." may have had an interview With Lord Ellesmere, who The above is the last extant panegyric upon Shakeseems at all times to have been of a very accessible and The above is ltelast extant panegyric pon Sbakekindly disposition. Greene was in London on the 17th No- speare during his lfetime, and it exceeds, in point of fervour vember, and sent to Stratford a short account of his pro- and zeal, if not injudicious criticism, any that had gone beyember, and sent to Stratford a short account' of his Pro- forle it; for Richard tells the reader, that the writer of the ceedings on the question of the inclosure, in which he mentioned that he had seen Shakespeare and Mr. Hall (proba- scenes in which he had figured on the stage had imped bly meaning Shakespeare's son-in-law) on the preceding his fame with the quill of the historic muse, and that, by day, who told him that they thoughtl nothing wlould beg the magic of verse, he who had written so much and so day, who told him that they thought nothing wofuid be finely, had raised him from oblivion. That C. B. was an done'. Greene returned to Stratford soon afterwards, and author of distinction, and well known to some of the greatest having left our poet in London, at the instance of the cor-author of distinction, and wel known to some of the greatest poration, he subsequently wrote two letters, one toShae- poets of the day, we have upon their own evidence,'from po ation, he subsequently wrote two le tters, one to Sake- the terms they use in their commendatory poems, subspeare, and the other to Mainwaring, (the latter only has scribed by no less names than those of Ben Jonson4, George been preserved) setting forth in strong terms the injury the Chapman, William Browne, Robert Daborne, and George inclosure would do to Stratford, and the heavy loss the in- Wither. The author professes to follow no particular habitants had not long before sustained from the fire. A original, whether in prose or verse, narrative or dramatic, petition was also prepared and presented to the privy in "chronicles, plays, or poems," but to adopt the incidents council, and we may gather that the opposition was effect- chronicles, plays, or poems, but to a the incidents al, because nothing was done in the business: the common as they had been banded down on various authorities. As fd f c be, whc thdbenitnewe have stated, his work is one of great excellence, but it fields of Welcombe, which it had been intended to inclose, ould be going too much out of our way to enter here into remained open for pasture as before.any farther examination of it. How, soon after the matter relating to the inclosure had been settled Shakespeare returned to Stratford,-how long he remained there, or whether he ever came to London CHAPTER XX. again,-we are without information. He was very possibly in the metropolis at the time when a narrative poem, Shakespeares return to Stratford. Marriage of his daughter founded in part upon his historical play of " Richard III.,"inein bruary 161. Shakend hich until h escaped observa- speare's will prepared in January, but dated March, 1616. was published, and which until now has escaped observa- His last illness: attended by Dr. Hall, his son-in-law. tion, although it contains the clearest allusion, not indeed by Uncertainty as to the nature of Shakespeare's fatal malady. name, to our author and to his tragedy. It is called "The His birth-day and death-day the same. Entry of his burial Ghost of Richard the Third," and it bears date in 1614; in the register at Stratford. His will, and circumstances to but the writer, C. B., only gives his initials'. We know of prove that it was prepared two months before it was executno poet of that day to whom they would apply, excepting ed Hs bequestto his wife, ad provision for her by dower. Charles Best, who has several pieces in Davison's "Poetical THE autumn seems to have been a very usual time for Rhapsody," 1602, but he has left nothing behind him to in- publishing new books, and Shakespeare having been in' I The memorandum of the contents of his letter (to which we have It is about to be reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, and on every already referred on p. Ixii.) is in these terms, avoiding abbreviations:- account it well merits the distinction. "Jovis, 17 No. My cosen Shakespeare comyng yesterday, I went 3 We may suspect, in the last line but one, that the word <" wits" to see him, how he did. He told me that they assured him they ment has been misprinted for acts. The stanza which follows the above to inclose no further than to Gospel bush, and so upp straight (leaving refers to another play, founded on a distinct portion of the same hisout part of the Dyngles to the field) to the gate in Clopton hedg, and tory, and relating especially to Jane Shore:take in Salisburys peece; and that they mean in Aprill to survey the land, and then to gyve satisfaction, and not before: and he and Mr. "And what a eece of justice did I shew Hall say they think there will be nothyng done at all." On mistresse Shore, when (with a famed hate In what way, or in what degree, Shakespeare and Greene were re- To unchast life) I forced her to goe lated, so that the latter should call the former his " cousin," must Barefoote on pennance, with dejected state. remain a matter of speculation; but it will be recollected that the ut now her fame by a vile play doth grow, parish register of Stratford shows that " Thomas Greene, alias Shake- Whose fate the women do commisserate,%" &c. speare,%" was buried on 6th March, 1589-90. ~Whether Thomas The allusion may here be to Heywood's historical drama of "EdGreene, the solicitor, was any relation to Thomas Greene, the actor, ward IV." (reprinted by the Shakespeare Society), in which Shore's we have no means of ascertaining. wife is introduced; or it may be to a different drama upon the events 2 And these not on the title-page, but at the end of the prefatory of her life, which, it is known on various authorities, had been matter: the whole title runs thus:- brought upon the stage. "The Ghost of Richard the Third. Expressing himselfe in these 5 It appears from Henslowe's Diary. that in June, 1602, Ben Jonthree Parts. 1. His Character. 2 His Legend. 3. His Tragedie. son was himself writing a historical play. called "Richard CrookContaining more of him than hath been heretofore shewed, either in back," for the Lord Admiral's players at the Fortune. We have no Chronicles, Playes, or Poems. Laurea De.sidie' pr-cbetmmr mulla. evidence that it was ever completed or represented. Ben Jonson's Printed by G. Eld: for L. Lisle: and are to be sold in Paules Church- testimony in favour of the poem of C. B. is compressed into a few yard, at the signe of the Tygers head. 1614." 4to. lines. lxiv THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. London in the middle of November, 1614, as we have re- might be deferred until he was attacled by serious indismarked, he was perhaps there when " The Ghost of Rich- position, and then the date of the month only might be ard the Third" came out, and, like Ben Jonson, Chapman, altered, leaving the assertion as to health and memory as and others, might be acquainted with the author. He pro- it had originally stood. What was the nature of Shakebably returned home before the winter, and passed the speare's fatal illness we have no satisfactory means of rest of his days in tranquil retirement, and in the enjoyment knowing2, but it was probably not of long duration;-and if of the society of his friends, whether residing in the country, when he subscribed his will he had really been. in health, or occasionally visiting him from the metropolis. "The we are persuaded that at the age of only fifty-two he would latter part of his life," says Rowe, "was spent, as all men have signed his name with greater steadiness and distinctof good sense will wish theirs may be, in ease, retirement, ness. All three signatures are more or less infirm and illeand the society of his friends;" and he adds what cannot be gible, especially the two first, but he seems to have made doubted, that "his pleasurable wit and good-nature en- an effort to write his best when he affixed both his names gaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the at length at the end, " By me William Shakspeare." friendship of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood." He We hardly need entertain a doubt that he was attended must have been of a lively and companionable disposition; in his last illness by his son-in-law, Dr. Hall, who had then and his long residence in London, amid the bustling and been married to Susanna Shakespeare more than eight years: varied scenes connected with his public life, independently we have expressed our opinion that Dr. and Mrs. Hall lived of his natural powers of conversation, could not fail to ren- in the same house with our poet, and it is to be recollected der his society most agreeable and desirable. We can that in his will he leaves New Place to his daughter Susanreadily believe that when any of his old associates of the na. Hall must have been a man of considerable science for stage, whether authors or actors, came to Stratford, they the time at which he practised, and he has left behind him found a hearty welcome and free entertainment at his proofs of his knowledge and skill in a number of cases house: and that he would be the last man, in his pros- which had come under his own eye, and which he described perity, to treat with slight or indifference those with whom, in Latin: these were afterwards translated from his manum the earlier part of his career, he had been on terms of script, and published in 165l by Jonas Cooke, with the title familiar intercourse. It could not be in Shakespeare's na- -of " Select Observations on English Bodies'," but the case ture to disregard the claims of ancient friendship, especially of Dr. Hall's father-in-law is not found there, because, unif it approached him in a garb of comparative poverty. fortunately the " observations" only begin in 1611. One of ~One of the very latest acts of his life was bestowing the I the earliest of them shows that an epidemic, called the " new hand of his daughter Judith upon Thomas Quiney, a vintner fever," then prevailed in Stratford and "invaded many." and wine-merchant of Stratford, the son of Richard Quinuey. Possibly Shakespeare was one of these; though, had such She must have been four years older than her husband, been the fact, it is not unlikely that, when speaking of "the having as already stated, been born on 2nd February, 1585, Lady Beaufou" who suffered under it on July 1st, 1617, Dr. while he was not born until 26th February, 1589: he was Hall would have referred back to the earlier instance of his consequently twenty-seven years old, and she thirty-one, at father-in-law4. He does advert to a tertian ague of which, the time of their marriage in February, 1616'; and Shake- at a period not mentioned, he had cured Michael Drayton, speare thus became father-in-law to the son of the friiend (" an excellent poet," as Hall terms him) when he was, perwho, eighteen years before, had borrowed of him 301., and haps, on a visit to Shakespeare. However, Drayton, as forwho had died on 81st May, 1602, while be was bailiff of merly remarked, was a native of Warwickshire,. and Dr. Stratford. As there was a difference of four years in the Hall may have been called in to attend him elsewhere. ages of Judith Shakespeare and her husband, we ought We are left, therefore, in utter uncertainty as to the imperhaps to receive that fact as some testimony, that our mediate cause of the death of Shakespeare at an age when great dramatist did not see sufficient evil in such dispropor- lie would be in full possession of his faculties, and when in tion to in duce him to oppose the union. the ordinary course of nature he might have lived many His will had been prepared as long before its actual date I years in the enjoyment of the society of his family and as 25th January, 1615-16, and this fact is apparent on the friends, in that grateful and easy retirement, which had been face of it: it originally began " Vicesimo quinto die earned by his genius and industry, and to obtain which had Januarij," (not Februarij, as Malone erroneously read it) apparently been the main object of many years of toil, but the word Jcanuarij was subsequently struck through anxiety, and deprivation. with a pen, and JMartij substituted by interlineation. Pos- Whatever doubt may prevail as to the day of the birth sibly it was not thought necessary to alter vicesimso quinito, of Shakespeare, none can well exist as to the day of his or the 25th March might be the very day the will was exe- death. The inscription on his monument in Stratford church cuted: if it were, the signatures of the testator, upon each tells us, of the three sheets of paper of which the will consists, bear "Obit A o Don 1616. "\buiit A_/no DomniZi 1616. evidence (from the want of firmness in the writing) that he was at that time suffering under sickness. It opens, it is.iteis 53. die 23 Apr. true, by stating that he was "in perfect health and me- And it is remarkable that he was born and died on the same mory," and such was doubtless the case when the instru- day of the same month, supposing him, as we have every ment was prepared in January, but the execution of it reason to believe, to have first seen the light on the 23d 1 The registration in the books of Stratford church is this: years had he been otherwise; and we are sure also, that if Drayton 1"1615-16 Feabruary 10. Tho fQueeny tow Judith Shakspere." and Ben Jonson visited him at Stratford, he would give them a free The fruits of this marriage were three sons; viz. Shakespeare, and hearty welcome. ~We have no reason to think that Drayton baptized 23rd November, 1616, and buried May 8th, 1617; Richard, was at all given to intoxication, although it is certain that Ben Jonbaptized 9th February, 1617-18, and buried 26th February, 1638-9; son was a bountiful liver. and Thomas, baptized 23rd January. 1619-20, and buried 28th 3 For a copy of this curious and interesting work. we gladly express January, 1638-9. Judith IQuiney, their mother, did not die until our obligations to Mr. William Frickier, of Hyde, near Manchester. after the Restoration, and was buried 9th February, 1661-2. The 4 He several times speaks of sicknesses in his own family, and of the Stratford registers contain no entry of the burial of Thomas Quiney, manner in which he had removed them: a case of his own, in which her husband, and it is very possible, therefore, that he died and was he mentions his age, accords with the statement in his inscription, buried in London. and ascertains that he was thirty-two when he married Susanna 2 The Rev. John Ward's Diary, to which we have before referred, kSalespeare in 1607. "Mrs. Hall, of Stratford, my wife," is more contains the following undated paragraph:- than once introduced in the course of the volume, as well as " ElizShakespeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson, had a merie meeting. abeth Hall, my only daughter."' Mrs. Susanna Hall died in 1649, and, itt seems, drank too hard, for Shakespear died of a fevour there aged 66, and was buried at Stratford. Elizabeth Hall, her daughter contracted." by Dr. Hall, (baptized on the. 21st Feb. 1607-8,) and grand-daughter What credit may be due to this statement, preceded as it is by.the to our poet, was married on the 22d April, 1626, to Mr. Thomas Nash words "it seems," implying a doubt on the subject in the writer's ({who died in 1647) and on 5th June, 1.649. to Mr. John Bernard, of mind, -e must leave the reader to determine. That Shakespeare Abingdon, who was knighted after the Restoration. Lady Bernard was of sober, though of companionable habits, we are thoroughly died childless in 1'679, and was buried, not at Stratford with her own convinced: lihe could not have written seven-and-thirty plays (not family, but at Abingdon with that of her second husband. She was reckoning alterations and additions now lost) in five-and-twenty the last of the lineal descendants of William Shakespeare. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SIHAKESPEARE. lxv April, 1564. It was most usual about that period to men- married to Thomas Quiney considerably more than a month tion the day of death in inscriptions upon tomb-stones, tab- anterior to the actual date of the will, and although his eldlets, and monuments; and such was the case with other est daughter Susanna is mentioned by her husband's patromembers of the Shakespeare family. We are thus informed nymic. It seems evident, from the tenor of the whole inthat his wife, Anne Shakespeare, "departed this life the 6th strument, that when it was prepared Judith was not marday of Augu. 1623':" Dr. Hall " deceased Nove. 25. A~. ried', although her speedy union with Thomas Quiney was 1635;':" Thomas Nash, who married Hall's daughter, "died contemplated: the attorney or scrivener, wvho drew it, had April 4, A. 1641::" Susanna Hall "deceased the 11th of first written " son and daughter," (meaning Judith and her July, A~. 16494." Therefore, although the Latin inscription intended husband) but erased the words " son and" afteron the monument of our great dramatist may, from its form wards, as the parties were not yet married, and were not and punctuation, appear not so decisive as those we have " son and daughter" to the testator. It is true that Thomas quoted in English. there is in fact no ground for disputing Quiney would not have been Shakespeare's son, only his that he died on 23d April, 1616. It is quite certain from son-in-law; but the degrees of consanguinity were not at the register of Stratford that he was interred on the 25th that time strictly marked and attended to, and in the same April, and the record of that event is placed among the will Elizabeth Hall is called the testator's "niece," when burials in the following manner: she was, in fact, his granddaughter. The bequest which has attracted most attention is an in"1616. April 25, Will' Shakspere, Gent." terlineation in the following words, " Itm I gyve unto my wief my second best bed with the furniture." Upon this Whether from the frequent prevalence of infectious dis- passage has been founded, by Malone and others, a charge orders, or from any other cause, the custom of keeping the against Shakespeare, that he only remembered his wife as bodies of relatives unburied, for a week or more after death, an afterthought, and then merely gave her "an old bed." seems comparatively of modern origin; and we may illus- As to the last part of the accusation, it may be answered, trate this point also by reference to facts regarding some of that the " second best bed" was probably that in which the the members of the Shakespeare family. Anne Shake- husband and wife had slept, when he was in Stratford earspeare was buried two days after she died, viz. on the 8th lier in life, and every night since his retirement from the Aug., 16235: Dr. Hall and Thomas Nash were buried on the metropolis: the best bed was doubtless reserved for visitors: day after they died"; and although it is true that there was if, therefore, be were to leave his wife any express legacy an interval of five days between the death and burial of of the kind, it was most natural and considerate that he Mrs. Hall, in 1649, it is very possible that her corpse was should give her that piece of furniture, which for many years conveyed from some distance, to be interred among her re- they had jointly occupied. With regard to the second part lations at Stratford'. Nothing would be easier than to ac- of the charge, our great dramatist has of late years been recumulate instances to prove that in the time of Shakespeare, lieved from the stigma, thus attempted to be thrown upon as well as before and afterwards, the custom was to bury him, by the mere remark, that Shakespeare's property bepersons very shortly subsequent to their decease. In the ing principally freehold, the widow by the ordinary operacase of our poet, concluding that he expired on the 23d tion of the law of England would be entitled to, what is leApril, there was, as in the instance of his wife, an interval gally known by the term, dower.?0 It is extraordinary that of two days before his interment. this explanation should never have occurred to Malone, who Into the particular provisions of his will we need not en- was educated to the legal profession; but that many others ter at all at large, because we have printed it at the end of should have followed him in his unjust imputation is not the present memoir from the original, as it was filed in the remarkable, recollecting how prone most of Shakespeare's Prerogative Court', probate having been granted on the 22d biographers have been to repeat errors, rather than take the June following the date of it. His daughter Judith is there trouble to inquire for themselves, to sift out truth, and to only called by her Christian name, although she bad been balance probabilities. 1 The inscription., upon a brass plate, let into a stone, is in these Witty above her sexe, but that's not all; terms: —Ve have to thank Mr. Bruce for the use of his copies of them, Wise to salvation was good Mistress Hall. with which we have compared our own. Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this "Heere lyeth interred the Body of Anne, Wife of William Shake- Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse. speare, who departed this life the 6th day of Augu. 1623. being of Then, passenger, hast ne're a, teare ~~~~~~~~the age of 67 yeareo~. ~To weepe with her that wept for all? Va mihi: pro tanto munere saxa dabo. Quam mallem amoveat lapidem bonus a5gelg ir Them up witl comforts cordiall. Exeamt utm chri ati corpusiemagoma. bonus a ore'Her love shall live, her meicy spread, When thou hast ne're a teare to shed." Sed nil vota valent, venias cite Christe resurget e s hat ne ar ed" Clausae licet tumalo mater, et ae~tra p~etit." The register informs us that she was buried on the 16th July, 1649. 2 The following is the inscription commemorating him. 5 The following is copied from the register."Heere lyeth the Body of lohn Hall, Gent: Hee marr: Susanna' 1623, August 8. Mrs. Shakspeare." ye daughter and coheire of Will: Shakespeare, Gent. Hee deceased 6 Their registrations of burial are in these terms:Nove. 25. AO. 1635, aged 60. "1635. Nov. 26. Johannes Hall, medicus peritissimuss." Hallius hie situs est, medica celeberrimus arte, 1647, Aprill 5 Thomas Nash, Gent." Expectans regni gaudia lwta Dei. Dignus erat meritis, qui Nestora vinceret annis, 7 The register contains as follows In terris omnes, sed rapit oequa dies. "1649. July 16. Mrs. Susanna Hall, widow." Ne tumulo quid desit, adest fidissima conjux, 8 We are indebted to Sir F. Madden, Keeper of the MSS. in the Et vitas comitem nune quoq; mortis habet. British Museum, for the use of a most exact collation of Shakespeare's His inscription, in several places difficult to be deciphered, is will; in addition to which we have seveial times gone over every this:- line and word of it. We have printed it. as nearly as possible as it Heere resteth ye Body of Thomas Nashe, Esq. He mar. Eliza- ears n the orinal. beth the daug. and heire of John Halle, Gent. He died Aprill 4. 9 Another trifling circumstance leading to the conclusion that the A. 1647, Aged 53. will was prepared in January, though not executed until March, is Fata manent omnes hunc non virtute carentem, that Shakespeare's sister is ca-lled Jone Hart, and not Jone Hart, widoow. Ut neque divitiis abstulit atra dies; Her husband had died a few days before Shakespeare, and he was Abstulit, at referet lux ultima: siste, viator, buried on 17 April, 1616. as " Will Hart, hatter." She was buried Si peritura paras per male parta peris." on 4 Nov. 1646. Both entries are contained in the parish registers of 4 The inscription to her runs thus: Stratford. " Heere lyeth ye body of Susanna, Wife to Tohn Hall, Gent: ye 10 This vindication of Shakespeare's memory from the supposed nedaughter of William Shakespeare, Gent. Shee deceased ye 11th of glect of his wife we owe to Mr. Knight, in his ": Pictorial ShakJ-uly, A. 1649. aged 66." spere." See the Postscript to " Twelfth Night." When the explaDugdale has handed down the following verses upon her, which nation is once given, it seems so easy, that we wonder it was never were originally engraved on the stone, but are not now to be found, before mentioned; but like many discoveries of different kinds, it is half of it having been cut away to make room for an inscription to not less simple than important, and it is just that Mr. Knight should Richard Watts, who died in 1707. have full credit for it. lxvi THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Blest be ye manl yt spares thes stones, CHAPTER XXI. And cvrst be he yt moves my bones." The half-length on the title-page of the folio of 1623, Monument to Shakespeare at Stratford-upon-Avon erected engraved by Martin Droeshout, has certainly an expression before 1623; probably under the superintendence of Dr. of greater gravity than the bust on Shakespeare's monuHall, and Shakespeare's daughter Susanna. Difference mt; and, making some allowances, we can conceive the between the busl on the monument and the portrait on the title-page of the folio of 1623. Ben Jonson's testimony in original of that resemblance more capable of producing the favour of the likeness of the latter. Shakespeare's personal mighty works Shakespeare has left behind him, than the appearance. His social and convivial qualities. " Wit- olriginal of the bust: at all events, the first rather looks like combats" mentioned by Fuller in his ""Worthies." Epi- the author of " Lear" and " Macbeth," and the last like the taphs upon Sir Thomas Stanley and Elias James. Con- author of "Much Ado about Nothing" and "The Merry elusion. Hallam's character of Shakespeare. Wives of Windsor:" the one may be said to represent Shakespeare during his later years at Stratford, happy in A MoNUMEir to Shakespeare was erected anterior to the the intercourse of his family and friends, and the cheerful publication of the folio edition of his " Comedies, Histories, companion of his neighbours and townsmen; and the other, and Tragedies " in 1623, because it is thus distinctly men- Shakespeare in London, revolving the great works he had tioned by Leonard Digges, in the earliest copy of commen- written or projected, and with his mind somewhat burdened datory verses prefixed to that volume, which he states shall by the cares of his professional life. The last, therefore, outlive the poet's tomb:- is obviously the likeness which ought to accompany his ---- " when that stone is rent, plays, and which his "friends and fellows," Heminge and And time dissolves thy Stratford Monument, Condell, preferred to the head upon the " Stratford MonuHere we alive shall view thee still." ment," of the erection of which they must have been aware. This is the most ancient notice of it; but how long before There is one point in which both the engraving and the 1623 it had been placed in the church of Stratford-upon- bust in a degree oncur,-we mean in the length of the Avon, we have no means of deciding. It represents the upper lip, although the peculiarity seems exaggerated in the poet sitting under an arch, with a cushion before him, a pen bust. We have no such testimony in favour of the truth in his right hand, and his left resting upon a sheet of paper: of the resemblance of the bust' as the engraving, opposite it has been the opinion of the best judges that it was cut by to which are the folloing lines, subscribed with the initials an English sculptor, (perhaps Thomas Stanton) and we may of Ben Jonson, and doubtless from his pen. Let the reader conclude, without much hesitation, that the artist was em- bear in mind that Ben Jonson was not a man who could be ployed by Dr. Hall and his wife, and that the resemblance hired to commend, and that, taking it for granted he was was as faithful as a bust, not modelled from the life, but sincere in his praise, he had the most unquestionable means probably, under living instructions, from some picture or of forming a judgment upon the subject of the likeness becast, could be expected to be. Shakespeare is there con- tween the living man and the dead representationa. We siderably fuller in the face, than in the engraving on the give Ben Jonson's testimonial exactly as it stands in the title-page of the folio of 1623, which must have been made folio of 1623, for it afterwards went through various literal from a different original. It seems not unlikely that after changes. he separated himself from the business and anxiety of a "To TiE READER. professional life, and withdrew to the permanent inhaling " This Figure, that thou here seest put, of his native air, he became more robust, and the half- It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; length upon his monument conveys the notion of a cheerful, Wherein the Grauer had a strife good-tempered, and somewhat jovial man. The expression, With Nature, to ot-doo the life: we apprehend, is less intellectual than it must have been in could e bt e dawne his wit As well in brasse, as he halth lit reality, and the forehead, though lofty and expansive, is not His face; the Print would then surpasse strongly marked with thought: on the whole, it has rather All, that was euer writ in brasse. a look of gaiety and good humour than of thought and re- But, since he cannot, Reader, looke fleetion, and the lips are full, and apparently in the act of Not on his Picture, but his Booke. giving utterance to some amiable pleasantry. B. I." On a tablet below the bust are placed the following With this evidence before us, we have not hesitated in inscriptions, which we give literally:- having an exact copy of Droeshout's engraving executed " Ivdicio Pylivm, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, for the present edition of the Works of Skakespeare. It is, Terra tegit, popvlvs mmret, Olympvs habet. we believe, the first time it has ever been selected for the Stay, Passenger, why goest thov by so fast? purpose since the appearance of the folio of 1623; and, Read, if thov canst, whom enviovs Death hath plast although it may not be recommended by the appearance Within this monvment: Shakspeare; with whome of so high a style of art as some other imputed resemQuick natvre dide: whose name doth deck y' Tombe blances, there is certainly not one which has such unFar more then cost; sieth all yt he hath writt doubted claims to our notice on the grounds of fidelity and Leaves living art bvt page to serve his witt authenticity. Obiit ano Doi. 1616. The fact that Droeshout was required to employ his skill.Etatis. 53. die 23 Apr." upon a bad picture may tend to confirm our reliance upon On a flat grave stone in front of the monument, and not the likeness: had there been so many pictures of Shakefar from the wall against which it is fixed, we read these speare as some have contended, but as we are far from lines; and Southwell's correspondent (whose letter was believing, Heminge and Condell, when they were seeking printed in 1838, from the original manuscript dated 1693) for an appropriate ornament for the title-page of their folio, informs us, speaking of course from tradition, that they would hardly have chosen one which was an unskilful paintwere written by Shakespeare himself:- ing, if it had not been a striking resemblance. If only half " Good frend, for Iesvs sake forbeare the pictures said, within the last century, to represent To digg the dvst encloased heare: Shakespeare, were in fact from the life, the poet must have 1 It was originally, like many other monuments of the time, and living, who could have contradicted him, had the praise not been some in Stratford church, coloured after the life, and so it continued deserved. Jonson does not speak of the painter, but of the " graver," until Malone, in his mistaken zeal for classical taste and severity, who we are inclined to think did full justice to the picture placed in and forgetting the practice of the period at which the work was pro- his hands. Droeshout was a man of considerable eminence in his duced, had it painted one uniform stone-colour. He thus exposed branch of art, and has left behind him undoubted proofs of his skill himself to much not unmerited ridicule. It was afterwards found -some of them so much superior to the head of Shakespeare in the impossible to restore the original colours. folio of 1623, as to lead to the conviction, that the picture from which 2 Besides, we may suppose that Jonson would be careful how he he worked was a very coarse specimen of art. applauded the likeness, when there must have been so many persons THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Ixvii possessed a vast stock of patience, if not a larger share of by the quickness of his wit and invention3.' The simile is vanity, when he devoted so much time to sitting to the well chosen, and it came from a -writer who seldom said artists of the day; and the player-editors could have found anything ill4. Connected with Ben Jonson's solidity and no difficulty in procuring a picture, -which had better pre- slowness is a witticism between him and Shakespeare, said tensions to their approval. To us, therefore, the very de- to have passed at a tavern. One of the Ashmolean manufects of the engraving, which accompanies the folio of 1623, scripts (No. 38) contains the following:are a recommendation, since they serve to show that it was both genuine and faithful. " Mr. Ben Johnson and Mr. Win. Shakespeare being Aubrey is the only authority, beyond the inferences that nlerrie at a tavern, Mr. Jonson begins this for his epitaph, may be drawn from the portraits, for the personal appearance of Shakespeare; and he sums up our great poet's phy- Here lies Ben Jonson sical and moral endowments in two lines; —" He was a Who was once one: handsome well-shaped man, very good company, and of a. e up, w very ready, and pleasant, and smooth wit." We have every wr it to r. Sakes re to ake p, who p tly reason to suppose that this is a correct description of his personal appearance, but we are unable to add to it from That, while he liv'd, was a slow thing, any other source, unless indeed we were to rely upon a few And now, being dea, is o-thing." equivocal passages in the " Sonnets." Upon this authority it has been supposed by some that he was lame, and cer- It is certainly not of much value, but there is a great tainly the 3'th and 89th Sonnets, without allowing for a difference between the estimate of an extempore joke figurative mode of expression, might be taken to import as at the moment of delivery, and the opinion we may much. If we were to consider the words literally, we form of it long afterwards, when it has been put upon should imagine that some accident had befallen him, which paper, and transmitted to posterity under such names rendered it impossible that he should continue on the stage, as those of Shakespeare and Jonson. The same cxand hence we could easily account for his early retirement cuse, if required, may be made for two other pieces of from it. We know that such was the case with one of his unpretending pleasantry between the same parties, which most famous predecessors, Christopher Marlowe', but we we subjoin in a note, because they relate to such men, have no sufficient reason for believing it was the fact as re- and have been handed down to us upon something like gards Shakespeare: he is evidently speaking metaphori- authority'. cally in both places, where "lame" and " lameness" occur. Of a different character is a production preserved by His social qualities, his good temper, hilarity, vivacity, Dugdale, at the end of his Visitation of Salop, in the and what Aubrey calls his " very ready, and pleasant, and Heralds' College: it is an epitaph inscribed upon the tomb smooth wit," (in our author's own words, "pleasant without of Sir Thomas Stanley, in Tongue church; and Dugdale, scurrility, witty without affectation,") cannot be doubted, whose testimony is unlmpeachable, distinctly states that since, besides what may.be gathered from his works, we "the following verses were made by William Shakespeare, have it from various quarters; and although nothing very the late famous tragedian." good of this kind may have descended to us, we have sufficient to show that he must have been a most welcome " Written upon the east end of the tomb. visitor in all companies. The epithet " gentle " has been " Ask who lies here, but do not weep;. frequently applied to him, twice by Ben Jonson, (in his He is not dead, he doth but sleep. lines before the engraving, and in his laudatory verses pre- This stony register is for his bones; fixed to the plays in the folio of 1623) and if it be not to be His fame is more perpetual than these stones: understood precisely in its modern acceptation, we may be And his own goodness, with himself being gone sure that one distinguishing feature in his character was gen- ha live when earthly monument is none. eral kindliness: he may have been " sharp and sententious,"n o et ed t. but never needlessly bitter or ill-natured: his wit had no malice for an ingredient. Fuller speaks of the "wit-combats" "Not monunental stone preserves our fame, between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson at the convivial Nor sk-aspirin pyramids our ame. The memory of bn for wh oni this stands meetings at the Mermaid club, established by Sir Walter Shell omut-ive marble and defacers' hands. Raleigh2; and he adds, " which two I behold like a Spanish When all to time's consumption shall be Fiven, great galleon and an English man-of-war: Master Jonson, Stanley, for whom this stands, shall stand in heaven." like the former, was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow in his performances: Shakespeare, with the English With Malone and others, who have quoted them, we man-of-war, lessee in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn feel satisfied of the authenticity of these verses, though we with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds may not perhaps think, as he did, that the last line bears l See the extract from a ballad on Marlowe (p. xxxi.). This cir- pointed and smooth even as they are taken out of the earth, so nature cumstance, had he known it, would materially have aided the mo- itself was all the art which was used upon him." Of course Fuller dern sceptick, who argued that Shakespeare and Marlowe were one is here only referring to Shakespeare's classical acquirements: his and the same. learning" of a different kind, perhaps, exceeded that of all the 2 Gifford (Ben Jonson's Works, vol. I. p. lxv.) fixes the date of the ancients put together. establishment of this club, at the-Mermaid in Friday Street, about Shakepeae as god-father to one of en Jonon's childre 1603, and he adds that "here for many'years Ben Jonson repaired and after the christening, being in a deepe study, Jonson came to with Shakespeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, Carew, Mar- cheere him up, and askt him why he was so melancholy?-'No tin, Donne, and many others, whose names, even at this distant faith, Ben, (sayes he) not I; but I have been considering a great period, call up a mingled feeling of reverence and respect." Of what while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my godpassed at these many assemblies Beaumont thus speaks, addressing child, and I have resolv'd at last.'-' I pr'ythee what?' says he. Ben Jonson:-' I faith, Ben, Ill e'en give him a douzen of Latten spoones, and thou shalt translate them."' " What things have we seen Of course the joke depends upon the pun between Latin. and the Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been mixed metal called latten. The above is from a MS. of Sir R. So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, L'Estrange, who quotes the authority of Dr. Donne. It is inserted in As if that every one from whom they came Mr. Thoms's amusing volume, printed for the Camden Society, Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest." under the title of "Anecdotes and Traditions." p. 2. The next is The Mitre, in Fleet Street, seems to have been another tavern where from a MS. called "Poetical Characteristics, formerly in the Harthe wits and poets of the day hilariously assembled. eian Collection: 3 Worthies. Part iii. p. 126, folio edit. " Verses by Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, occasioned by the motto 4 Fuller has another simile, on the same page, respecting Shake- to the Globe theatre-Totus mundus afit histrionemn. speare and his acquirements, which is worth quoting. " He was an " Jonson. If but stage-actors all the world displays, eminent instance of the truth of that rule, Poeta non fit, sed nasciturl; Where shall we find spectators of their plays? one is not made, but born a poet. Indeed his learning was very little, " Shakespeare. Little, or much of what we see, we do; so that as Cornish diamonds are not polished by any lapidary, but are We are both actors and spectators too." Ixviii THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. such "strong marks of the hand of Shakespeare'." The our greatest dead one, "whom, through the mouths of coincidence between the line those whom he has inspired to body forth the modifications Nor sky-aspiring pyramids our name..of his immense mind, we seem to know better than any " Nor sky-aspiring pyramids our name,".. v 0' 2'or sky-aspirig pyramidsour human writer, it may be truly said that we scarcely know and the passage in Milton's Epitaph upon Shakespeare, anything. We see him, so far as we do see him, not in prefixed to the folio of 1632, himself, but in a reflex image from the objectivity in which "Or that his hallow'd relics should be id- he is manifested: he is Falstaff, and Mercutio, and MalUlnder a star-ypointing pyramid," volio, and Jaques, and Portia, and Imogen, and Lear, and,*r a ry1 "Othello; but to us he is scarcely a determined person, a subseems, as far as we recollect, to have escaped notice. stantial reality of past time, the man Shakespeare3." We We have thus brought into a consecutive narrative (with cannot flatter ourselves that we have done much to bring the as little interruption of its thread as, under the circum- reader better acquainted with " the man Shakespeare," stances, and with such disjointed materials, seemed to us but if we have done anything we shall be content; and, inpossible) the particulars respecting the life of the " myriad- stead of attempting any character of our own, we will subjoin minded Shakespeare2," with which our predecessors were one, in the words of the distinguished writer we have above acquainted, or which, from various sources, we have been quoted4, as brief in its form as it is comprehensive in its matable, during a long series of years, to collect. Yet, after all, ter:-" The name of Shakespeare is the greatest in our comparing what we really know of our great dramatist literature,-it is the greatest in all literature. No man ever with what we might possibly have known, we cannot but be came near to him in the creative powers of the mind; no aware how little has been accomplished. "Of William man had ever such strength at once, and such variety of Shakespeare," says one of our greatest living authors of imagination." If the details of his life be imperfect, the history of his 1 The following reaches us in a more questionable shape: it is mind is complete* and we leave the reader to turn *om'he from a MS. of the time of Charles I., preserved in the Bodeian - complete; and e leave theeader to turn f the brary, which contains also poems by Herrick and others. contemplation of "the man Shakespeare" to the study of " AN EPITAPH. THE POET SHAKESPEARE. "When God was pleas'd, the world unwilling yet, 2 Coleridge's Table Talk, vol. ii. p. 301.-Mr. Hallam in his " InElias James to nature paid his debt, troduction to the Literature of Europe," vol. iii. p. 89. edit. 1843, And hesre reposeth. As he lived he died, somewhat less literally translates the Greek epithet, 1vplorovg, The saying in him strongly verified, "thousand-souled." Such life, such death: then, the known truth to tell, th ouaou Hie liv'd a godly life, and died as well. 3 Hallam's "' Introduction to the Literature of Europe," vol. ii. p. 175. Wm. Shakespeare." 4 Ibid. vol. iii. p. 89. SHAKESPEARE'S WILiL.1 Vicesimo Quinto Die Martij2 Anno Regni Domini saied countie of warr being parcell or holden of the mannostri Jacobi nune Rex Anglie &c. Decimo quarto nour of Rowington vnto my Daughter Susanna Hall & her & Scotie xlix~ Annoq; Domini 1616. heires for ever Item I Gyve & bequeath vnto my saied Daughter Judith One hundred and Fyftie Poundes more if T. WmJ Shackspeare shee or Anie issue of her bodie be Lyvinge att thend of In the name of god Amen I William Shackspeare three yeares next ensueing the Daie of the Date of this my of Stratford vpon Avon in the countie of. warr gent in per- Will during which tyme my executours to paie her considfect health & memorie god be praysed doe make & Ordayne eracion from my deceas according to the Rate aforesaied this my last will & testament in manner & forme followeing And if she dye withinthe saied terme without issue of her That ys to saye First I Comend my Soule into the handes bodye then my will ys & I Doe gyve & bequeath One Hunof god my Creator hoping & assuredlie beleeving through dred Poundes thereof to my Neece Elizabeth Hall & the thonelie merites of Jesus Christe my Saviour to be made Fiftie Poundes to be sett fourth by my executours during the partaker of lyfe everlastinge And my bodye to the Earth lief of my Sister Johane Harte & the vse and proffitt therewhereof yt ys made Item I Gyve & bequeath vnto my of Cominge shalbe payed to my saied Sister lone & after Daughter' Judyth One hundred & Fyftie poundes of law- her deceas the saied 1li shall Remaine Amongst the children full English money to be paied vnto her in manner & forme of my saied Sister Equallie to be Devided Amongst them followeing That ys to saye One hundred pounds in discharge But if my saied Daughter Judith be lyving att thend of the of her marriage porcion4 within one yeare after my deceas saied three Yeares or anie yssue of her bodye then my will with consideracion after the Rate of twoe Shillinges in the ys & soe I Devise & bequeath the saied Hundred and Fyftie pound for soe long tyme as the same shalbe vnpaied vnto Poundes to be sett out by my executours & overseers7 for the her after my deceas & the Fyftie poundes Residewe thereof best benefitt of her & her issue & the stock8 not to be9 paied vpon her Surrendring of' or gyving of such sufficient Secu- vnto her soe long as she shalbe marryed & Covert Baron'~ ritie as the overseers of this my Will shall like of to Sur- but my will ys that she shall have the consideracion yearlie render or graunte All her estate & Right that shall discend paied vnto her during her lief & after her deceas the saied or come vnto her after my deceas or that shee6 nowe hath stock and consideracion to bee paied to her children if she of in or to one Copiehold tenemente with thappurtenances have Anie & if not to her executours or assignes she lyvino lyeing & being in Stratford vpon Avon aforesaied in the the saied terme after my deceas Provided that if such hus1 The following is from an exact transcript of the original Will 3 Before " Daughter" sonne and was originally written, but struck deposited in the Prerogative office, London, the only difference being through with the pen. that we have not thought it necessary to give the legal contractions 4 The words " in discharge of her marriage porcion" are interlined. of the scrivener: in all other respects, even to the misemployment 5 The word "of" is interlined. of capital letters, and the omission of points our copy is most faithful. 6 The words "that shee" are interlined. 2 The ord c Martij" is interlined above Januaj which s The words " by my executours and overseers" are interlined. struck through with the pen. Malone (Shaksp. by Boswell, vol. i. s The words L the stock" are interlined. p. 601.) states that the word struck through is Februarij, but this is 9 The words " to be" are interlined. a mistake. 10 After "Baron" the words " by my executours & overseers" are erased with the pen. THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Ixix bond as she shall att thend of the saied three yeares be mar- saied Susanna Hall for & during the terme of her naturall ryed vnto or attaine after doe sufficientlie Assure vnto her lief & after her deceas to the first sonne of her bodie law& thissue of her bodie landes Answereable to the porcion fullie yssueing & to the heires Males of the bodie of the saied by this my will gyven vnto her & to be adiudged soe by my first Sonne lawfullie yssueing & for defalt of such issue to executours & overseers then my will ys that the saied Cl1i the second Sonne of her bodie lawfullie issueinge & to the shalbe paied to such husbond as shall make such assurance heires males of the bodie of the saied Second Sonne lawfulto his owne vse Item I gyve & bequeath vnto my saied sis- lie yssueinge and for defalt of such heires to the third Sonne ter Ione xx1i & all my wearing Apparrell to be paied & de- of the bodie of the saied Susanna Lawfullie yssueing & of liuered within one yeare after my Deceas And I doe will the heires males of the bodie of the saied third soune law& devise vnto her the house' with thappurtenances in Strat- fullie yssueing And for defalt of such issue the same soe to ford wherein she dwelleth for her natural lief vnder the be & Remaine to the Fourthl2 Fyfth sixte & Seaventh sonnes yearlie Rent of xiid Item I gyve & bequeath2 vnto her of her bodie lawfullie issueing one after Another & to the three sonns William Harte Hart & Michaell Harte heires" Males of the bodies of the saied Fourth fifth Sixte Fyve Poundes A peece to be paied within one Yeare after and Seaventh sonnes lawfullie yssueing in such manner as my deceas3 her Item I gyve & bequeath unto the saied yt ys before Lymitted to be & Remaine to the first second Elizabeth Hall4 All my Plate (except my brod silver & gilt & third Sonns of her bodie & to their heires Males And for bole') that I now have att the Date of this my will Item I defalt of such issue the saied premisses to be & Remaine to gyve & bequeath vnto the Poore of Stratford aforesaied tenn my sayed Neece Hall & the heires Males of her bodie lawpoundes to Mr Thomas Combe my Sword to Thomas Rus- fullie yssueing & for defalt of such issue to my Daughter sell Esquier Fyve poundes & to Frauncis Collins of the Bo- Judith & the heires Males of her body lawfullie issueinge rough of warr in the countie of warr gentleman thirteene And for defalt of such issue to the Right heires of poundes Sixe shillinges & Eight pence to be paied within me the saied William Shackspeare for ever Item I gyve one Yeare after my Deceas Item I gyve & bequeath to vnto my wief my second best bed with the furniturel4 Item Hamlett Sadler6 xxvis viijd to buy him A Ringe to William I gyve & bequeath to my saied Daughter Judith my broad Raynoldes gent xxvjs viij' to buy him a Ringe' to my godson silver gilt bole All the rest of my goodes Chattel Leases William Walker xxs in gold to Anthonye Nashe gent xxvjs plate Jewels & household stuffe whatsoeuer after my Dettes viijd & to Mr John Nashe xxvjs viijd' & to my Fellowes John and Legasies paied & my funerall expences discharged I Hemynges Richard Burbage & Henry Cundell xxvjs viijd gyve devise and bequeath to my Sonne in Lawe John Hall Apeece to buy them Ringes' Item I Gyve will bequeath & gent & my Daughter Susanna his wief whom I ordaine & devise vnto my Daughter Susanna Hall for better enabling make executours of this my Last will and testament And I of her to performe this my will & towardes the performans doe intreat & Appoint the saied'5 Thomas Russell Esquier & thereof "All that Capitall messuage or tenemente with thap- Frauncis Collins gent to be overseers hereof And doe Re-' purtenances in Stratford aforesaid" Called the new place voke All former wills & publishe this to be my last will and wherein I nowe Dwell & two Messuages or tenementes with testament In Witness whereof I have herevnto put my thappurtenances scituat lyeing & being in Henley streete hand'6 the Daie & Yeare first aboue written. within the borough of Stratford aforesaied And all my "By me William Shakspcare. barnes stables Orchardes gardens landes tenementes & hereditamentes whatsoeuer scituat lyeing & being or to be had Witnes to the publishing Receyved perceyved or taken within the townes Hamletes hereof Fra: Collyns Probatum cora Magr. Willim Villages. Fieldes & groundes of Stratford vpon Avon Old- Julyus Shawe Byrde Dcore Comiss. &c. xx ddie stratford Bushopton & Welcombe or in anie of them in the John Robinson mensis Junij Anno Dni 1616 said countie of warr And alsoe All that messuage or tene- Hamnet Sadler Juramto Johannis Hall vnius mente with thappurtenances wherein One John Robinson Robert Whattcott ex &c Cui &c De bene &c Jurat dwelleth scituat lyeing & being in the blackfriers in London Resvat ptate &c. Susanne Hall uere the Wardrobe & all other my landes tenementes & alt ex &c cu venit &c petitur hereditamentes whatsoeuer To have & to hold All & singuler the saied premisses with their appurtenances vnto the (Invt ext) 1 The words " the house" are interlined. 8 After " xxvjs viijd" in gold was originally written, but erased 2 The first sheet ends with the word " bequeath," and the testator's with the pen. signature is in the margin opposite. 9 The words " & to my Fellowes John Hemynges Richard Bur3 After " deceas" follow these words, struck through with the pen, bage and Henry Cundell xxvjs viijd to buy them Ringes" are inter-; to be sett out for her within one yeare after my deceas by my execu- lined. tours with thadvise and direccions of my overseers for her best profitt 10 The words " for better enabling of her to performe this my will vntill her mariage and then the same with the increase thereof to be & towardes the performans thereof" are interlined. paied vnto:" the erasure ought also to have included the wvord "her," 11 The words " in Stratford aforesaid" are interlined. which follows "vnto." 12 After "Fourth" the word sonne was first written, but erased with 4 The words "the saied Elizabeth Hall" are interlined above her, the pen. which is struck through with the pen. 13 The second sheet ends with the word "heires," and the signaThis parenthesis is an interlineation. ture of the testator is at the bottom of it 6' Hamlet Sadler" is an interlineation above Mr. Richard Tyler 14 The words'Item I gyve vnto my wief my second best bed with thelder, which is erased. the furniture" are interlined, 7 The w-ords " to YWilliam Raynoldes gentleman xxvjs viijd to buy 15 The words " the saied" are interlined. him A Ringe" are interlined. 16 The word' hand" is interlined above scale, which is erased with the pen. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. T HE T E M P EST. Iwe find the following words, which we reprint, for the first time, exactly as they stand in the original edition, where ["The Tempest" was first printed in the folio edition Italic type seems to have been used to make the allusions of " Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and more distinct and obvious:-" If there bee never a Servant, Tragedies," bearing date in 1623, where it stands first, and monster i' the Fayre, who can helpe it, he saves; nor a nest occupies nineteen pages, viz. from p. 1, to p. 19 inclusive. of Antiques? Hee is loth to make Nature afraid in his PlayesIt fills the same place in the folios of 1632, 1664, and 1685.] like those that beget 7hles, Tenmpests, and such like.Drolleries." The words " servant-monster," antiques," Tales," A MATERIAL fact, in reference to the date of the first pro- " Tempests," and " drolleries," which last Shakespeare himduction of " The Tempest," has only been recently ascer- self employs in "The Tempest," (Act iii. sc. 8.) seem so aptained: we allude to the notice of the performance of it, before plicable, that they can hardly relate to any thing else. King James, on Nov. 1st, 1611,1 which is contained in the It may be urged, however, that what was represented at " Extracts from the Accounts of the Revels at Court," edited Court in 1611 was only a revival of an older play, acted before by Mr. P. Cunningham for the Shakespeare Society, p. 211: 1596, and such may have been the case: we do not, however, the memorandum is in the following form: think it probable, for several reasons. One of these is an " Hallomas nyght was presented att Whithall before the apparently trifling circumstance, pointed out by Farmer; viz. Kinges Majestie a play called the Tempest " that in "The Merchant of Venice," written before 1598, the name of Stephano is invariably pronounced with the accent In the margin is inserted the additional circumstance, that on the second syllable, while in " The Tempest," the proper the perforniance was "by the King's Players;" and there can pronunciation is as constantly required by the verse. It be no reasonable doubt that it was Shakespeare's drama, seems certain, therefore, that Shakespeare found his error in which had been written for that company. When it had been the interval, and he may have learnt it from Ben Jonson's so written, is still a point of difficulty; but the probability," Every Man in his Humour," in which Shakespeare perwe think, is that it was selected by the Master of the Revels, formed, and in the original list of characters to which, in the for representation at Court in 1611, on account of its novelty edition of 1601, the names not only of Stephano, but of Prosand popularity on the public stage. Eleven other dramas, pero occur. as appears by the same document, were exhibited between Another circumstance shows,-we think almost decisively, Oct. 81, 1611, and the same day in the next year; and it is that "The Tempest" was not written until after 1608, when remarkable that ten of these (as far as we possess any infor- the translation of Montaignl's Essays, by Florio, made its first mation respecting them) were comparatively new plays, and appearance in print. In Act II. sc. 1, is a passage so closely with regard to the eleventh, it was not more than three years copied from Florio's version, as to leave no doubt of identity.4 old.2 We may, perhaps, be warranted in inferring, therefore, If it be said that these lines may have been an insertion subthat " The Tempest" was also not then an old play. sequent to the original production of the play, we answer, It seems to us, likewise, that the internal evidence, derived that the passage is not such as could have been introduced, from style and language, clearly indicates that it was a late like some others, to answer a temporary or complimentary production, and that it belongs to about the same period of purpose, and that it is given as a necessary and continuous our great dramatist's literary history as his " Winter's Tale," portion of the dialogue. which was also chosen for a Court-play, and represented at The Rev. Mr. Hunter, in his very ingenious and elaborate Whitehall only four days after " The Tempest" had been ex- " Disquisition on the Tempest," has referred to this and to hibited. In point of construction, it must be admitted at once other oints, with a view of proving that every bodyhas that there is the most obvious dissimilarity, inasmuch as hitherto been mistaken, and that this play instead of being The Winter's Tale" is a piece in which the unities are ut- one of his latest, was one of Shakespeare's earliest works. terly disregarded, while in " The Tempest" they are strictly With regard to the point derived from Montaigne's Essays observed. It is only in the involved and parenthetical cha- by Florio, 1608, he has contended, that if the particular essay racter of some of the speeches, and in psychological resem- were not separately printed before, (of which we have not the blances, that we would institute a comparison between " The slightest hint) Shakespeare may have seen the translation in Tempest" and the "Winter's Tale," and would- infer from manuscript; but unless he so saw it in print or manuscript thence that they belong to about the same period. as early as 1595, nothing is established in favour of Mr. HunWithout here adverting to the real or supposed origin of ter's argument; and surely when other circumstances show the story, or to temporary incidents which may have sug- that " The Tempest" was not written till 1610,5 we need not" gested any part of the plot, we may remark that there is one hesitate long in deciding that our great dramatist went to no piece of external evidence which strongly tends to confirm manuscript authority, but took the passage almost verbatim, the opinion that "The Tempest" was composed not very as he found it in the complete edition. In the same way long before Ben Jonson wrote one of his comedies: we allude Mr. Hunter has argued, that " The Tempest" was not omitted to his " Bartholomew Fair," and to a passage in " the Induc- by Meres in his list in 1598, but that is found there under tion," frequently mentioned, and which we concur in think- its second title, of "Love's Labours Won;" but this is little inl was intended as a hit not only at " The Tempest," but at better than a gratuitous assumption, even supposing we were " The Winter's Tale." Ben Jonson's " Bartholomew Fair," to admit that "All's well that ends Well" is not the play inwas acted in 1614, and written perhaps in the preceding year,3 tended by Meres.6 Our notion is, that "All's well that ends during the popularity of Shakespeare's two plays; and there Well" was originally called " Love's Labours Won," and 1 The earliest date hitherto discovered for the performance of 4 Malone (Shaksp. by Boswell vol. xv.. p. 78.) quotes this impor" The Tempest" was the beginning of the year 1613," which Malone tant passage from Florio's translation of Montaigne with a singular established from Vertue's MSS.: it was then acted by " the King's degree of incorrectness: with many minor variations lie substitutes Company, before Prince Charles, the Princess Elizabeth, and the partitions for " dividences," and omits the words " no manlllrin- of Prince Palatine," but where, is not stated. lands " altogether. This is a case in which verbal, and even literal, 2 See note 2 to the Introduction to " The Winter's Tale." The accuracy is important. particular play to which we refer is entitled in the Revels' Account 5 In the Introduction to "The Winter's Tale," we have assign" Lucrecia," which may have been either T. Heywood's " Rape of ed a reason, founded upon a passage in R. Greene's "Pandosto." Lucrece," first printed in 1608, or a different tragedy on the same for believing that " The Tempest" lwas anterior in composition to incidents. that play. s See " Alleyn Papers," printed by the Shakespeare Society, p. 67, 6 Mr. Hunter contends that in " The Tempest " " love's labours where Daborne, under date of Nov. 13th, 1613, speaks of " Jonson's are " won;" but such is the case with every play in which the issue play " as then about to be performed. Possibly it was deferred for -is successful passion, after difculties and disappointments: in " The a short time, as the title-page states that it was acted in 1614. It Tempest " they are fewer than in most other plays, since from may have been written in 1612, for performance in 1613. first to last the love of Ferdinand and lMiranda is prosperous. At INTRODUCTION TO THE" PLAYS. lxxi that it was revived, with some other changes, under a new in' The Tempest,' exhibited in its profound and original chaname in 1605 or 1606. racterisation, strikes us at once; but we must also admire the Neither can we agree with Mr. Hunter in thinking that he deep sense of the art (tiefsinsige Kunst) which is apparent in has established, that nothing was suggested to Shakespeare the structure of the whole, in the wise ecoQnomy of its means, by the storm, in July 1609, which dispersed the fleet under and in the skill with which the scaffolding is raised to sustain Sir George Somer~ and Sir Thomas Gates, of which an ac- the marvellous aerial structure." ieber Dram. Kunst und count was published by a person of the name of Jourdan in Litt. Vol. iii. p. 123. edit. 1817. the following year. This point was, to our mind, satisfactorily made out by Malone, and the mention of " the still-vex'd Bormoothes" by Shakespeare seems directly to connect the THE drama with Jourdan's "Discovery of the Bermudas, otherwise called the Isle of Devils," printed in 1610. We are told TWO GENTLEMEN OF VY RONA. at the end of the play, in the folio of 16238, that the scene is laid " in an uninhabited island," and Mr. Hunter has con- [" The Two Gentlemen of Verona" was first printed in the tended that this island was Lampedusa, which unquestionably folio of 1623, where it occupies nineteen pages, viz. from p. lies in the, track which the ships in I" The Tempest" would 20 to p. 88, inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It is take. Our objection to this theory is two-fold: first, we can- there divided into Acts and Scenes. It also stands second not persuade ourselves, that Shakespeare had any particular in the later folios.] island in his mind; and secondly, if he had meant to lay his scene in. Lampedusa, he could hardly have failed to introduce TnHE only ascertained fliact with which we are acquainted, in its name in some part of his performance: in consequence of reference;to " The Two Gentlemen of Verona," is, that it is the deficiency of scenery, &c., it was the constant custom included in the list of Shakespeare's Plays which Francis with our early dramatists to mention distinctly, and often Meres furnished in his Palladis Tamia, 1598. It comes first more than once, where the action was supposed to take place. in that enumeration, and although this is a very slight cirAs a minor point, we may add, that we know of no extant cumstance, it may afford some confirmation to the opinion, English authority to which he could have gone for informa- founded upon internal evidence of plot, style, and characters, tion, and we do not suppose that he consulted the ITurco that it was one of the earliest, if not the very earliest of ShakeGC'cecice of Crusius, the only older authority quoted by Mr. speare's original dramatic compositions. It is the second play Hunter. in the folio of 1628, where it first appeared, but that is no No novel, in prose or verse, to which Shakespeare resorted criterion of the period at which it was originally written. for the incidents of " The Tempest" has yet been discovered; It would, we think, be idle to attempt to fix upon any parand although Collins, late in his brief career, mentioned to ticular year: it is unquestionably the work of a young and T. Warton that he had seen such a tale, it has never come to unpractised dramatist, and the conclusion is especially inarlight, and we apprehend that he must have been mistaken. tificial and abrupt. It may have been written by our great We have turned over the pages of, we believe, every Italian dramatist very soon after he joined a theatrical comn pany; and novelist, anterior to the age of Shakespeare, in hopes of find- at all events we do not think it likely that it was composed ing some story containing traces of the incidents of "The subsequently to 1591. We should be inclined to place it, as Tempest," but without success. The ballad entitled "The indeed it stands in the work of Meres, immediately'before Inchanted Island," printed in "Farther Particulars regarding " Love's Labour's Lost." Meres calls it the "Gentlemen of Shakespeare and his Works," is a more modern production Verona." Malone, judging from two passages in the comedy, than the play, from which it varies in the names, as well as in first argued that it was produced in 1595, but le afterwards some points of the story, as if for the purpose of concealing adopted 1591 as the more probable date. The quotations to its connection with a production which was popular on the which he refers, in truth, prove nothing, either as regards stage. Our opinion decidedly is, that it was founded upon 1595 or 1591. "The Tempest," and not upon any ancient narrative to which If " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " were not the offspring Shakespeare also might have been indebted. It may be re- merely of the- author's invention, we have yet to discover the marked, that here also no locality is given to the island: on source of its plot. Points of resemblance have been dwelt the contrary, we are told, if it ever had any existence but in upon in connection with Sir Philip Sidney's " Arcadia," 1590, the imagination of the poet, that it had disappeared:- and the " Diana' of Montemayor, which was not translated "From that daie forth the Isle has beene into English by B. Yonge until 1598; but the incidents, cornBy wandering sailors never seene: muon to the drama and to these two works, are only such as Some say'tis buryed deepe might be found in other romances, or would present them-. Beneath the sea, which breakes and rores selves spontaneously to the mind of a young poct: the one is Above its savage rocky shores, the command of banditti by Valentine; and the other the Nor ere is knowne to sleepe." assumption of male attire by Julia, for a purpose nearly simiMr. Thoms has pointed out some resemblances in the inci- lar to that of Viola in " Twelfth Night." E}xt racts firom the dents of an early German play, entitled Die Schomne Sidea, and "Arcadia" and the "Diana" are to be found in " Shake"The Tempest:" his theory is, that a drama upon a similar speare's Library," vol. ii. The notion of some critics, that story was at an early date performed in Germany, and that "L The Two Gentlemen of Verona" contains few or no marks if it were not taken from Shakespeare's play, it was perhaps of Shakespeare's hand, is a strong proof of their incompetoenc derived from the same unknown source. Mr. Thorns is to form a judgment. preparing a translation of it for the Shakespeare Society, and we shall then be better able to form an opinion, as to the real or supposed connection between the two. When Coleridge tells us (Lit. Bem. ii. p. 94.) that "'The THE MERR Y WIVES OF Wi1DSOI. Tempest' is a specimen of the purely romantic Drama," he [" A Most pleasaunt and excellent conceited Comedic, of Syr of course refers to the nature of the plot and personages: in Iohn Falstaffe, and the merrie Wines of Windsor. Enterone sense of the words. it is not a " romantic dramna," inas- mixed with sundrie variable and pleasing humors, of Svr much as there are few pllays, ancient or modermn, in which the I-ugh the Welch knight, lustice Shallow, and his wise Cousin unities are more exactly observed: the Whole of the events M. Slender. Witrh the swacering vaine of Amunient Pistohl, occupy only a few hours. At the same time it is perfectly ad Corporal Nym. By William Shalespeare. A it lath true, as the same enlightened and fanciful commentator adds, bene diuers times Acted by the right Ihionorhabe miy Lord "It is a species of drama, which owes no allegiance to time Chamberlaimes seriants. Both before her i Maies me,'nd or space, and in which, therefore, errors'of chronology and elsewhere. London Printed by T. C. for Arthur Jolhnsol), geography-no mortal sins in any species-mre venial faults, and are to be sold at his shop in Powles Church-;amrd. at the and count for nothing: it addresses itself entirely to the sigmne of the Flower de Leuse and the Crowne. 1602." 4to. imaginative faculty." This opinion was delivered in 1818; 27 leaves and three years earlier Coleridge had spoken of " The Tempest," as certainly one of Shakespeare's latest works, judg- "A Most pleasant and excellent conceited Comcdy, of Sir ing from the language only: Schlegel was of the same opinion, Iohn Falstaffe, and the Merry Wiues of Windsor. W ith the without, however, assigning any distinct reason, and insti- swaggering vaine of Ancient Pistoil, and Corpcrill lym. tuted a comparison between " The Tempest" and " Midsum- Written by W. Shakspeare. Printed for Arthur Johlnson, mer Night's Dream," adding, " The preponderance of thought 1619." 4to. 28 leaves. all events " The Tempest" was played at Court under that title in " Every Man in his Humour;" but while we admit the acuteness, 1611 and 1613. Mr: IHunter also endeavours to establish that Ben we cannot by any means allow the conclusiveness: of Mr. Hunter's Jonson alluded to "The Tempest" in 1596, in the Prologue to reasoning. lxxii INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. The 4to. of 1680, was "printed by T. H. for R. Meighen." &c. Dennis in that year printed his "Comical Gallant," founded In the folio,1623, "The Merry Wines of Windsor" oc- upon the "Merry Wives of Windsor," and in the dedication cupies twenty-two pages, viz. from p. 39 to p. 60 inclusive, he states, that "the comedy was written at the command of in the division of " Comedies." It also stands third in the Queen Elizabeth, and by her direction; and she was so eager three later folios.] to see it acted, that she commanded it to he finished in fourteen days." Dennis gives no authority for any part of this THIS comedy was printed for the first time in a perfect assertion, but because he knew Dryden, it is supposed to have state in the folio of 1623: it had come out'in an imperfect come from him; and because Dryden was acquainted with state in 1602, and again in 1619, in both instances for a book- Davenant, it has been conjectured that the latter might have seller of the name of Arthur Johnson: Arthur Johnson ac- communicated it to the former. We own that we place little quired the right to publish it from John Busby, and the or no reliahce on the story, especially recollecting that Denoriginal entry, and the assignment of the play, run thus in nis had to make out a case in favour of his alterations, by the Registers of the Stationers' Company. showing that Shakespeare had composed the comedy in an "18 Jan. 1601. John Busby] An excellent and pleasant incredibly short period, and consequently that it was capable conceited comniedie of Sir John Falstof, and the of improvement. The assertion by Dennis was repeated by Merry wyves ofn By asdesor Gildon, Pope, Theobald, &c., and hence it has obtained a "at y ssgnment from J no. Bsbe degree of currency and credit to which it seems by no means a. B. An excellent and pleasant conceited comedie entitled. of Sir John Faulstafe, and the mery wyves of Wind- It has been a disputed question in what part of the series sor.1" of dramas in which Falstaff is introduced, "The Merry January 1601, according to our present mode of reckoning Wives of Windsor" ought to be read: Johnson thought it the year, was January 1602, and the " most pleasaunt and came in between " Henry IV." part ii. and " Henry V.;" Maexcellent conceited comedie of Syr John Falstaffe, and the lone, on the other hand, argued that it should be placed bemerrie Wives of Windsor," (the title-page following the de- tween the two parts of " Henry IV.;" but the truth is, that scription in the entry) appeared in quarto with the date almost insuperable difficulties present themselves to either of 1602. It has been the custom to look upon this edition as hypothesis, and we doubt much whether the one or the other the first sketch of the drama, which Shakespeare afterwards is well founded. Shakespeare, having for some reason been enlarged and improved to the form in which it appears in the induced to represent Falstaff in love, considered by what folio of 1623. After the most minute examination, we are persons he might be immediately surrounded, and Bardolph, not of that opinion: it has been universally admitted that the Pistol, Nym, and Mrs. Quickly, naturally presented them4to. of 1602 was piratical; and our conviction is that, like the selves to his mind: he was aware tilat the audience, with first edition of "- Ienry V.:' in 1600, it was made up, for the whom they had been favourite characters, would expect them purpose of sale, partly from notes taken at the theatre, and still to be Falstaff's companions; and though Shakespeare partly from memory, without even the assistance of any of the had in fact hanged two of them in " Henry V.," and Mrs. parts as delivered out by the copyist of the theatre to the Quickly had died, he might trust to the forgetfulness of those actors. It is to be observed, that John Busby, who assigned before whom the comedy was to be represented, and care "The Merry Wives of Windsor " to Arthur Johnson in 1602, little for the consideration, since so eagerly debated, in what was the same bookseller who, two years before, had joined in pmrt of the series "The Merry Wives of Windsor" ought to the publication of the undoubtedly surreptitious "Henry V." be read: Shakespeare might sit down to write the comedy An exact reprint of the 4to. of 1602 has recently been made without reflecting upon the manner in which he had previby the Shakespeare Society, under the care of Mr. J. 0. Hal- ously disposed ofsome of the characters he was about to inliwell; and any person possessing it may easily. institute a trodue. Any other mode of solving the modern diiculty comparison between that very hasty and mangled outline, and seems unsatisfactory, and we do not believe that it ever prethe complete and authorized comedy in the folio of 1623, sented itself to the mind of our great dramatist. printed from the play-house manuscript in the hands of He- The earliest notice of any of the persons in "The Merry minge and Condell: on this comparison we rely for evidence Wives of Windsor'" is contained in Dekker's play called to establish the position, that the 4to. of 1602 was not only " Satiromastix," 1602, where one of the characters observes, published without the consent of the author, or of the com- " We must have false fires to amaze these spangle-babies, pany for which it was written, but that it was fraudulently these true heirs of master Justice Shallow." This allusion made up by some person or persons who attended at the must have been made soon after Shakespeare's comedy had theatre for the purpose. It will be found that there is no va- appeared, unless, indeed, it were to the Justice Shallow of niation in the progress of the plot, and that although one or enr IV rt ii tHenry IV." part ii. two transpositions may be pointed out, of most of the speeches, With regard to the supposed sources of the plot, they have necessary to the conduct and development of the story, there all been collected by Mr. tIalliwell in the appendix to his reis some germ or fragment: all are made to look like prose or print of the imperfect edition of" The Merry Wives of Windverse, apparently at the mere caprice of the writer and the the edition s wrtchedly printed in lr type, s if sor, in 1602: the tale of "'The Two Lovers of Pisa," the editithe object only known English version of the time, is also contained in had been to bring it out with speed, in order to take advan- " Shakespeare's Library," Vol. ii.; but our opinion is, that tage of a temporary interest. the true original of the story (if Shakespeare did not himself That temporary interest perhaps arose more immediately invent the incidents) has not come down to us. out the representation of the comedy before Queen Elizabeth, during the Christmas holidays preceding the date of the entry in the Stationers' Registers: the title-page states, that it had been acted " by the Lord Chamberlain's servants " before the MEASURE FOR MEASUTTR. Queen "' and elsewhere:" " elsewhere," was perhaps at the Globe on the Bankside, and we may suppose, that it had been [" Measure for Measure" was first printed in the folio of brougmht out in the commencement of the summer season of " Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories, & Tra1600, before the death of Sir Thomas Lucy. If the "dozen gedies," 1623, where it occupies twenty-four pages, viz., white luces " in the first scene were meant to ridicule him, from p. 61 to p. 84, inclusive, in the division of " Come-. Shakespeare would certainly not have introduced the allusion dies." It was, of course, reprinted in the later folios of after the death of the object of it. That it continued a fa- 1632, 1664, and 1685.] vourite play we can readily believe, and we learn that it was acted before James I., not long after he came to the throne: IN the " History of English Dramatic Poetry," III. 68, it is the following memorandum is contained in the accounts of remarked, that " although it' seems clear that Shakespeare,the " Revels at Court" in the latter end of 1604. kept Whetstone's'Promos and CassandraI in his eye, while "By his Majestie's plalers. The Sunday followinge A writing Measure for Measure,' it is probable that he also Play of the Merry Wines of Winsor'." made use of some other dramatic composition or novel, in This representation occarred on " the Sunday following which the same story was treated." I was led to form this Nov. 1st., 1604. opinion from the constant habit of dramatists of that period What has led some to imagine that the surreptitious im- to employ the productions of their predecessors, and from t]ie pression of 1602 was the comedy as it first came from the extreme likelihood, that when our old play-writers were hunthands of Shakespeare, is a tradition respecting the rapidity ing in all directions for stories which they could convert to with which it was composed. This tradition, when traced their purpose, they would not have passed over the novel by to its source, can be carried back no farther than 1702: John Giraldi Cinthio, which had not only been translated, bmmt 1 See Mr. Peter Cunningham's " Extracts from the Accounts of had no previous extrinsic knowledge of any early performanrie of the Revels at Court," (printed for the Shbakesp. Society) p. 203. We "The Merry Wives of Windsor." INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxiii actually converted into a drama nearly a quarter of a century Steevens quotes a passage from " a True Narration of the before the death of Elizabeth. Whetstone's "Promos and Entertainment" of the King on his way fronm Edinburgh to Cassandra," a play in two parts, was printed in 1578, though, London, printed in 1603, where it is said, " he was faine to as far as we know, never acted, and he subsequently intro- publish an inhibition against the inordinate and daA ly accesse dnced a translation of the novel (which lie admitted to be its of people cormina." Taken with the context, the lines origin), in his " Ileptameron of Civil Discourses." 4to. 15821. above quoted readlike an insertion. No plays, however, exceptiung' Promos and Cassanidra," and We may, therefore, arrive pretty safely at the conclusion, " Measure for Measure," founded on tile saime ilncidents, have that " Measure for Measure " was written either at the close reached our day, and Whetstone's is the only existing ancient of 1603, or in the beginning of 1604. version of the Italian novel. " Measure for Measure'" was first printed in the folio of The Title of Cinthio's novel, the fifth of the eighth Decad 16238; and exactly fifty years afterwards was published Sir of his ifecatommithi, gives a sufficient account of the progress William Davenant's " Law against Lovers,' founded upon of the story as he relates it, aind will show its connexion with it, and I" Much ado about Nothing." With some ingenuity Shakespeare's play:-"'Juriste e mandat e da Massimiano, in the combination of the plots, he contrived to avail himsen!f Imperadore, in Ispruchi, ove fat prendere un giovane, viola- largely, and for his purpose judiciously, of the materials tore di una vergile, e condannalo a mnorte: la sorella cerca di Shakespeare furnished. liberarlo: Juriste cda speranza alla donna di pigliarla per mog- Of "Measure for Measure," Coleridge observes in his lie, e di darle libero il firatello: ella con liii mgince, e la notte " Literary hemains," ii. 122:' This plahy, which is Shakceistessa Juriste fi tagliar al giovane la testa, e la manda all-a qs:eare's throughout, is to me the most painful, say riather, sorella. Ella ne ft querela all' Imperadore, il quale fit sposare the only painful part of hil genuine works. The comic and ad Juriste la donna: poseia lo fr dare ad essere ucciso. La don- tragic parts equally border on the tuerireov-the one being na lo libera, e con lui si vive amorevolissimamente."-Whet- disr-usting, the other horrible; unid the pardon and marriage stone adopts these incidents pretty exactly in his "Promos of Angelo not merely baffles the strong indignant clhim of' and Cassandra-;' but Shakespeare varies from them chiefly justice (for cruelty, with lust and damnable, baseness, cannot by the introduction of Mariana, and by the final union be- hbe forgiven, because we cannot conceive them as being motween thie Duke anid Isabella. iWhetstone lays his scene at rally repented of), but it is likewise degrading to the cliar cJulio in H-ungary, whither Corvinus, the Kiung, makes a pro- ter of woman.'" In the course of Lectures on Shakespeare guess to ascertain the truth of cert.ain charges aguinst P-onos: delivered ir the year 1818, Coleridge pointed especially to the Shakespeare lays his scene in Vienna, and represents the artifice of Isabella, and her seeminlg consent to tie suit of Duke as retmiring fr om public view, and placing his power in Angelo, as the circumnstances whiich tended to lower tlre the hands of two deputies. Shakespeare was not indebted to character of the female sex. He then called "' Measure for Whetstone for a sinrle thought, nocr for a casual expression, Measure" only the "least agreeable " of Shakespeare's excepting as far as similarity of situation may be said to have dramas. necessarily occasioned corresponding states of feeling, and _ employment of Ilanguage. In Whetstole's " Heptlameuronr," the mname of the lady wuho narrates the story of " Promos anid THE COMEDY OF ERROP S. Cassandr,' is Isabe hb ind ience possibly Shakespeare might r The Comedie of Errors " was first printed in the folio of 1628, have adopted it. where it occupies sixteen pages, viz. from p. 85 to p. 100 w hAs to tmaoate whpo v Meaufoure for Meht surey norvas cwitteha inclusirve, in the division of' Comedies-. " It was re-pinted we have no positive information, but we now know that it in the three subsequent impressions of the same volurme. was acted at Court on St. Stephen's nright, (26 Dec.) 1604. This fact is stated in Edmurnd Tyhlevy's account of the ex- WxE have distinct evidence of the existence of an old playv jpenses of the revels fromn thie end of tct. 1604, till the same called "c The HIlstorie of Error," which was acted at Hampton date in 1605, preserved in the Audit Office: the original Court on new-year's mnight, 1576-7. The same play, in all memorandum of the marster of the revels runs literatim, as probability, was repeated at Windsor on twelfth night, 1582-83 follows:- though, in the accounts of the Master of the Revels, it is called " By his Maes Plaiers. Oun St. Stivens night in the Hall, a " The I-lstorie of Ferruar." Boswell (Mal. Shakesp. III. 4060.) Play calaed Mesur for Mesnrll." not very happily conjectured, that this "Historic of Ferrar" JI the column of the account headed "The Poets wvhich was some piece by George Ferrars, as if it had been named maVdl the Plaies," we find tlhe name of " Shaxberd" entered, after its author, who had been dead some years: the fect, no which was the mode in which the ignorant scribe, who pre- doubt, is, thlat tihe clerk who prepared the account merely pared the account, spelt thle name of our great dramatist. wrote the title by his ear. Thus we see thrat, shortly before 1Maloue conjectured firom certain allusions (such as to " the Shakespeare is supposed to have come to London, a phla wa's war " with "Spain, "the sweat," mneauning the plague, &c.), in course of pertformanme upon which his own " Comedy of that " Mheasure for Measure" was writtei in 1606;;uand if we Errors" might be fbounded. " The Historie of Error" was, suppose it to have been selected for performance at Court on probably, an early adaptation of the Aienmcrc/lni of Plautus, 26th Dec. 1604, on account of its popularity at the theatre of which a free translation was published in 1595, under the after its production, his supposition will receive some confir- following title:I mation. However, such could not have been the case withi "A pleasant and fine Conceited Comnadie, taken out of " tle Comredy of Errors," and "Love's Labours Lost," which the most excellent wittie Poet Plautus: Chosen pur osely werae writtell before 1598, and which were also performed at from out the rest, as least harumefull, and yet most delightfulI. Christmas and Twelfth-tide, 1604-5. Tvrwhitt was at one Written in English by W. W.-London, Printed by Tho. time of opinion, from the passage in A. II. se. 4.- Creede, and are to be sold by William Barley, at his shop in "As these black masks GGraitious streete. 1595." 4to. Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder The title-pace, therefore, does not (as we might be led to Than beauty could displayed' supposet from Steevens's reprint in the " Six Old Plays ") mention the 2h~enceclmi by name, but we learn it fi-om the cornthat. this drama " was xwritten to be acted at Court, as Shake- mencemient of tie piece itself. sIeare wvould hardly have been gnilty of such an indecorum Hit on was of opinion, "that Shakespeare was not under to flrrtter a common audience." Hie was afterwards disposed the slightest obligation" to the translation of the Xenacehmi, to retract this notion; but it is supported by the quotation by nW., supposed, by Ant. Wood (Ath. Oxon. by Bliss from thie Revels' accounts, unless we minugine, as is not at all 1 6 W, be p. Wed; and most liely on was rJit imupossibla, tirat tre lines respectisg " black masks" and imps siblethat he ines r eseti g "not firom swant of resemblance, but because " The Comedy of soue others (to use Tyrwhitt's words), of particular flattery Erot Iiu a, in t ll probability, anterior in point of date, and to James,' were insertead after it was known that the play, on because Shakespeare may C hae Evailed himnself of the old account of its popularity, hutd been chosen for perform'ance dinama whch, as has been noticed, was erformed at court in efore the king. One these passages e1576-7, and in 1582-3. That court-dranua, we mayiinfer, head the following, which may have had reference to the crowds its origin in Plautus; and it was, perhaps, the popularity of attendincg the arrival of James I. in London, not very long Shlspas "Comedy of Eros ichdcd Cede before "IMeasure for Measure" was acted at Whitehall':- to priSrt Wner's versi nu of the r orsclimi in 1595. There ihetstone's' Ieptameron" is not paged, but " the rare His- In Act I. and Act II. of " The Comedy of Errers," in the folio of tone o Promos and Ceptssandron," co t pagmences on Sign. N. irare His- 1623. Antiho. andlus f yracus is twie called Erotes and Erotis, folhich E 1xxiv INTRODUCTION TO TTHE PLAYS. Blackstone entertained the belief, from the "'long hobbling in two persons, yet these are mere individual accidents, casus verses" in the "' Comedy of Errors," that it was "'among ludentis snaturce, and the verum will not excuse the inverisi Shakespeare's more early proauctions:" this is plausible, but mile. But farce dares add the two Dromios, and is justified awe imagine, from their general dissimilarity to the style of our in so doing by the laws of its end and constitution." great dranmatist: that these "long hobbling verses " formed a portion of the old court-drama, of which Shakespeare made as much use as answered his purpose: they are quite in the MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. style of plays anterior to the time of Shakespeare, and it is, Much adoe about Nothing. As it hath beensundrie times easy to distinguish such portions of the comedy as he must plikely acted by tle right honourable, the Lord Chamhlie erliest notice we,have of The Comedy of Errors,' is berlaine his seruants. Written by William Shakespeare.London Printed by V. S. for Andrew Wise, and William by Meres, in his Palladis T ywia 1598, where he gives it to A - ^ g 8iiakespeare under the name of p"Errorsi." How much before It is also printed in the division of " Comedies " in the folio that time it had been written and produced on the stage, we 13, where it occupies twenty-one pages, viz., from p. 101, can only speculate. Malone refers to a part of the dialogue to p 121, iclusive. It was reprinted i the oter folios.] in Act III. so. 2, where.Dromio of Syracuse is conversing with r his master about the "kitchen wench" who insisted upon WE have no information respecting "Much Ado about making love to him, and who was so fat and round-" spher-Nothing" anterior to the appearance of the 4to. edition in ical lilke a globe' —that Dromio "could find out countries in 1 e00, excepting that it was entered for publication on the hier:"- books of the Stationers' Company, on the 23d of August in "Aut. S. Where France? that year, in the following manner:Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against "23 Aug. 1600. her heir." n And. Wise Winm. Aspley] Two books, the one called Muche It is supposed that an equivoque was intended on the word adoe about Nothinge, and the other The Second Parte "heir " (which is printed in the folio of 1623 "heire," at that of the istory of the iiiit wit the humors period an unusual way of spelling " hair"), and that Shake- oT Sir John Falltaff: wryttcn by Mr. Shakespeare." speare alluded to the civil war in France, which began in the same register, bearing middle of 1589, and did not terminate until thle close of 1593. lte on the "4th August," without the year, which runs in these terms: —" As you like yt, a book. IIenry the ifift, a This notion seems well-founded, for otherwise there wouldthes tems:-" As you like t, book eny the ffi, a be no joke in the reply; and it accords pretty exactly with ook Every man l his humor, a book. The Comedie of the time when we may believe " The Comedy of Errors " to Much Adoe about Nothinge, a book." Opposite the titles have been written. But here we have a range of fbur years of these plays are added the words, to be staied." This and a half, and we can arrive at no cearer aipproximation to last entry, there is little doubt, belongs to the year 1600, for Ia precise date. As a mere conjecture it may be stated that such is the date immediately preceding it; and, as Malone Shakespeare would not have inserted the allusion to the hoe- observes, the clerk seeing 1600 just above his pen, when he tility between France aud her " heir," after the war had been inserted the notice for staying the publication of Much Ado so long carried on, that interest in, or attention to it in this about Nothing g" and the two other plays, did not think it country would heave been relaxed. necessary to repeat the figures. The caveat of the 4th August Another question by Antipholus,.and the answer ofDromio, against the publication had most likely been withdrawn by immediately preceding what is above quoted, is remarkable t e sm month Thp object of the sty" wa o a differentre account:-k probaably to prevent the publication of " Henry V.," Every on a different account:- y e Man in his 1tnmour," and "Much Ado about Nothing," by Ant. S. Where Scotland? anv other booksellers than Wise and Aspley. Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the The 4to. of Much Ado about Nothing, which came oat in 1600, (and we know of no other impression in that form) "From this passage," (says Malone) " we may learn that is a well-printed work for the time, and the type is unusually this comedy was not revived after the accession of the Scot- good. It contains no hint from which we can at all distinctly tish monarch to the English throne; otherwise it would pro- infer the date of its comuposition2, but Malone supposed that bably have been struck out by the Master of' the Revels." it was written early in the year in which it came from the However, we are now certain (a curious fact hitherto un- press. Considering, however, that the comedy would have Iknown), that " The Comedy of Errors" was represented at to be got up, acted, and become popular, before it was pub| Whitehall on the 28th December, 1604. In thle account of lished, or entered for publication, the time of its composition the Master of the Revels of the expenses of his department, by Shakespeare may reasonably be carried back as far as the from the end of October 1604, to Shrove Tuesday, 1605, pre- autumn of 1599. That it was popular, we can hardly doubt; served in the Audit Office, we read the subsequent entry:- and the extracts from the Stationers' Registers seem to show "By his Maia" Plaers. On Inosents Night, the plaie of that apprehensions were felt, lest rival booksellers should Errors," tlhe name of Shaxberd, or Shakespeare, being in- procure it to be printed. seorted in tile margin as " the Poet which mayd the Plaie." It is not included by Meres in the list he furnishes in his j' The Comedy of Errors " was, therefore, not only "revived," Palladis Tamia, 1598; and "England's Parnassus," 1600, but represented at court very soon after James I. came to the contains no quotation firom it. If any conclusion could be crown: we may be confident, however, that the question and drawn froom this fact, it miight be, that it was written subseanswer respecting Scotland were not repeated on the occasion, quent to the appearance of one work, and prior to the publithough retained in the MS. used by the actor-editors for the cation of the other. Respecting an early performance of it at folio of 1623. Court, Steevens supplies us withe the subsequent information: In his Lectures on Shakespeare in 1818, Coleridge passed -" ( Much Ado about Nothing' (as I uniderstand from one over " The Comedy of Errors" without any particular or of Mr. Vertue's MSS.) formerly passed under the title of separate observation; but in his "Literary Remains " we'Benedick and Beatrix.' heminge, the player, received on find it twice nmentioned (vol. ii. 90 and 114), in much the same the 20th May, 1613, the sum of ~40, and ~20 more as his terms. "Shakespeare," le observes, " has in this piece Majesty's gratuity, for exhibiting six plays at IHampton Court, presented us with a legitimate farce, in exactest consonance among which was this comedy." The change of title, if inwith the philosophical principles and character of farce, as deed it were made, could only have been temporary. The distinguished from comedy and entertainments. A proper divisions of Acts (Scenes are not minared) were first made in farce is mainly distinguished from comedy by the license thie folio of 1623. The adaptation of "Much Ado about allowed, and even required, in the fable, in order to produce Nothing," coupled with the chief incidents of another of strange and laughable situations. The story need not be Sha:lespeare's dramas, (see the " Introduction'' to " Measure probable; it is enough that it is possible. A comedy would for Measure,':) by Sir William Davenant, was first printed in scarcely allow even the two Antipholuses; because, although the edition of his works in 1673. there have been instances of almost undistinguishable likeness The serious portion of the plot of "Much Ado about is conjectured to be a corruption of erraticus. Antipholus of Ephesus. 2 Chalmers (Suppl. Apol. 381.) conjectures that when Beatrice says, in the same way, is once called Sereptits (misprinted, perhaps, for "Yes, you had musty victuals, and he hath holp to eat it," Shakesurreptus); but in the last three acts they are distinguished as "An- speare meant a sarcasm upon the manner in which the army under tipholus of Syracusia," and "Antipholus of Ephesus." The epithets the Earl of Essex had been supplied with bad provisions during the of erraticus and surreptus were not obtained by Shakespeare from Irish campaign. Mlost readers will consider this an overstrained specvVarner, but possibly from the old court drama. ulation, although, in point of date, it accords pretty accurately with 1 The list supplied by Meres is of twelve plays; and, if anything is the time when "lMuch Ado about Nothing" may have been to be gathered from the circumstance, he places "Errors" second, written.'Gentlemen of Verona " coming before it. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxv Nothing," which relates to Hero, Claudio, and "' John the p. 144, inclusive. It was reprinted in 1631, 4to, " by W. S., Bastard," is extremely similar to the story of Ariodante and for John Smethwicke;" an' the title-page states that it was Geneura, in Ariosto's " Orlando Furioso," B. v. It was sepa- published "as it was acted by his Majesties Sernants at rately versified in English by Peter' Beverley, in imitation the Blacke-Friers and the Globe." It is merely a copy from of Arthur Brooke's Romeus and Juliet," 1562, and of Ber- the folio, 1623, with the addition of some errors of the nard Garter's "Two English Lovers," 1563; and it was press.] printed by Thomas East, without date, two or three years THERE is a general concurrence of opinion that " Love's after those poems had appeared. It was licensed for the press Labour's Lost" was one of Shakespeare's earliest pmoductions in 1565; and Warton informs us (HIist. Engl. Poetry, iv. 8310, for the stage. In his course of Lectures delivered in 1818, edit. 1824) that it was reprinted in 1600, the year in which Coleridge was so convinced upon this point, that he said, " Much Ado about Nothing " came from the press. This " the internal evidence was indisputable;" and in his'( Litefact is important, because either Shakespeare's attention rary Remains," II. 102, we find him using these expressions: might be directed to the story by the circumstance, or (which -"The characters in this play are either impersonated out seems more probable) Beverley's poem might then be repnb- of Shakespeare's own multiformnity, by imaginative self-posilished, in consequence of its connexion in point of story with tion, or out of such as a country town and a school-boy's obShakespeare's comedy. servation mniht, supplyi." The only objection to this theory Sir John IlHarinton's translation of the whole " Orlando is, that at the time " Love's Labour's Lost"'was composed, Furioso " was originally published in 1591, but there is no the author seems to have been acquainted in some degree special indication in in Much Ado about Nothing " that Shake- with thie nature of the Italian comic performances; but this speare availed himself of it. In a note at the end of the canto acquaintance he might have acquired comparatively early in occupied by Ariodante and Geneura, Sir John Harington life. The character of Armado is that of a Spanish braggart, added this sentence:-" I-Howsoever it was, surely the tale is very much such a personage as was comnmon on the Italian a pretty comical matter, and hath been written in English stage, and figures in GI' 1ngannati, (which, as the Rev. Joverse some few years past (learnedly and with good grace), seph Hunter was the first to point out, Shakespeare saw before though in verse of another kind by M. George Turbervil." he wrote his "Twelfth Night,") under the name of Giglio: If this note be correct, and Harington did not confound Tuber- in the same comedy we have M. Piero Pedante, a not unuisual ville with Beverley, the translation by the former has been character in pieces of that description. Holofernes is repeatlost. Spenser's version of the same incidents, for they are edly called " the Pedant" in the old copies of " Love's Laevidently borrowed from Ariosto, in B. II. c. 4, ot' his bour's Lost3," while Armado is more frequently introduced " Faerie Queene,' was printed in 1590; but Shakespeare is not as " the Braggart " than by his name. Steevens, after stating to be traced to this source. In Ariosto and in Spenser the that he had not been able to discover any novel from whicmhi rival of Ariodante has himself the interview with the female this comedy had been derived, adds that' the story has most attendant on Geneura; while in Shakespeare 1" John the Bas- of te features of an ancient romance:" but it is not at all tard " employs a creature of his own for thie purpose. Shake- impossible that Shakespeare found some corresponding incispeare's plot may, therefore1 have had an entirely different dents in an Italian play. However, after a long search, I origin, possibly some translation, not now extant, of Bandello's have not met with any such production, although, if used by twenty-second novel, in vol. i. of the Lucca edition, 4tto. 1554, Shakespeare, it most likely came into this country in a rinted which is entitled, "Como il S. Timbreo di Cardona, essendo form. col Re Piero d'Aragona in Messina, s'innamora di Fenicia Lio- The qiestion whether Shakespeare visited Italy, and at nata; e i varii fortunevoli accidenti, che avvennero prima che what period of his life, cannot properly be considered here; per moglie la prendesse." It is rendered the more likely that but it is a very important point in relation both to his bioShakespeare employed a lost version of this novel by the cir- raphy and works. It was certainly a very general custom eumstance, that in talian thie incident in which she, who may for our poets to travel thither towards the close of the reigin be called the false Hero, is concerned, is conducted much in of Elizabeth, and various instances of the kind are on record. the same way as in Shakespeare. Moreover, Bandello lays Robert Greene tells us in his "Repentance," 1592, that he his scene in lMessina; the fait-er of the lady is named Lionato; had been in Italy and Spain: Thomas Nash, about thie same and Don Pedro, or Piero, of Arragon, is the friend of the date, mentions what he had seen in France and Italy; and lover who is duped by his rival. Daniel has several early sonnets on his'" going to Italy'" and obody has observed upon thie important fict, in connexion on his residence there. Sonme of our most celebrated actors with ".Much Ado about Notthing," that a " History of Ario-of thamt time also made journeyvs across the Alps; and Mr. Haldante and Geneuora'" was played before Queen Elizabeth, by liwell, in the notes to his " Coventry Mysteries," printed for "Mulcaster's children," in 1582-3. How far Shakespeare tihe Shakespeare Society, has shown that Kemp, the comedian, might be indebted to this production we cannot at all deter- who, as we have seen, performed Dogberry in m Muluch Ado mine; bnt it is certain that the serious incidents he employed about Nothing," was inome hn 1601. in his comedy had at an early date formed the subject of a It is vain to attempt to fix with any degree of precision dramatic i epresentationL. the date when "l ove's Labour's Lost" came from the In the ensuing text the 4to, 1600, has been followed, with author's pen. It is very certain that Biron and Rosaline are due notice of any variations in the folio of 1623. The first early sketches of two characters to which Shakespeare subseimpression contains several passages not inserted in the re- quently gave greaterm force and effect-Benedick mand Beatrice; print (for such it undoubtedly was) finder the care of Hemitnge but this only shows, what cannot be doubted, that " Love's and Condell, and the text of the 4to is to be preferred hin Labour's Lost" was anterior in composition to "Much Ado nearly all instances of variation. about Nothing." "Love's Labour's Lost" was first printed, ___as fr as we iow know, in 1598, 4to, and then it professed on the title-page to have been "newly corrected and aaugmented:" LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. we are likewise there told that it was presented before Queen Elizabeth" tihis last Christmas." It was not uncommon for [ A pleasant Conceited Comedie called, Loues labors lost. As dramatists to revise and add to their plays when they were it was presented before her highnes. this last Christmas. selected for exhibition at court, and such imay have been the Newly corrected and augmented By W. Shakespere. Imn- case with "Love's Labour's Lost." "i The last Christmnas" printed at London by W. W. for Cutbert Burby. 1598." 4to, probably meant Christmas, 1598; for the year at this period 88 leaves. did not end until 25th March. It seems likely that the comIn the folio, 1623, "Love's Labour's Lost" occupies 23 edy had been written six or even eight years before, that it pages, in the division of " Comedies," viz.;, from p. 122 to was revived in 1598, with certain corrections and augmentaThomas Jordan's " Royal Arbor of Loyal Poesie," 8vo, 1664, con- conversant in the history of the middle ages, with their Courts of tains an ill-written ballad, called "The Revolution, a love-story," Love, and all that lighter drapery of chivalry, which engaged even founded upon the serious portion of " Much Ado about Nothing.") mighty kings, with a sort of serio-comic interest, and may well be 2 Farther on this great psychological critic observes -"If this supposed to have occupied more completely the smaller princes, at a juvenile drama had been the only one extant of our Shakespeare, and time when the noble's or prince's court contained the only theatre of -we possessed the tradition only of his riper works, or accounts of them the domain or principality." in writers who had not even mentioned this play. how many of Shake- 3 It was asserted by Warburton. that in the character of Holofernes speare's characteristic features might we not still have discovered in Shakespeare intended to ridicule'Florio, and that our great poet here'Love's Labour's Lost,' though as in a portrait taken of him in his condescended to personal satire. The only apparent offence by Florio boyhood! I can never sufficiently admire the wonderful activity of was a passage in his " Second Fruits," 1591, where he complained of thought throughout the whole of the first scene of the play, rendered the want of decorum in English dramatic representations. The pronatural, as it is, by the choice of the characters and the whimsical vocation was evidently insufficient, and we may safely dismiss the determination on which the drama is founded-a whimsical determina- whole conjecture as unfounded. tion certainly, yet not altogether so very improbable to those who are lxxvi INTRODUCTION TO T-IE PLAYS. tions for performance before the Queen; and this circum- There is no memorandum regarding the impression by bostance may have led to its publication immediately afterwards. berts, which perhaps was unauthorized, although I-Ieminge The evidence derived from passages and allusions in the anid (Jonclell followed his text when they'included "Midsumpiece, to which Malone refers in his'" Chronological Order," mer-Night's Dream " in the folio of 1623. In some instances is clearly of little value, and he does not himself place much the folio adopts the evident mnisprints of Roberts, while such ccnfidence in it. "Love Labour Lost" is mentioned by improvements as it makes are not obtained from F'isheir's Meres in 1598, and in the same year came out a poem by more accurate copy: both the errors and emendations, if not Eiobert] T[ofte] entitled' Alba," in the commencement of merely trifling, are pointed out in our notes. The chief dliferone of the stanzas of which this comedy is introduced by ence between the two quartos and the folio is, that in the name: — latter the Acts, but not the Scenes, are distinguished. Lov Labour Lost I eonce did see, a play,We know firom the Palladia Tbamia of Meres, that " Mid"Love's Labour Lost I once did see, a play 5."Ycleped so summer Nighit's Dream " was in existence at least two years before it came firom the press. On the question when it was This does not read as if the writer intended to say that lie had written, two pieces of internal evidence have been especially seen it recently. There is a coincidence in Act III. sc. 1, noticed. Mr. 11alliwell, in his "Introduction to a Midsumj which requires notice: Costard there jokes upon the diiberence imer-Night's Dream " has produced a passage from the Diary between'"remuneration " and "guerdon;" and Steevens con- of Dr. nimon Forman, which in some points tallies with the tended that Shakespeare was " certainly indebted for his vein description of the state of the weather, and the condition of of jocularity:' in this instance to a tract by Ilervase] M[ark- the country given by tlhe Fairy Queen.i The memoranduni ham], called, " A Health to the Gentlemanly Profession of itl Formalls Diary relates to the year 1594, and Stowe's ChroServing' Men," which Dr. Farmer inforumed him was pub- nicle may be quoted to the same effect. lishced in 1578. The fact, however, is, that this tract did not The other supposed temporary allusion occurs in Act v. aIppear until 1598, the year in which " Love's Labour's Lost" sc. 1. and is conitained ill the lines - tcaile from the press. It was, possibly, a current jest, and it will be founsd quoted correctly from the original, and not as The thrie three Muses mourning for the death Of learning? late deceaskt in beggary," Steevens inserted it, in a note upon the passage. It is capable of proof that the play, as it stands in the folio which some have imagined to refer to the death of Spenser. of 1623, ws reprinted from thle 4to. of 1598, as it adopts If so, it musat have been an insertion in the drama subsequent ivarions erarors of the press, which could not have found their to its first production, because Spenser was not dead is 1598, way into the folio, had it been taken from a distinct mnanu- when " Midsummer-Night's Dream " was mentioned by scsript. TIhere are, however, variations, which might show that Meres. It is very doubtful whether asny particulhar reference tie, player-editors of the folio resorted occasionally to some were intended by Shakespeare, who, perhaps, only meaait to authority besides the 4to. These differences are poiluted out advert in strong terms to the general neglect of learning. T. inl the notes. The 4to. has no divisions into Acts and Scenes; Warton carried the question back to shortly subsequent to ind the folio only distinguishes thie Acts, but with considera- the year 1591, when Spenser's "' Tears of the Muases " was ble inequality: t thus the third Act only occupies about a page printed, which, from the time of Rowe to that. of Malone, was and a half, while the fifth Act (misprinted A4ctues Qucartzus) supposed to contain passasges hiighly laudatory of Shakestpeare. fills nine paues. lNevertheless, it would have been taking too There is a slighlt coincidence of expression between Spenser great a liberty to alter the arranigenent in this respect, al- and Shakespeare, in the poem of the one, and in the dranma tlpough, as the reader will perceive, it might be improved of the other, which deserves remark: Spenser says,witItout much difficulta. a: Our pleasant Willy, ah, is dead of late. There is no entry of;" Love's Labour's Lost" at Statioe' And onef Shkespea es is,Hall, until 22d Jan. 1606-7, when it was transferred by Burby (tlie publisher of it in 1598) to Ling, who pesrhaps contemn- "Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary." pulated a new edition. If it were printed in 1606 or 1607, ino Yet it is quite clear, from a subsequent stanza in'" The Tears succl imnpression has come down to us. Its next appearance of the Muses," that Spenser did not refer to the natural deatha a u.s in the folio, 1623; but another 4to, of no authority, was of " Willy, " whoever ihe were, but merely that he " rather published in 1631, the year before the date of the second chose to sit in idle cell," than write in such unfavourable folio. times. In the same manner, Shakespeare might not mean that Spenser (if the allusion indeed be to him) was actually MrTIDSUTTlIMMTER I-MGHT'S DRETAM. l "deceased," but merely, as Spenser expresses it in his I' Colin Clout,, that lhe was " dead in dole." The allusion to Quteen [" A Midsommcmer nights dreame. As it hath beene sundsry Elizabeth as tihe " tfir vestal, throned by the wvest," in A. ii. times publickely acted, by the Right honourable, the Lord sc. 1, affords no note of time. Chamberlaine his sersuants. Written by William Shake- It seems ligelily probable that "A Midsummer-Ni-ght's speare. Imprintedt at London, for Thomas Fisher, and are Dream " was not written before the autumn of 1594, and if tihe to be soulde at his shoppe, at the Signe of the White Hart, speech of'Titania in A. ii. sc. 1, were intended to describe the in Fleetestreete, 1600." 32 leaves. real state of tihe kingdom, from the extraordinary wetness of "A Midbsommer night's direame. As it hath becne sundry the season, we may infer that the drama came froma the puns times publikely uacted, by the Right honourable, the Lordl of Shakespeare at the close of 1594, or in the beginning of Chamnberlaine lis sernanits. Written by William Shake- 1595. speare. Printed by James Roberts, 1600." 82 leaves. "The IKnight's Tale " of Chaucer, and the same poet's In the folio, 1623, it occupies 18 pages, viz., firom p. 145 to " Tysbe ofiBabylone," together with Artthur Golding's trans162 inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It is of' lation of the story of Plyriamus and Thisbe from Oviw, are tihe course, like thie otlier plays, inserted in the later folios.] only sources yet pointed out of the plots introduced and emT'Is dr am, which on tie title-pages of the earliest impres- ployed by Shackespeare. Oberon, Titania, and Robin Goodsions is not called comedily, history, nor tragedy, but which is fellow, or Puck, are mentioned, as beloniinag to the ftiry included by the player-editors of the first folio among tlie mythology, by many authors of the time. Tihe Percy Society j" comedies " of Shakespeaire, was twice printed in 1600, "for not long since reprinted a tract called "Robin Good-fellow, Thomas Fisher" and " by James REoberts." Fisher was a his Mad Pranks and Merry Jests," from an edition in 1628 - bookseller, and employed some unnamed printer; but Roberts but there is little doubt that it originally came out at le-ast was a printer,s awell as a bookseller. The only entry of it at forty years earlier2: together with a ballad inserted in tlie Stationers' THall is to Fisher, and it rnns as follows:- Introduction to that reprint, it shows how Shakespeare "8 Oct. 1600. The. Fysher] A booke callect a Mydsomer availed himself of existing popular superstitions. In "Percy's s nights Dreame." Reliques" (III. 254, edit. 1812,) is a ballad entitled "The 1 8vo. 1841., p. 6. The following are the terms Forman employs; Ware was broken downe, and at Stratford Bowe, the water was never and they are subjoined, that the reader may compare them with the seen so byg as yt was: and in the lattere end of October, the waters passage in a" Mids-ummer-Night's Dream," A. ii. sc. 1. I Ther was burst downe the bridge at Cambridge. In Barkshire were many gret moch sicknes but lyttle death. moch fruit. and many plombs of all awaters, wherewith was moch harm done sodenly.)" lS. Ashm. 384, sorts this yeare and small nuts, but fewe wvalnuts. This monethes fol. 105. of June and July were very wet and wonderful cold like winter, that the 1(1 dae of Julii many did syt by the fyer, yt was so cold; and soe 2 A wood-cut is on the title-page, intended to represent Robin wa.s yt in Maye and June; and scarce too fair dais together all that Goodfellow: he is like a Satyr, with hoofs and horns, and a broom tvame. but yt ravned every day morer or lesse. Yf yt did not raine, over his shoulder. Sir Hugh Evans, in " The Merry Wives of Windthen was yt cold and cloudye. Mani murders were done this quarter. sor," was no doubt thus dressed, when he represented Puck, or Robin There were ma.ny great fludes this sommern, and about Michelmas, Goodfellow. A copy of the awood-cut may be seen in " The Bridgethorowe the abundaunce of raine that fell sodeinly, the brige of water Library Catalogue," 4to, 1837, p. 258. INTiRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxvii Mlerry Pranks of Robin Good-fellow,," attributed to Ben Jon- and that of the caskets is chap. xcix, of the same collection. son, of which I have a version in a MS. of the time it is the The Pecorone of Ser Giovanni Florentino also contains a novel more curious, because it has the initials B. J. at the end. It very similar to that of " The Merchant of Venice," with re-'contains some variations and an additional stanza, which, spect to the bond, the disguise and agency of Portia, and the considering the subject of the poem, it may be worth while gift of the ring. This narrative (Giorns. iv. nov. 1) was writhere to subjoin:- ten as early as the year 1378, but not printed in Italy until " When as my fellow elfes and I 1554; and it is remarkable that the scene of certain romantic In circled ring do trip around, adventures, in which the hero was engaged, is there laid in If that our sports by any eye' the dwelling of a lady at Belmont. These adventures seem Do happen to be seen or found; afterwards to have been changed, in some English version, NoIf that they for the incidents of the caskets. In Boccaccio's Decameron But mum continue as they go (Giorn. x., nzov. 1) a choice of caskets is introduced, but it Each t m tI do oeey gos not in other respects resemble the choice as we find it Put groat in shoe, in Shakespeare; while the latter, even to the inscriptions, is And wind out laughing, ho, ho, ho!" extremely like the history in the Gesta Romanozrum. The incidents connected With the life of Robin Good-fellow The earliest notice in English, with a date, of any circumwere, no doubt, worked up by different dramatists in differ- sts in differ- stances connected with the bond and its forfeiture, is conent ways; and in " HensloNwe's Diary" are inserted two tained in "The Orator: handling a Hundred several Disentries of money paid to Ilenry Chettle for a play lie was co'urses,1 a translation from the French of Alexander Silvayn, writing in Sept. 1602, under the title of "Robin Good-fellow." by Anthony Munday, who published it under the name of There is every reason to believe that, "' Midsummer-Nieht's Lazarus Piot, in 1596, 4to. There, with the head of" I)eclaDream" was popular: in 1622, the year before it was re- ivaton 05 we find one'" Of a Jew, who would for his debt printed in the first folio, it -is thus mentioned by Taylor, the, e,pound of fesh of a Christian," and it is followed by water-poet in his Gregory Nonsense:- say, s itis The Christian's Answer, but nothing is said of the inciapplasfullv w.ittenanc commended to posterity, iii the -dents, out of which these "'declamations " arose. Of the old MidumnerNm's Di camie ofnd, eiti with ballad of "The Crueltie of Gernutus, a Jewe," in "Percy's good will: we case witloh no intelnt but to offend, aind i how Reliques," I. 228 (edit. 1812) no dated edition is known; but our simple skill "(See but to scend, and how) most readers will be inclined to agree with Warton (" ObserIt applears by a MS. preseove d si the Library at L'ambetlh vations on the Faerie Queene," I. 128,) that it was not foundPalace, that " Mlidsuummer-Night's Dream" was represented ed up0n Sakespeare's play, and was anterior to it: it might atl the house of John Williams, Bishop of rincoln h o we its origin to the ancient drama of " The Jew," mentioned Sept. 1631. Hist. of Eng. Dram. Poetry and the tae, ii. 2 by Gosson. " euslowe's Diary," under date of 25th Aug. tme Stage, ii. 26. 1594, contains an entry relating to the performance of " The Venetian Comedy," which Malone conjectured might mean THE MERCHANT OF VENICE., " The Merchant of Venice;" and it is a circumstance not to be passed over, that in 1594 the company of actors to which [" The excellent History of the Merchant of Venice. With Shakespeare was attached was playing at the theatre in Newthe extreme cruelty of Shylocke the lew towards the saide ington Butts, in conjunction, as far as we can now learn, with Merchmant, in cutting a inust pound of his flesh. And the the company of which Henslowe was chief manager. obtaining of Portia, bv the choyse of three caskets. Written Meres has " The Merchant ofVenice " in his list, which by W. Shakespeare. Printed by J. Roberts, 1600." 4to, was published in 1598, and we have no means of knowing 40 leaves. how long prior to that date it was written. If it were "; The " The most excellent Hlistorie of the Merchant of Venice. Venetian Comedy" of Henslowe, it was in a course of perWith the extreame crueltie of Shylocke the lewe towards formance in Aungust, 1594. The earliest entry regarding "The the sayd Merchant, in cutting a mist pound of his flesh: and Merchant of Venice " in the Stationers' Register is curious, the obtayningo of Portia by the choyse of three chests. As from its particularity:it hath beene diuers times acted by the Lord Chamberlaine 22 July, 1598, Jam Robertes.] A booe of the Marhis Seruants. Written by William Shakespeare. At Lon- 22 Jayo 1598 James Eobertese] A booke of the M - don, Printed by I. R., for Thomas Heyes, and are to be sold chaut ofVenyccor otherwise called the Jewe of Vein Paules Chulrch-yamd, at the signe of the Greene Dragon, nyse. ovided that yt beenot prynted by the said 1600." 4to, 38 lexiaes a' James Robertes, or anye other whatsoever, without It6is0also pmtomtl~edaves.22lycence first had firom the right honourable the Lord It is also printed in the folio, 1623, where it occupies 22 pages, Chiomberlen." viz., from p. 163 to p. 184, inclusive, in the division of" Comedies." Besides its appearance in the later folios, the Mer- Shakespeare was one of the players of the Lord Chamberchant of Venice was republished in 4to, in 1637 and 1652.] lain, and the object seems to have been to prevent the pubTui two plots of " The Merchant of Venice " are found as lication of the play without the consent of the company, to be distinct niovels in various mancient foreign authorities, but no signified through the nobleman under whose patronage they English original of either of them of the age of Shakespeare acted. This caution was given two years before "The Merhas been discovered. That there were such originals is highly chant of Venice" actually came from the press: we find it probable, but if so they have perished with many other relics published in 1600, both by J. Roberts and by Thomas Heyes, of our popular literature. Whether the separate incidents, in favour of the last of whom we meet with another entry in relating to the bond and to tihe caskets, were ever combined the Stationers' books, without any proviso, dated,in the same novel, at all as Shakespeare combined them in "28 Oct., 1600, Tho. Haies.] The booke of the Merchant his drama, cannot of course be determined. Steevens asserts of Venyce." broadly, that "a play comprehending the distinct plots of By this time the "licence" of the Lord Chamberlain for Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice had been exhibited long printing the play had probably been obtained. At the bottom before ice commuenced a writer;" and thme evidence ihe adduces of the title-page of Roberts's edition of 1600, no place is stated is a passiage from Gosson's " School of Abuse," 1579, where where it was to be purchased: it is merely, "Printed by J. he espcically praises two plays " showne at the Bull," one Roberts, 1600;'" while the imprint to the edition of Heyes called "The Jew," and the other " Ptolome:" of the former informs us that it was " printed by I. R.," and that it was Gosson states, that it " represented the greedinesse of worldly " to be sold in Pauls Church-yard," &c. I. R., the printer cllusers, oand bloody minds of usurers." (Shakespeare Socie- of the edition of Heyes, was, most likely, J. Roberts; but it ty's Reprint. p. 30.) The terms, " worldly chusers," may is entirely a distinct impression to that which appeared in the certainly have referefnce to the choice of the caskets; and the same year with the name of Roberts. The edition of Roberts condclct of Shylock may very well be intended by the words, is, on the whole, to be preferred to that of Heyes; but the " bloody minds of usurers." It is possible, therefore, that a editors of the folio of 1623 indisputably employed that of theatrical performance should have existed, anterior to the Heyes, adopting various misprints, but inserting also several time of Shakespeare, in which the separate plots were united: improvements of the text. These are pointed out in our and it is not unlikely that some novel had been published notes in the course of the play. The similarity between the wlich gave the same incidents in a narrative form. "On the names of Salanio, Salarino, and Salerio, in the Dramatiis Perwhole," says the learned and judicious Tyrwhitt, "I am in- sonce, has led to some confusion of the speakers in all the clined to suspect that Shakespeare followed some hitherto copies, quarto and folio, which it has not always been found unknown novelist, who had saved him the trouble of working easy to set right. up the two stories into one." " The Merchant of Venice " was performed before James I., Both stories are found separately in the Latin Gesta R2oma- on Shrove-Sunday, and again on Shrove-Tuesday, 1605: Vn-oreum, with considerable variations: that of the bond is hence we have a right to infer that it gave great satisfaction chap. xlviii. of MS. Harl. 2270, as referred to by Tyrwhitt; at court. The fact is thus recorded in the original account lxxviii INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. of expenses, made out by the Master of the Revels, and still, date of " As You Like It." Shakespeare probably intended preserved in the Audit Office:- to make no allusion to any particular fountain. " By His Matl' Plaiers. On Shrovsunday a play of the It is not to be forgotten, in deciding upon the probable date Marchant of Venis." of "' As You Like It," that Meres makes no mention of it in <" By his Ma"i Players. On Shrovtusday a play cauled his Palladis Tamia,, 1598; and as it was entered at Stationers' the Martchant of Venis againe, commanded by the Hall on the 4th August [1600], we inay conclude that it was Kings Mat"'." written and acted in that interval. In A. iii. sc. 5. a line from The name of Shaxberd, for Shakespeare, as "the poet the first Sestiad of Marlowe's " Hero and Leander" is quoted; which made the play," is added in the margin opposite both and as that poem was first printed in 1598, "As You Like It" these entries. Notwithstanding the popularity of this drama may not have been written until after it appeared. before the closing of the theatres in 1642, it seems to have There is no doubt that Lodge, when composing his " Rosabeen so much forgotten soon after the Restoration, that in lynde: Euphues Golden Legacie," which he did, as he in1664, Thomas Jordan made a ballad out of the story of it in forms us, while on a voyage with Captain Clarke, " to the islhis " Royal Arbor of Loyal Poesie," and thought himself at ands of Terceras and the Canaries," had either " The Coke's liberty to pervert the original, by making the Jew's daughter Tale of Gamelyn" (falsely attributed to Chaucer, as Tyrwhitt the principal instrument of punishing her own father: at contends in his Introd. to the Cant. Tales, I. clxxxiii. Edit. the trial, she takes the office which Shakespeare assigns to 1830.) strongly in his recollection, or, which does not seem Portia. very probable in such a situation, with a manuscript of it actually before him. It was not printed until more than a AS YO~J LIKE IT. Q century afterwards. According to Farn-er, Shakespeare AS YOU LIKE IT. looked no farther than Lodge's novel, which he followed in ["As You Like It" was first printed in the folio of 1628, where " As You Like It" quite as closely as he did Greene's " Panit occupies twenty-three pages, viz. from p. 185 to p. 207 dosto" in the " Winter's Tale." There are one or two coininclusive, in the division of" Comedies." It preserved its eidences of expression between " As You Like It" and " The place in the three subsequent impressions of that volume Coke's Tale of Gamelyn," but not perhaps more than might in 1632, 1664, and 16s5.] be accidental, and the opinion of Farmer appears to be sufficiently borne out. Lodge's " Rosalvnde" has been recently "As Yeoc LIE IT" is not only founded upon, but in some printed as part of "Shakespeare's Library," and it will be points very closely copied from, a novel by homas Lodge, easy, therefore, for the reader to trace the particular resemunder ~ the title of " Eolynd~e Euphues Golden Leacie, blances between it and "As You Like It." which was originally printed in 4to, 1590, a second time in In his Lectures in 1818, Coleridge eloquently and justly 1592, and a third edition came out in 1598. We have no in- praised the pastoral beauty and simplicity of " As You Like telligence of any re-impression of it between 1592 and 1598. It;" but he did not attempt to compare it with Lodge's "ReoThis third edition perhaps appeared early in 1598; and we salynde," where the descriptions of persons and of scenery are disposed to think, that the re-publication of so popular a are comparatively forced and artificial:-" Shakespeare," said work directed Shakespeare's attention to it. If so, "As You Coleridge, " never gives a description of rustic scenery merely Like It" may have been written in the summer of 1598, and for its own sake, or to show how well lie can paint natural first acted in the winter of the same, or in the spring of the objects: he is never tedious or elaborate, but while he now following year. and then displays marvellous accuracy and minuteness of The only entry in the registers of the Stationers' Company knowledge, he usually only touches upon the larger features relating to "As You Like It," is confirmatory of this suppo- and broader characteristics, leaving the fillings up to the imaition. It has been already referred to in the " Introduction " gination. Thus in' As You Like It' he describes an oak of to "Much Ado about Nothing" and it will be well to insert many centuries growth in a single line:it here, precisely in the manner in which it stands in the nder an oak whose antique root peeps out.' original record:Other and inferior writers would have dwelt on this descrip"As you like yt, a book. Henry the ffift, a book. Every tion, and worked it out with all the pettiness and imrpertiman in his humor, a book. The Commedie of Much nence of detail. In Shakespeare the'antique root' furnishes adoo about nothinge, a book." the whole picture." Opposite this memorandumn are added the words To be To be hese expressions are copied from notes made at the time; stated." It will be remarked, that there is an important de- and they partially, though imperfectly, supply mi obvious ficiency in the'entry, as regards the purpose to which we deficiency of general criticism in vol. ii. p. 115, of Coleridge's wish to apply it:-the date of the year is not given; but Ma- "Literary Remains." lone conjectured, and in that conjecture I have expressed con- Adam Spencer is a character in " The Coke's Tale of Gamecurrence, that the clerk who wrote the titles of the four plavs, lyn," and in Lodge's "Rosalynde:" amid a great additional inwith the date of " 4 August," did not think it necessary there terest attaches to it, because it is supposed, with some appearto repeat the vear 1600, as it was found in the memorandumn ance of truth, that the part was originaay sustained by Shakeimmediately preceding that we have above quoted. Shake- speare himself. We have this statement on the authority of Bpeare's "1Henry thie Fifth," and 1"1Much Ado about Nothing," Oldys's MSS.: he is said to have derived it, intermediately of were both printed in 1600, and Ben Jonson's " Every Man in icourse, from Gilbert Shakespeare, who survived the Restorahis Humour" in the year following; though Gifford, in his tion, and who had a faint recollection of having seen his broedition of that poet's works (vol. i. p. 2), by a strange error, ther William "in one of his own comedies, wherein, being to states, that the first impression was in 1603. The "stay," as personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and apregards "Henrythe Fifth," "Every Man in his Humour," and peared so weak and drooping, and unable to walk, that lihe I"tMuch Ado about Nothimng," was doubtless sooi remnoved was forced to be supported and carried by another person to for " Henry the Fifth" was entered again for publication on table, at which he was seated among some company, wh the 14th August; and, as has been already shown, Wise and were eating, and one of them sung a song. This description Aspley took the same course with "Much Ado about No- very exactly tallies with "As You Like It," A. ii. sc. 7. thing" on the 23rd Auoust. There is no known edition of Shakespeare found no prototypes in Lodge, nor in any "As You Like It" prior to its appearance in the folio of other work yet discovered, for the charmacters of Jaques, 1623, (where it is divided into Scenes, as well as Acts) and Touchstone, and Audrey. On the admirable manner in which' *we may possibly assume that the " stay" was not, for some he has made them part of the staple of his story, and on i;he we may possibly assume that the "1 stay"11 was not, for some portance of these additions, it is needless to enlare. i unexplained and uncertain reason, removed as to that comedyimportance of these additios, it is eedless to e. It is Malone relied upon a piece of internal evidence, which, if rather singular, that Shakespeare should have introduced two examined, seems to be of no value in settling the question characters of the name of Jaques into the same play; but in the when "As You Like It" was first written. The following old impressions, Jaques de Bois, in the pefixes to his speeches, words are put into the mouth of Rosalind:-" I weep foris merely called the "Second Brother." nothing, like Diana in the fountain" (A. iv. sc. 1), which Malone supposed to refer to an alabaster figure of Diana on TAMING OF THE SHREP W. the east of Cheapside, which, according to Stowe's " Survey of London," was set up in 1598, and was in decay in 1603. [" The Taming of the Shrew" was first printed in the molio of This figure of Diana did not "weep;" for Stowe expressly 1623, where it occupies twenty-two pages, viz. from p. 208 states that the water'came " prilling from her naked breast." to page 229 inclusive, in the division of "Comedies." It Therefore, this passage proves nothing as far as respects the was reprinted in the three later folios.] If we suppose that the third edition of Lodge's " Rosalynde" was one of the earlier impressions in 1590 or 1.592, it wouldekhow that "As occasioned by the popularity of Shakespeare's comedy, founded upon You Like It" was acted in 1598, and might have been written in 1597 INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxix SHAKESPEARE was indebted for nearly the whole plot of his Shakespeare is also important: had it then been written, he "Taming of the Shrew" to an older play, published in 1594, could scarcely have failed to mention it; so that we have under the title of " The Taming of a Shrew." The mere cir- strong negative evidence of its non-existence before the cunmstance of the adoption of the title, substituting only the appearance of Palladis Tamia. When Sir John Harington, definite for the indefinite article, proves that lie had not the in his " Metamorphosis of Ajax," 1596, says, "Read the booke slightest intention of concealing his obligation. of'Taming a Shrew,' which hath made a number of us so When Steevens published the " Six Old Plays," more or perfect that now every one can rule a shrew in our country, less employed by Shakespeare in six of his own dramas, no save he that hath her," he meant the old " Taming of'a earlier edition of the " Taming of a Shrew" than that of 1607 Shrew," reprinted in the same year. In that play we have was known. It was conjectured, however, that it had come not only the comedy in which Petruchio and Katharine are from the press at an earlier date, and Pope appeared to have chiefly engaged, but the Induction, which is carried out to been once in possession of a copy of it, published as early as the close; for Sly and the Tapster conclude the piece, as they 1594. This copy has since been recovered, and is now in the had begun it. collection of the Duke of Devonshire: the exact title of it is As it is evident that Shakespeare made great use of the old as follows:- comedy, both in his Induction and in the body of his play, it "A Pleasant Conceited Historie, called The taming of a is not necessary to inquire particularly to what originals the Shrew. As it was sundry times acted by the Right honorable writer of "The Taming of a Shrew" resorted. As regards the Earle of Pembrook his scruants. Printed at London by the Induction, Douce was of opinion that the story of " The Peter Short and are to be sold by Cutbert Burbie, at his shop Sleeper awakened," in the " Arabian Nights' Entcrtainat the Royall Exchange. 1594." 4to. ments," was the source of the many imitations which have, It was reprinted in 1596, and a copy of that edition is in from time to time, been referred to. Warton (Hist. Engl. the possession of Lord Francis Egerton. The impression of Poetry, iv. 117. Edit. 1824) tells us, that among the books of 1607, the copy used by Steevens, is in the collection of the Collins was a collection of tales by Richard Edwards, dated Duke of Devonshire. in 1570, and including "the Indluction of the Tinker in There are three entries in the Registers of the Stationers' Shakespeare's' Taming of the Shrew.' " This might be the Company relating to "The Taming of a Shrew" but not one original employed by the author of the old " Taming of a referring to Shakespeare's " Taming of tie Shrew."i When Shrew." For the play itself he, perhaps, availed himself of Blounte and Jaggard, on the 8th Nov. 1623, entered "Mr. some now unknown translation of Nott. viii. fab. 2, of the William Shakspeere's Comedyes, Histories, and Tragedyes, Piacevoli Nhotti of Straparola. soe many of the said copies as are not formerly entered to The Sivppositi of Ariosto, freely translated by Gascoyne, other men," they did not include " The Taming of the Shrew:" (before 1566, when it was acted at Grey's Inn) under the title hence an inference might be drawn, that at some previous of " The Supposes," seems to have afforded Shakespeare part time it had been "entered to other men;" but no such entry of his plot: it relates to the manner in which Lucentio and has been found, and Shakespeare's comedy, probably, was Tranio pass off the Pedant as Vincentio, which is not found never printed until it was inserted in the folio of 1623. in the old " Taming of a Shrew." In the list of persons preOn the question, when it was originally composed, opinions. ceding Gascoyne's " Supposes " Shakespeare found the name including my own, have varied considerably; but I now thinl of Petruchio, (a character not so called by Ariosto,) and hence, we can arrive at a tolerably satisfactory decision. Malone first perhaps, he adopted it. It affords another slight link of conbelieved that "The Taming of the Shrew" was written in nexion between "The Taming of the Shrew" and "The 1606, and subsequently gave 1596 as its probable date. It Supposes;" but there exists a third, still slighter, of which no appears to me, that nobody has sufficiently attended to the notice has been taken. It consists of the use of the word apparently unimportant fact that in "Hamlet" Shakespeare," supposes," in A. v. sc. 1, exactly in the substantive sense mistakenly introduces the name of Baptista as that of a wo- in which it is employed by Gascoyne, and in reference to that man, while in " The Taming of the Shrew" Baptista is the part of the story which had been derived from his translation. father of Katharine and Bianca. Had lie been aware when he How little Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew " was hknown wrote "Hamlet" that Baptista was the name of a man, he in the beginning of the eighteenth century, may be judged would hardly have used it fdr that of a woman: but before he from the fact, that " The Tatler," No. 231, contains the story produced "The Taming of the Shrew" he had detected his of it, told as of a gentleman's family then residing in Lincolnown error. The great probability is, that " Hamlet" was shire. written at the earliest in 1601, and " The Taming of the Shrew" perhaps came from the pen of its author not very lon, afterwards. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. The recent reprint of "The Pleasant Comedy of Patient A, s Grissill," bv Dekker, Chettle, and Haughton, from the edition [ All s Well that Ends Well " was first printed in the folio of 1603, tends to throw light on this point. Hensiowe's Diary of 1623, and occupies twenty-five pages, viz, from p. 230 to establishes, that the three dramatists above named were writ- P 254 inclusive, in the division of "Comedies." It fills ing it in the winter of 1599. It contains various allusions to the same space and place in the three later folios.] the taming of shrews; and it is to be recollected that the old THE most interesting question in connexion with " All's " Taming of a Shrew" was acted by Henslowe's company, Well that Ends Well" is, whether it was originally called and is mentioned by him under the date of 11th June, 1594. "1 Love's Labour's Won?" If it were, we may be sure that One of the passages in " Patient Grissill," which seems to con- it was written before 1598;, because in that:year, and under imect the two, occurs in Act v. sc. 2, where Sir Owen pro- the title of" Love Labours Wonne," it is included by Francis ducing his wands, says to the marquess, "I will learn your Meres in the list of Shakespeare's plays introduced into his medicines to tame shrews." This expression is remarkable Palladis Tamia. because we find by Henslowe's Diary that, in July, 1602, It was the opinion of Coleridge, an opinion which he first Dekker received a payment from the old manager, on account delivered in 1813, and again in 1818, though it is not found of a comedy he was writing under the title of "A Medicine in his "Literary Remains," that "All's Well that Ends for a curst Wife." My conjecture is, that Shakespeare (in Well," as it has come down to us, was written at two differcoalition, possibly, with some other dramatist, who wrote the ent, and rather distant periods of the poet's life. He pointed portions which are admitted not to be in Shakespeare's manner) out very clearly two distinct styles, not only of thought, but produced his "Taming of the Shrew" soon after "Patient of expression; and Professor Tieck, at a later date, adopted Grissill" lhad been brought upon tihe stage, and as a sort of and enforced the same belie. So far we are disposed to agree counterpart to it; and that Dekker followed up the subject in with Tieck; but when he adds, that some passages in "All's the sumnmer of 1602 byhis " Medicine for a curst Wife," hav- Well that Ends Well," which it is difficult to understand and ing been incited by the success of Shakespeare's Taming of explain, are relics of the first draught of the play, we do not the Shrew" at a rival theatre. At this time the old " Taming concur, because they are chiefly to be discovered in that porof a Shrew" had been laid by as a public performance, and tion of the drama which affords evidence of riper thought, Shakespeare having very nearly adopted its title, Dekker took and of a more involved and constrained mode of writing. a different one, in accordance with the expression he had used Surely those parts which reminded Tieck, as he states, of two or tLree years before in " Patient Grissill2." "Venus and Adonis,"' are to be placed among the earlier The silence of Meres in 1598 regarding any such play by efforts of Shakespeare. There can be little doubt, however, I Malone was mistaken when he said (Shakespeare by Boswell, 2 If we suppose Shakespeare, in Act iv. sc. 1, to allude to T. Hey-vol. ii. p. 342.) that " our author's genuine play was entered at Sta- wood's play,` A Woman Killed with Kindness," it would show that tioners' Hall" on the 17th Nov. The entry is of the 19th Nov. and " The Taming of the Shrew " was written after Feb. 1602-3; but the not of Shakespeare's " Taming of the Shrew," but of the old " Tam- expression was probably proverbial, and for this reason Heywood tookl ing of a Shrew." it as the title of his tragedy. lxxx INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. that Coleridge and Tieck are right in their conclusion, that towards the end of the drama, by the duplicity, and even "All's Well that Ends Well," which was printed for the falsehood, he makes him display: Coleridge (Lit. Eema. ii. 121) first time in the folio of 1623, contains indications of the was offended by the fact, that in A. iii. se. 5, Helena, " Shakeworkings of Shakespeare's mind, and specimens of his corn- speare's loveliest character," speaks that which is untrue position at two separate dates of his career. under the appearance of necessity; but Bertram is convicted It has been a point recently controverted, whether the by the King of telling a deliberate untruth, and of persisting "Love Labours Won " of Meres were the same piece as in it, in the face of the whole court of France. In Boccaccio "All's Well that Ends Well." The supposition that they the winding up of the story occurs at Rousillon, as in Shakewere identical was first promulgated by Dr. Farmmer, in 1767, speare, but the King is no party to the scene. in his "Essay on the learninla of Shakespeare." On the The substitution of Helena for Diana (as in'" Measure for other hand, the Rev. Joseph Hunter, in his " Disquisition Measure " we had that of Mariana for Isabella) was a common on the Tempest," 8vo. 1839, has contended that by "Love incident in Italian novels. One of these was inserted in Labours Won" Meres meant "The Tempest," and that it "Narbonus: the Laberynth of Libertie," by Austin Saker, originally bore "Love Labours Won " as its second title. I 4to, 1580: a romance in which the scene is laid in Vienna, do not think that Mr. Hunter, with all his acuteness and but the manners are those of London: there the object was learning, has made out his case satisfactorily; and in our In- to impose a wife upon her reluctant husband; but the resemtroduction to " The Tempest," some reasons will be found for blance to the same incident in " All's Well that Ends Well " assiogning that play to the year 1610, or 1611. Mr. Hunter is only general. argues that " The Tempest," even more than " All's Well that Ends Well," deserves the significant name of "Love Labours Won;" and he certainly is successful in showing, TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU that'" All's Well that Ends Well" bespoke its own title in two separate quotations. Tihey are from towards the close WILL. of the play; an3 here, perhaps, we meet with the strongest [" Twelfe Night, Or what you Will," was first printed in the evidences that this portion was one of its author's later efforts. folio of 1623, where it occupies twenty-one pages; viz. from My notion is (and the speculation (deserves no stronger p. 255 to 275 inclusive, in the division of " Comedies," term) that " All's Well that Ends Well" was in the first ill- p. 276 having been left blank, and unpaged. It appears in stance, and prior to 1598, called " Love's Labour's Won," the same form in the three later folios.] and that it had a clear reference to " Love's Labour's Lost, have no ecod of the performance of " Twelfth-Nioht" of which it mieght be considered the counterpart. It was then, t court, nor is theion of it in te boos aStaperhaps, laid by for some years, and revived by its author, tioners' IHall until November S, 1628, when it was reoistered with alterationS'and additions, about 1605 or 1606, when the Tby Blount and Jataard, as abrut to be ineluded in the first reolic of "I. AVWilliam Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories~ new title of " All's Well that Ends Well " was given to it. blio of r i S C s, s At:this dtte, however, "Love's Labour's Lost" probably continned. to be represented; ndad wve learn from the Revels' ad Tgdia, Itapr ignll T atvo l, nr Accounts that it was chosen for performance at court betweeni the double title, 1 Twelfth-Night, or What You Will, with Jan. 1 and Jan. 6, 1604-5. The entry runs in these terms:- We caot detern with pecision he it was first "Betwin Newers Day and Twelfe Day, a play of Loves written, but we know that it was acted on the celebration of Labours Lost." the Readers' Feast at the Middle Temple on Feb. 2, 1602, The name of the author, and of the company by whom the according to our modern computation of the year. The hact piece was acted, are not in this instance given. We have no of its performance we have on tie evidence of an eye-witness, information that " All's Well that Ends Well " met with the who seems to have been a barrister, and whose Diary, in his same distinction; and possibly Shakespeare altered its name, own hand-writing, is preserved in the British Museum (Harl. in order to give an appearance of greater novelty to the repre- MSS. 5353). The memorandum runs, literatim, as follows:sentation on its revival. This surmise, if well founded, would " Feby. 2, 1601[2]. At our feast we had a play called account for the difference in the titles, as we find them in Twelve-Night, or What You Will, much like the comedy of Meres and in the folio of 1623. errors, or Meneehmi in Plautus, but most like and neere to Without here entering into the question, whether Shake- that in Italian, called Ingarnqri. A good practise in it to mniake speare understood Italian, of which, we think, little doubt the steward believe his lady widdowe was in love with hiiin, can be entertained, we need not suppose that he wvent to Boo- by counterfalvting a letter, as from his lady, in generail termues cancco's Decameron for the story of "All's Well that Ends telling him what shce liked best in him, and prescribing his Well," because he found it already translated to his hands, in gestures, inscribing his apparaile, &c., and then wvhen lie "The Palace of Pleasure," by William Painter, of which the came to practise, imaking him beleeve they tooke him to be first volume was published in 1566, and the second in 1567. mad." It is the 9th novel of the third day of Boccaccio, and the 28th This remarkable entry was pointed out in the "History of novel of the first volume of " The Palace of Pleasure." In English Dramatic Poetry and the Stage," vol. i. p. 327. 8vo, the Decameron it bears the following title, which is very lite- 1831, and the Rev. Joseph Hunter, in his " Disquisition on rally translated by Painter:-" Giglietta di Nerbona guarisce The Tempest," 8vo, 1839, has ascertained that it was made il Re di Francia d'una fistola: domianda per marito Beltramo by a person of the name of Manningham. It puts an end to di Rossiglione; il quale contra sua voglia sposatala, a Firenze the conjecture of Malone, that " Twelfth-Night" was written se ne va per isdegno; dove vagheggiando una giovane, in in 1607, and to the less probable speculation of Tyrwhitt, that persona di lei Giglietta giacque con lui, e hebbene due figliu- it was not produced until 1614. Even if it should be objected oli; perchie egli poi havutala cara per moglie la tiene.." The that we have no evidence to show that this Comedy was conaEniglish version by Painter may be read in "Shakespeare's posed shortly prior to its representation at the Middle TernLibrary;" and hence it will appear, that the poet was only pie, it may be answered, that it is capable of proof that it was indebted to Boccaccio for the mere outline of his plot, as re- written posterior to the publication of the translation of Lingards Helena, Bertram,: the Widow, and Diana. All that schoten's "Discours of Voyages into the East and West Inbelongs to the characters of the Countess the Clown, and dies." In A. ii. se. 2. Maria says of Malvolio: —"Ile does Parolles, and the comic business in which the last is engaged, smile his face into more lines than are in the new map, with were, as far as we now know, the invention of Shakespeare. the augmentation of the Indies." When Malone prepared The only names Boccaccio (and after himn Painter) gives are his " Chronological Order" he had "not been able to learn Giglietta and Beltramo: the latter Shakespeare anglicised to the date of the map here alluded to," but Linschoten's "DisBertram, and he changed Giglietta to Helena, probably be- cours of Voyages" was published in folio in English in 1598, cause he had already made Juliet the name of one of his hero- and in that volume is inserted " the new map with thie augines. Shakespeare much degrades the character of Bertram, mentation of the Indies." Meres takes no notice of " Twelfth1 The two passages run as follows:- way. According to my supposition, these passages, as well as an": We must away; other in the Epilogue, " All is well ended, if this suit is won," were Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us: added when the comedy was revived in 1605 or 1606, and when a new All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown." name was given to it. " All s well that ends well " is merely a A. iv. sc. 4. proverbial phrase, which was in use in our language long before "All s well that ends well yet. Shakespeare wrote. See note 1, p. 97. of " The Comedy of Errors." Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit."?2 They were published together in 1575, and hence has arisen the error into which some modern editors have fallen, when they suppose Mr. Hunter prints " All's well that ends well " in Italic, and with that " The Palace of Pleasure " was first printed in that year. Painter capitals, in both instances, as if it were a title; but in the original dates the dedication of his " second tome " " From my pore house, edition the words appear only in the ordinary type and in the usual besides the Towre of London, the iiij. of November, 1567.;' INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxxi Night" in his list, published in the same vear, and we may tronati di Siena, which was several times printed; last, perconclude that the Comedy was not then in existence. The haps, in the collection Delie Commnedie degl' Accademici Introwords "new map," employed by Shakespeare, may be nati di S;iena, 1611, 12mo. VWhether our great dramatist saw thought to show that Linschoten's " Discours " had not made either of these pieces before he wrote his " Twelfth-Night" its appearance long before " Twelfth-Night " was produced; may admit of doubt; but looking at the terms Manningham but on the whole, we are inclined to fix the period of its comn- employs, it might seem as if it were a matter understood, at position at the end of 1600, or in the beginning of 1601: it the time " Twelfth-Night " was acted at the Temple on Feb. might be acted at the Globe in the summer of the same year, 2, 1602, that it was founded upon the Inganni. There is no and from thence transferred to the Middle Temple about six indication in the MS. Diary that the writer of it was versed months afterwards, on account of its continued popularity. in Italian literature, and GI' Inganni might at that day be a Several originals of " Twelfth-Night," in English, French, known comedy of which it was believed Shakespeare had and Italian, have been pointed out, nearly all of them dis- availed himself. An analysis of it is given in a small tract, covered within the present century, and to these we shall now called "' Farther Particulars of Shakespeare and his Works," advert. 8vo, 1839, but as only fifty copies of it were printed, it may A voluminous and various author of the name of Barnabe be necessary here to enter into some few details of its plot, Rich, who had been brought up a soldier, published a volume, conduct, and characters. The " Argument," or explanatory which he called "Rich his Farewell to Military Profession," Prologue, which precedes the first scene, will show that the without date, but between the years 1578 and 1581: a re- author of GI' lnqanni did not adhere to Bandello by any impression of it appeared in 1606, and it contains a novel means closely, and that he adopted entirely different names entitled "Apolonfts and Silla," which has many points of for his personages. resemblance to Shakespeare's comedy. To this production "Anselmo, a Genoese merchant who traded to the Levant, more particular reference is not necessary, as it forms part having left his wife in Genoa great with child, had two chilof the publication called "Shakespeare's Library." If our dren by her, one a boy called Fortunato, and the other a great dramatist at all availed himself of its incidents, he must girl namned Gineura. After he had borne for four years the of course have used an earlier edition than that of 1606. One desire of seeing his wife and family, lie returned homne to minute circumstance in relation to it may deserve notice. them, and wishing to depart again, he took them with him; Manningham in his Diary calls Olivia a "widow," and in and when they were embarked on board the vessel, le dressed Rich's novel the lady Julina, who answers to Olivia, is a them both in short clothes for greater convenience, so that the widow, but in Shakespeare she never had been married. It girl looked like a boy. And on the voyage to Soria he was is possible that in the form in which the comedy was per- taken by Corsairs and carried into Natolia, where he reformed on Feb. 2, 1601-2, she was a widow, and that the mained in slavery for fourteen years. His children had a author subsequently made the change; but it is more likely, different fortune; for the boy was several times sold, but as Olivia must have been in mourning for the loss of her finally here in this city, which, on this occasion, shall be Nabrother, that Manningham mistook her condition, and con- pies; and he now serves Dorotea, a courtesan, who lives there eluded hastily that she lamented the loss of her husband. at that little door. The mother and Gineura, after various Rich furnishes us with the title of no work to which he was accidents, were bought by M. Massimo Caraccioli, who lives indebted; but we may conclude that, either immediately or where you see this door; but by the advice of the mother, interimediately, he derived his chief materials from the Italian who has been dead six years, Gineura has changed her name of Bandello, or from the French of Belleforest. In Bandello and caused herself to be called Ruberto; and, as her mother it forms the thirty-sixth novel of the Secondea Pate, in the while living persuaded her, always gave herself out to be a Lucca edit. 1554. 4to, where it bears the subsequent title: — boy, thinking in this way that she should be better able to "Nicuola, innamorata di Lattantio, vh a servirlo vestita da preserve her chastity. Fortunato and Ruberto, by the inforpaggio; e dope molti casi seco si marita: e ci che ad un mation of their mother, know themselves to be brother and suo fratello avvenne." In the collection by Belleforest, sister. M. Massimo has a son, whom they call Gostanzo, and printed at Paris in 1572, 12mo, it is headed as follows:- a daughter named Portia. Gostanzo is in love with Dorotea,'Comme une fille Romaine, se vestant en page, servist long the courtesan to whom Fortunate is servant. Portia, his temps un sien amy sans estre cogneue, et depuls h'eust a sister, is in love with Ruberto, notwithstanding she is a girl, mary, avec autres divers discours." Although Belleforest because she has always been thought a man. Ruberto, the inserts no names in his title, he adopts those of Bandello, but girl, not knowing how to satisfy the desires of Portia, who abridges or omits many of the speeches and some portions of constantly importunes her, has sometimes at night conveyed the narrative: whatin Bandello occupies several pages is some- her brother into the house in her place: he has got Portia with times included by Belleforest in a single paragraph. We quote child, and she is now every hour expecting to be brought to the subsequent passage, because it will more exactly show the bed. On the other hand, Ruberto, as a girl and in love with degree of connexion between " Twelfth-Night" and the old her young master Gostanzo, has double suffering-one from French version: it is where Nicuola, the Viola of Shakespeare, the passion which torments her, and the other from the fear disguised as a page, and under the name of Romule, has an lest the pregnancy of Portia should be discovered. Massimo, interview with Catelle, the Olivia of "Twelfth-Night," on the father of Portia and Gostanzo, is aware of the condition behalf of Lattance, who answers to the Duke. of his daughter, and has sent to Genoa to inquire into the " Mas Catelle, qui avoit plus'ceil sur l'orateur et sur la parentage of Ruberto, in order that if he find him ignoble, naive beaut6, que l'oreille aux paroles venant d'ailleurs, estoit and unworthy to be the husband of his daughter, whom he en une estrange peine, et volontiers se fat jettee a son col believes to be with child by him, he may have him killed. pour le baiser tout a son aise; mats la honte la retint pour un But, by what I have heard, the father of the twins, who has temps: a la fin n'en pouvant plus, et vaincue de ceste impa- escaped from the hands of the Turks, ought this day to be tience d'amour, et se trouvant favorisle de la commodite, ne returned with the messenger, and I think that every thing scent de taut se commander, que P'embrassant fort estroite- will be accommodated." ment elle ne le baisast d'une douzaine de fois, et ce avec telle In this play, therefore, Portia, who is the Olivia of Shakelascivit6 et gestes effrontez, que Romule s'apparceut bien que speare, is not stated to be a widow, and our great dramatist cette-cy avait plus chere son accointance que les ambassades avoided the needless indelicacy of representing her to be with de celuy qui la courtisoit. A ceste cause luy dit, Je vous child. In G Iengaanni, Gineura (i. e. Viola,) as will have prie, madame, me faire taut de bien que me donnant cong6, been seen from the "Argument," is not page to the man with j'aye de vous quelque gracieuse responce, avec laquelle je whom she is in love, but to Portia: while Gostanzo, whose puisse faire content et joyeux mon seigneur, lequel est en affection Gineura is anxious to obtain, is brother to her missoucy et tourment continuel ppur ne sqavoir votre volonte tress. This of course makes an important difference in the vers luy, et s'il a rien acquis en vos bonnes graces. Catelle, relative situations of the parties, because Gineura, disguised humant de plus en plus le venin d'amour par les yeux, luy as Ruberto, is not employed to carry letters and messages sembloit quo Romule devint de fois a autre plus beau." between the characters who represent the Duke and Olivia. Upon the novel by Bandello two Italian plays were com- Gostanzo being in love with a courtesan, named Dorotea, in posed, which were printed, and have come down to our time. the first Act, Gineura endeavours to dissuade him from his The title of one of these is given by Manningham, where he lawless passion, in a manner that distantly, and only dissays that Shakespeare's " Twelfth-Night" was " most like tantly, reminds us of Shakespeare. Ruberto (i. e. Gineura) and neere to that in Italian called Inganni." 1 It was first tells Gostanzo to find some object worthy of his affection:acted in 1547, and the earliest edition of it, with which I am acquainted, did not appear until 1582, when it bore the title "Gostanzo. And where shall I find her? of Cl' Ing n~i Comedaca del Signor N. S. The other Italian R ~berto. I know sue who is more lost for love of you, than you are drama, founded upon Bandello's novel, bears a somewhat Gfostaz. Is she fair? similar title:- -CI Ingannati Commedia degl' Accademici In- tuberto. Indifferently. Ixxxii INTRODUCTION TO TIlE' PLAYS. Gostanzo. Where is she? nothing but incident in common withl "Twelfth-Night. liuberto. Notfar from you. The vast inferiority of the former to the latter in langua'ge and Gostanzo. And will she be content that I should lie -swith her. sentiment may be seen in every page, in every line. TIe isierto. If God wills that you ~should ds it. mistake of the brother for the sister, by Isabellh, is tie samse Gostanzo. I-low shall I get to her? i both it terminates in a so at siilar an for Rsuberto. As you would come to me. Gostoiszo. Hew do you know tsaLt she leves me? lthe fenmale attendant of the lady, meeting Fabrlicio (twho is utberto. Because she often talks to me of her love. dressed like his sister Lel, in white in the street conducse Gostanzo. Do I know her? hin to her mistress, who receives him withi open arms. Ruberto. As well as you know me. Flamminio and Lelia are of course united at tile and of tihe Gostanzo. Is she young? comedy. lfiiberto. Of my age. Gesberto. Of my age. The'likeness between Gi' Inecgnnati and 1Twvelfth-Nislt:'t Gostanlzo. And loves hie? Gostan.And ovdores y ie. is certainly in some points of the story, strohner thisi that ae-stazo. Have I ever seen her? between GI' Iegaenni and Shakespeare's drama; but to usitlher Tuberto. As often asyou have seen me. canl we say, wvith any degreo.of certainty, that our grea'l- tc Gostanzo. Why does she not discover herself to me? matist resorted, although lie had perhaps rsead both, when lie istberto. Because she sees you the slave of another woman." was consldering the best mode of adapting to the stloe the incidents of Bandello'ss novel. There is no hint) ill ally sourceC The resemblance between Gineura and her brother Fortu- incidents of Bandlos novel. Thereis no hint in a soc nato is so great, that Portia has mistaken the one for the yet discovered, for the smillest portion of the comic bssiness ohe u in te end, ike Sebastian and Olivia, ty are of' Twelfth-Night." In both the Italian droamas it is of the other~, andl in thle end, like Sebnsti~zn and Oliylst, they al~e most hornely and vulgar materials, by the intervention ofaenunited; while Gostanzo, being cured of hiis passion for Doro- most homely a vulgar materials by e inrventio of - tea, and grateful for the persevering and disinterested affec- pinies, braggarts5 pedarts, and servants, who deal in the coors6-cst jokes,antI a-re guilty of thee grossest buffoonery. tion of Gineura, is married to her. Our great dramatist hl corest joles are guilty of the rossest buffonery. Shakespeare shows his infinite superiority in each departgiven an actual, as wvell as an intellectual elevation to the whole ment: in the more serious portion of his dcrama he employed subject, by the manner in which he has treateld it; and has t i s tem he si necpeotoss as the mere seaffmoyconsverted what may, in most respects, be considered a lowv e incidents furishe b redecssos as e ff - coseedy elo a fine rouantic drama. gin' for the erection of his own beautsiful edifice; -and fror the comedy into a fine iromlantic drama.tigs So much ifor GI' I.gawccni, and it now remains to speak of cosnic scenes, combining so admirably with, and asistisng so Cl:g' Iq/aqais, a comedy to which, ins relsitions to "Twelfth- importantly in the progress of the main plot, hie seems, as Nselst," attention was first directedl by the Rev. Joseph Huonter usual, to have d rawn merely upon his own intermissble rein'his "Disquisition on Shakespeare's Tempest," p. 78. Gg' sources. Baude ~lo's novel with noe exactness lsn It was an opinion, confidently stated by Coleridge in his qqonesti followys Bove wih e tanlectures in 1818 that the passage in Act it. so. 4, beginning l' Issgsseea~,- though both change the nasmes of tilhe parties; i1ed hes a we i~rie the importait fealere th~at the heroine "Too old, by heaven: let still the woman take An elder than herself," &C. calledi Lelia, (disguised as Fabio) is page to Flamminio, with An elder than herself," &c. whom she is in hove, but who is in love withll a lady named had a direct application to the circumstances of his owvn marIsabella. Lelia, as in Shakrespeare, is employed by Flanmi- i-siage with Anne Iathiaway, who was so much senior to tihe nio to firward his suit with Isabella. Wsalt succeeds is part polet. Some of Shaklespeare's biographers had previously of the Diasogue ietseeo Lehia, isn her male attire, oid Flan- enforced this sotion, anh others have since followed it up; oftssiaogue but Coleridge toolk the opportunity of enlarging eloquently on ininio::the manner in which young poets have frequently counnectedl Lelia. Do as I advise. Abandon Isabella, and love one who loves themselves with women of very ordinary personal and mental you in return. You may not ifid her as beautiful; but; tell me, is attractions, lthe imagination sopplying all deficiencies, clothirg there nobody else whom you can love, and who loves you? e ojct of ffecton with eace and beuty, and fnishig 1"an97bino. hee ws ayoug adynamd Lli, wom wa athe object of affection with grace and beauty, and furnishing.soe.~neeissio. There was a young lady named Lelia, whom, I was a thousand tirmes about to tell you, you are much like. She was thought her with every accomplishment. tie fairest, the cleverest, and the most courteous damsel of this country. I will slhow you her one of these days, for I formerly looked upon her with some regard. She vas then rich and about the court: and I THE WINTER'S TALE. continued in love with her for nearly a year, during which time she showed me much favour. Afterwards she wvent to Mirandola, and it [" The Winter's Tale" was first printed in folio in 1623 was my fate to fall in love with Isabella, who has been as cruel to where it occupies twenty-seven paoes, from p. 277 to 103, me as Lelia was lind. andt is the last in the division of " Cometdies." The back Lelia. Then you deserve the treatment you have received. Since of p. 303 is left bioni and unpaged. The later folios'dopt you slighted her who loved you, you ought to be slighted in return the so-e arrangemest.] by others. Flaosezinio. What do you say? LITTL doubt can be entertained, that "The WVinter's Tale"' Lelia. If this poor girl were your first love, and still loves you more was produced at the Globe, very soon after that theatre isad than ever, why did you abandon her for Isabella? I know not wrho been opened for what might be called the summer season in could pardon that offence. Ah! signor Flarcminio, you did her 1611. lo the wintes, as has been well ascertaieod the kisse grievoss wrong. lmesidd. Yoaeonyaoaiadknwneplayers performed at "the private house in Black-fisiars," F;Yamminio. You are only a boy, Fabio, and know not the power and they usually removed to the Globe, which was openi to of love. I tell you that I cannot help loving Isabella: I adore her, nofroe r e dot Ilm'oah reoe,,t the Glob, whclastopen'tosrig eor do I wish to thinlrk of any other woman." lice sky, late i the spring. Three pieces of evidlence tend to the conclusion, that "The Elsewhere the resemblaoe between " Twelfth-Night " and Wirter's Tale"' was brought out early in 1611: the first of GI' ingcso,,ati, in point of situation is quite as strong, but these has never until now beens adduced, a-d it consists' of there the likeness ends, for in the dialogue we cam- trace no the following entrly in the account of tlie Masltem of th e Revels, connexion between the two. The author of the Italian coin- Sir George Bne, fom thle i31st of October, 1611, to the same edy has obviously founded himself entirely upon Bandello's dclay, 1612: novel, of which there might be some translation in the time "The 5th of November: A play cilled the winters of Shakespeare more nearly approaching the original, than: oightes Tayle." the version which Rich publishled before our gareat dramnatist No author's name is mentioned, but the piece was representted visited the metropolis. Whether any such literal translation at Whitehall, by "the king's players," as we fintd stsled in had or had not been made, Slakespeare may have gone to the mairin, anind there can be no hesitation in deciding tihat the Italian story, and Le Novelle di Bandello,vere very well "The Winter's Night's Tayle v was Shaikespeare's "Winter's known in England as early as about the middle of the six- Tale." The fact of its performane lihas beeh established'by teenth century. If Shiakespeare had followed Rich we should Me. Peter Cunningham, in his valuable work, entitled,'" Exprobably have discovered some verbal trace of his obligation, tracts from the Accounts of the Revels at Coumt," 8vo1 1842 as in the cases where he followed Painter's " Palace of Plea- printed for the Shakespeare Societyl. "The Wieoter's Tale' snre," or, still mnore strikinguly, where he availed himself of was probably selected on aceount of its novelty and popsthe works of Greene and Lodge. In GI' Incgannati we find larity., From the Introduction to the same work, we find that The never came from the press. The Nobleman," by Cyril Tourneur, Winter's Tale" was also represented at court on Easter Tuesday, was entered at Stationers' Hall for publication 6n 15th Febuary, 1618. 1611. "Lucretia I may have: been a different play from Hey'vood's The expenses of eleven other plays are included in the same ac- "'Rape of Lucrece? which bears date in 1608: if so, there is no excount, viz.' The Tempest," King and no King,"!'The City Gal- ceptioni, and all that came from the press at any period were prinsed hent," The Almanack,": The Twins' Tragedy" Cupid's Re- sbsequehtly td 1611-12 th erlist in 1613, and he latest veng% The Si ~~~~~~~~ lve Ae LieetTh olmn Hy seu'ly to 1611-i2; the'earliest in 1613, and the latest in'1655 venge,~' "The Silver Age,"" L "ucretia The Nobleman," "Iy- IHence aigtion,-, inference ttsy be dravnthatthey wese all diamas m~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~..eiic a 9t.o ineece' may' be dr'awn'tha~t they were all dramas mens Holiday," and "The l\[aid's Tragedy." At most only one of which had been recommended foi court-cerfo'zi/ane6 by tteir nevelty these had been printed before they were thus acted, and some of them and popularity. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxxiii The second piece of evidence on this point has also recent- great dramatist follows Greene's story very closely, as ituiy ly come to light. It is contained in a MS. Diary, or Note- be seen by some of the notes in the course of the pla', anicl book, kept by Dr. Simon Forman, (MSS. Ashm. 208.) in by the recent republication of " Pandosto " from the unique which, under date of the 15th May, 1611, he states that he copy of 1588, in "Shakespeare's Library." There is, howsaw " The Winter's Tale" at the Globe Theatre: this was the ever, one remarkable variation, which it is necessary to point May preceding'the representation of it at Court on the 5th out. Greene says: — November. He gives the following brief account of the plot, "The guard left her" (the Queen) "in this perplexitie, which ingeniously includes all the main incidents:- and carried the child to the king, who, quite devoide of pity,' Observe there how Leontes, king of Sicilia, was overcome commanded that without delay it should be put in the boat, with jealousy of his wife with the king of Bohemia, his friend having neither sail nor rudder to guide it, and so to be carthat came to see him; and how he contrived his death, and ried into the midst of the sea, and there left to the wind and would have had his cup-bearer to have poisoned [him], who wave, as the destinies please to appoint." gave the king of Bohemia warning thereof, and fied with him The child thus " left to the wind and wave" is the PerditaI to Bohemia. Remember, also, how he sent to the oracle of of Shakespeare, who describes the way in which the infant Apollo, and the answer of Apollo that she was'guiltless, and was exposed very differently, and probably for this reason:that the king was jealous, &c.; and how, except the child was that in "' The Tempest" 1 he had previously (perhaps not long found again that was lost, the king should die without issue; before) represented Prospero and Miranda turned adrift ait for the child was carried into Bohemia, and there laid in a sea in the samne manner as Greene had stated his heroine to forest, and brought up by a shepherd; and the kIing of Bohe- have been disposed of. When, therefore, Shakespeare came mia's son married that wench, and how they fled into Sicilia to write "l The Winter's Tale," instead of following Greene, to Leontes; and the shepherd having showed the letter of the as he had usually done in other minor circumstances, lie nobleman whom Leontes sent, it was that child, and [by] the varied from the original narrative, in order to avoid an objecjewels found about her, she was known to be Leontes' daugh- tionable similarity of incident in his two dramas. It is true, ter, and was then sixteen years old. Remember, also, the that in the conclusion Shakespeare has also made important rogue that came in all tattered, like Coill Pipci, and how he and most judicious changes in the story; since nothing could feigned him sick, and to have been. robbed of all he had; and well be more revolting than for Pandosto (who answers to how he cozened the poor man of all his money, and after Leontes) first to fall dotingly in love with his own daughteri came to the sheep-sheer with a pedlar's packe, and there and afterwards to commit suicide. The termination to which cozened them again of all their money. And how he changed our great dramatist brings the incidents is at once striking, apparel with the king of Bohemia's son, and then how he natural, and beautiful, and is an equal triumph of judgment turned courtier, &c. Beware of trusting feigned beggars or and power. fawning fellows." It is, perhaps, singular that Malone, who observed upon We have reason to think that " The Winter's Tale " was in the "involved parenthetical sentences" prevailing in'"The its first run on the 15th May, 1611, and that the Globe Thea- Winter's Tale," did not in that very peculiarity find a proof tre had not then been long opened for the season. that it must have been one of Shakespeare's later productions. The opinion that the plty was then a novelty, is strongly In the Stationers' Registers there is no earlier entry of it than confirmed by the third piece of evidence, which Malone dis- that of Nov. 8, 1623, when the publication of the first folio covered late in life, and which induced him to relinquish his was contemplated by Blount and Jaggard: it originally apearlier opinion, that "The Winter's Tale" was written in peared in that volume, where it is regularly divided into Acts 1604. He found a memorandum in the office-book of Sir and Scenes: the " Wynter's Nighte's Pastime," noticed in Henry Herbert, Master of the Revels, dated the 19th August, the registers under date of May 22, 1594, must have been a 1623, in which it was stated that " The Winter's Tale," was different work. If any proof of the kind were wanted, we "an old play formerly allowed of by Sir George Buc." Sir learn from two lines in " Dido, Queen of Carthage," by MarGeorge Buc was Master of the -Revels from October, 1610, lowe and Nash, 1594, 4to, that " a winter's tale" was a then until May, 1622. Sir George Buc must, therefore, have current phrase:licensed'" The Winter's Tale" between October, 1610, when he was appointed to his office, and May, 1611, when Forman " Who would aot undergoe all kinde of toyle saw it at the Globe. To be well stor'd with such a winter's tale?"' Sign. D. 3 b. It might havehbeen composed by Shakespeare in the autumn Ii representing Bohemia to be a maritime contry, Shakeand winter of 1610-11, with a view to its production on the Bank-side, as soon as the usual performances by the King's snear adopted1588 by Greene's "pop andosto.n With regard to the preplayers commenced there. Sir Henry Herbert informs us, vailing ignorance of geography, the subsequent passage fromn that when he gave permission to revive "The Winter's Tale" John Taylor's "Travels to Prague in Bohemnia,"a.jouney perin August 1623, "the allowed book" (that to which Sir formed byhim in 1620, shows that the satirical vriter did not George Buc had appended his signature) "was missing." It consider it strange that an alderman of London was not aware hatd no doubt been destroyed when the Globe Theatre was that a fleet of ships could not arrive at a port of Bohemia:consumed by fire on 29th June, 1618. I e no sooner eased of him, but Gregory Gandergoose, anix We have seen that "The Tempest" and " The Winter's Alderman of Gotham, catches me by tile goll, demanding if Tale" were both acted at Whitehall, and included in Sir Bohemia be a great town, and whether there be any meat in George B~Ue's account of lthe expenses of the REevels from it, and whether the last fleet of ships be arrived there." It October, 1611, to October, 16121. How much older "The is to be observed, that Shakespeare reverses the scene of Tempest" might be than " The Winter's Tale," we have no ", Pandosto," and represents as passing in Sicily, what Greene means of determining; but there is a circumstance which had made to occur in Bohemia. In several places he more shows that the composition of "The Tempest" was anterior verbally followed Greene in this play than he did even Loldge to that of The Winter's Tale;" and this brings us to speak in. ~' As You Like it;", but the general variations are greater of the novel upon which the latter is founded. from "Pandosto" than from " Rosalynde." Shakespeare As early as the year 1588, Robert Greene printed a tract does not adopt one of the appellations given by Greene; and called "1Paindosto: The Triumph of Time," better known as it may be noticed that, just anterior to the time of our poet, "The HI-istory of Dorastus and Fawnia," the title it bore in the name he assigns to the Queen of Leontes had been emsome of the later copies. As far as we now know, it was not ploved as that of a male character: in " The rare Triumphs reprinted until 1607, and a third impression appeared in 1609: of Love and Fortune," acted at court in 1581-2, and printed it afterwards went through many editions2; but it seems not in 15, Iermione is the lover of the heroine. -unlikely that. Shakespeare was directed to it, as a proper sub- phe ide of this delightful drama," (ays Coleridge in his ject for dramatic representation, by the third impression Lit. Rem. vol. ii. p. 250) is a genuine jealousy of disposition, which came out the year before we suppose him to have com- and it should be immediately followed by the perusal of menced writing his " Winter's Tale3." In many respects our I Othello,' which is the direct contrast of it in every particu-' 1 The circumstance that" The Tempest", and " The Winter's Tale that the words Servant-monster," Anticks," Tales," and Temvpere both acted at court at this period, and that thkespeare, but with our present information the nearly the same date of composition, seems to give great additional fact seems hardly disputable. probability to the opinion, that Ben Jonson alluded to them in the followving passage in the Induction to-his " Bartholomew Fair," which 2 Ho long it continued popular, may be judged from the fact that was acted in 1614, while Shakespeare's two plays were still high in it was printed as a chap-book as recently as the year 1735, when it popular favour "(If there. be never a Servant-nimoester i' theFair, was called "The Fortunate Lovers; or the History of Dorastus, Prince who can help it, he says? nor a nest of Anticks? He is loth to make of Sicily and of Fawnia, only daughter and heir to the King of Bonature afraid in his Playes, like those that beget Tales, Tenmpests, hernia," 2mo. and such like Drolleries." The Italic type and the capitals are as 3 In a note upon a passage in Act iii. sc. 2, a reason is assigned for they stand in the original edition in folio, 1631, Gifford (Ben Jon- thinking that Shakespeare did not employ the first edition of Greene's son s Works, Vol. iv. p. 370) could not be brought to acknowledge novel, but in all probability that of 1609. lxxxiv INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lar. For jealousy is a vice of the mind, a culpable tendency the fact that, at some later date, he was instrumental in a reof temper, having certain well known and well defined effects vival of the old " King John." and concomitants, all of which are visible in Leontes, and I How long the old " King John " had been in possession of boldly say, not one of which marks its presence in Othello:- the stage prior to 1591, when it was originally printed, we such as, first, an excitability by tile most inadequate causes, Ihave no precise information5, but Shakespeare found it there, and an eacgerness to snatch at proofs; secondly, a grossness and took the course usual with dramatists of the time6, by of conception, and a disposition to degrade the object of the applying to his own purposes as much of it as he thought passion by sensual fancies and images; thirdly, a sense of would be advantageous. Hle converted the " two parts " into shame of his own feelings exhibited in a solitary moodiness one drama, and in many of its main features followed the of humour, and yet from the violence of the passion forced to story, not as he knew it in history, but as it was fixed in poutter itself', and therefore catching occasions to ease the mind pular belief. In some particulars he much improved upon the by ambiguities, and equivoques, by talking to those who can- conduct of the incidents: for instance, in the first act of the not, and who are known not to be able to understand what old " King John," Lady Falconbridge is, needlessly and obis said to them; in short, by soliloquy in the form of dialogue, jectionably, made a spectator of the scene in which the basand hence a confused, broken, and fragmentary manner; tardy of her son Philip is discussed before King John and his fourthly, a dread of vulgar ridicule, as distinct from a high mother. Another amendment of the original is the absence sense of honour, or a mistaken sense of duty; and lastly, and of Constance from the stage when the marriage between immediately consequent on this, a spirit of selfish vindictive- Lewis and Blanch is debated and determined. A third maness." terial variation ought not to be passed over without remark. In his lectures in 1815, Coleridge dwelt on the "' not easily Although Shakespeare, like the authoor er' authors of the old jealous" frame of Othello's mind, and on the art of the great " King,lohn," employs the Bastard forcibly to raise money poet in working upon his generous and unsuspecting nature: fi'om the monasteries in England, he avoids the scenes of exihe contrasted the characters of Othello and Leontes in this tortion and ribaldry of the elder play, in which the monks respect, the latter from predisposition requiring no such ma- and nuns are turned into ridicule, and the indecency and 1ignant instigator as Iago. licentiousness of their lives exposed. Supposing the old ______ L_"King John" to have been brought upon the stage not long after the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588, when the THE hatred of the Roman Catholics was at its height, such an exLIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN. hibition must have been extremely gratifying to the taste of vulgar audiences. Shakespeare might justly hold in contempt [" The Life and Death of King John " was first printed in the such a mode of securing applause; or, possibly, his own refolio of 1623, where it occupies twenty-two pages; viz. from ligious tenets (a point which is considered at length, with p. 1 to p. 22 inclusive, a new pagination beginning with the the addition of some new inbformation, in the biography of " Histories." It occupies the same place and the same the poet) might induce him to touch lightly upon such matspace in the re-impressions of 1632, 1664, and 1685.] ters. Certain it is, that the elder drama contains much coarse " KING JOHN," the earliest of Shakespeare's "Histories" abuse of the Roman Catholics, and violent invective against in the folio of 1623, (where they are arranged according to the the ambition of the pontiff, little of which is found in Shakereigns of the different monarchs) first appeared in that vol- speare. It is, however, easy to discover reasons why he umne, and the Registers of the Stationers' Company have would refuse to pander to popular prejudice, without supsearched in vain for any entry regarding it: it is not enume- posing him to feel direct sympathy with the enemies of the rated by Blount and Jaggard on the 8th Nov. 1623, when Reformation. they inserted a list of the pieces, " not formerly entered to Some of the principal incidents of the reign of John had other men," about to be included in their folio: hence an in- been converted into a drama, with the purpose of promoting ference might be drawn that there had been some previous the Reformation, very early in the reign of Elizabeth, if not entry of "King John" "to other men," and, perhaps, even in that of Edward VI. We refer to the play of " Kynge that the play had been already published2. Johan," by Bishop Bale, which, like the old'"King John," It seems indisputable that Shakespeare's "King John " was is in two parts, though we can trace no other particular refounded upon an older play, three times printed anterior to semblance. It was printed by the Camden Society, fiom the the publication of the folio of 1623: " The first and second author's original MS. (in the library of the duke of Devonpart of the troublesome Reign of John, King of England," shire) in 1838, and is a specimen of the mixture of allegory came from the press in 1591, 1611, and 1622.3 Malone, aid and history in the same play, perhaps unexampled. As it others who have adverted. to this production, have obviously was, doubtless, unknown both to the author or authors of the not had the several impressions before them. The earliest old " King John," as well as to Shakespeare, it requires no copy, that of 1591, has no name on the title-page: that of 1611 farther notice here, than to show at how early a date that pbrhas " W. Sh." to indicate the author, and that of 1622, "W. tion of our annals had been brought upon the stage. Shakespeare," the sur-nanme only at length.4 Steevens once Upon the question, when " King John " was written by thought that the ascription of it to Shakespeare by fraudulent Shakespeare, we have no knowledge beyond the fact that booksellers, who wished it to be taken for his popular work, Francis Meres introduces it into his list in 1598. Malone spewas correct, but he subsequently abandoned this untenable culated that it was composed in 1596, but he does not place opinion. Pope attributed it jointly to Shakespeare and Wil- reliance upon the internal evidence he himself adduces, which liam Rowley; and Fairmer " made no doubt that Rowley wrote certainly is of a more than usually vag Le character. Chalmers, the first King John." There is, however, reason to believe on the other hand, would assign the play to 1598, but the that Rowley was not an author at so early a date: his first chance seems to be, that it was written a short time before it extant printed work was a play, in writing which he aided was spoken of by Meres: we should be disposed to assign it John Day and George Wilkins, called " The Travels of three to a date between 1596 and 1598, when the old " Kinog John," EEnglish Brothers," 1607. In 1591, he must have been very which was probably in a course of representation in 1591, had young; but we are not therefore to conclude decisively that gone a little out of recollection, and when Meres would have his name is not, at any period and in any way, to be connect- had time to become acquainted with Shakespeare's drana, ed with a drama on the incidents of the reign of King John; from its popularity either at the Globe or Blackfriars' Thefor the tradition of Pope's time may have been founded upon atres. 1 It purports to be divided into acts and scenes, but very irregularly: more than one dramatist was concerned in the composition of the thus what is called Actus Secztndzs fills no more than about half a play. page, and Actus Quartozs is twice repeated. The later folios adopt 4 The edition of 1591 was printed for Sampson Clarke: that of 1611,, this defective arrangement, excepting that in that of 1632 Actus by Valentine Simmes, for John Helme; and that of 1622, by Aug. Quintus is made to precede Actus Quartus. Mathews, for Thomas Dewe. 2 On the 29th Nov. 1614, "' a booke called the Historie of George 5 The edition of 1591 is preceded by a Prologue, omitted in the two Lord Faulconbridge, bastard son of Richard Cordelion," was entered later impressions, which makes it quite clear that the old " King on the Stationers' Registers, but this was evidently the prose romance John," was posterior to Marlowe's " Tamberlaine:" it begins, of which an edition in 1616, 4to. is extant. Going back to 1558, it You that with friendly grace of smoothed br appears that a book, called " Cur de Lion," was entered on the Sta- nero Have entertained the Scythian Tamberlaine," &c. tioners' Register of that year. 3 " It was written, I believe (says Malone), by Robert Greene, or In the Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. iii. p. 112. George Peele," but he produces nothing in support of his opinion. reasons are assigned for believing that Marlowe's Tamberlaine was The mention of " the Scythian Tamberlaine," in the Prologue to the acted about 1587.,edition of the old "' King John," in 1591, might lead us to suppose 6 In -Ienslowe's MS. Diary, under the date of May, 1598, we meet,that it was the production of Marlowe, who did not die until 1593; with an entry of a play by Robert Wilson, Henry Chettle, Anthony bu]st the style of the two parts is evidently different: rhyming couplets Munday. and MIichael Drayton, entitled " The Funerals of Richard are much more abundant in the first than in the second, and there is Cordelion." It possibly had no connexion with the portion of history,reaon to believe, according to the frequent custom of that age, that i to which Shakespeare's play and the old " King John " relate. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxxv clear that any reference to it was intended by Shakespeare. LYKING RICHARD II. Where the matter is so extremely doubtful, we shall not at[" The Tragedie of King Richard the second. As it hath tempt to fix on any particular year. If any argument, one beene publikely acted by the right Honourable the Lorde way or the other, could be founded upon the publication of Chamberlaine his Seruants. London Printed by Valentine i Daniel's " Civil Wars," in 1595, it would show that that poet Simmes for Androw Wise, and are to be sold at his shop I had made alterations in subsequent editions of his poem, in in Paules church yard at the signe of the Angel. 1597." order, perhaps, to fall in more with the popular notions re4to. 37 leaves. garding the history of the time, as produced by the success " The Tragedie of King Richard the second. As it hath beene of the play of our great dramatist. Meres mentions "Richard publikely acted by the Right Honourable the Lord Cham- the 2" in 1598. berlaine his seruants. By William Shake-speare. London Respecting the " new additions 7" of " the deposing of King Printed by Valentine Simmes for Andrew Wise, and are Richard " we have some evidence, the existence of which was to be sold at his shop in Paules churchyard at the signe of not known in the time of Malone, who conjectured that this the Angel. 1598." 4to. 36 leaves. scene had originally formed part of Shakespeare's play, and "The Tragedie of King Richard the Second: with new ad- was "suppressed in the printed copy of 1597, from the fear ditions of the Parliament Sceane, and the deposing of King of offending Elizabeth," and not published, with the rest, Richard. As it hath been lately acted by the Kinges Ma- until 16082. Such may have been the case, but we now know iesties seruantes, at the Globe. By William Shake-speare. that there were two separate plays upon the events of the At London, Printed by W. W. for Mathew Law, and are reign of Richard II., and the deposition seems to have formed to be sold at his shop in Paule's churchyard, at the signe a portion of both. On the 30th Aprl, 1611, Dr. Simon Forof the Foxe. 1608." 4to. 39 leaves. man saw " Richard 2," as he expressly calls it, at the Globe "The Tragedie of King Richard the Second: with new ad- Theatre, for which Shakespeare was a writer, at which he had ditions of the Parliament Sceane, and the deposing of King been an actor, and in the receipts of which he was interested. Richard. As it hath been lately acted by the Kinges Ma- In his original Diary, (MS. Ashm. 208,) preserved in the iesties seruants, at the Globe. By William Shake-speare. Bodleian Library, Forman inserts the following account of, At London, Printed for Mathew Law, and are to be sold and observations upon, the plot of the "Richard II.," he at his shop in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Foxe. having been present at the representation:16156." 4to. 39 letaves. I"Remember therein how Jack Straw, by his overmuch In the folio of 1623, " The life and death of King Richard the boldness, not being politic, nor suspecting any thing, was Second" occupies twenty-three pages, viz. from p. 23 to suddenly, at Smithfield Bars, stabbed by Walworth, the p. 45, inclusive. The three other folios reprint it in the Mayor of London; and so he and his whole army was oversame form, and in all it is divided into Acts and Scenes.] thrown. Therefore, in such case, or the like, never admit ABOVE we have given the titles of four quarto editions of any party without a bar between, for a man cannot be too "King Richard II.," which preceded the publicaion of the wise, nor keep himself too safe. Also, remember how the folio of 1628, and which were all published during the life- Duke of Glouster, the Earl of Arundel, Oxford, and others, time of Shakespeare: they bear date respectively in 1597, crossing the King in his humour about the Duke of Erland 1598, 1608, and 1615. It will be observed that the title of (Ireland) and Bushy, were glad to fly and raise a host of men: the edition of 1608 states that it contains " new additions and being in his castle, how the Duke of Erland came by of the Parliament Scene, and the deposing of King Richard." night to betray him, with 300 men; but, having privy warning The Duke of Devonshire is in possession of an unique copy, thereof, kept his gates fist, and would not suffer the enemy dated 1608, the title of which merely follows the wording of to enter, which went back again with a fly in his ear, and the preceding impression of 1598, omitting any notice of after was slain by the Earl of Arundel in the battle. Remem"new additions," though containing the whole of them'. ber, also, when the Duke (i.e. of Gloucester) and Arundel.came The name of our great dramatist first appears in connection to London with their army, King Richard came forth to them, with this historical play in 1598, as if Simmes the printer, and and met them, and gave them fair words, and promised them Wise the stationer, when they printed and published their pardon, and that all should be well, if they would discharge edition of 1597, did not know, or were not authorized to state, their army; upon whose promises and fair speeches they did that Shakespeare was the writer of it. Precisely the same it: and after, the King bid them all to a banquet, and so bewas the case with "King Richard III.," printed and pub- trayed them, and cut off their heads, &c.. because they had lished by the same parties in the same year, and of which not his pardon under his hand and seal before, but his word. also a second edition appeared in 1598, with the name of the Remember therein, also, how the Duke of Lancaster privily author. contrived all villainy to set them all together by the ears, and We will first speak- regarding the date of the original pro- to make the nobility to envy the King, and mislike him and duction of "Richard II.," and then of the period when it is his government; by which means le made his own son king, likely that the " new additions"' were inserted. which was Henry Bolingbroke. Remember, also, how the It was entered on the Stationers' Register in 1597, in the Duke of Lancaster asked a wise man whether himself should following manner:- ever be kingo; and he told himn no, but his son should be a " 29 Aug. 1597. kiing: and when he had told him, he hanged him up for his Andrew Wise.] The Tragedye of Richard the Seconde." labour, because he should not bruit abroad, or speak thereof This memorandum was made anterior, but perhaps only to others. This was a policyin the Commonwealth's opinion, shortly anterior, to the actual publication of " Richard II.," but I say it was a villain's part, and a Judas' kiss, to hang and it-forms the earliest notice of its existence. Malone sup- the man for. telling him the truth. Beware by this example poses that it was written in 1593, but he does not produce a of noblemen and their fair words, and say little to them, lest single fact or argument to establish his position; nor perhaps they do the like to thee for thy good will." could any be adduced beyond the circumstance, that having The quotation was first published inm "New Particulars reassigned the "Comedy of Errors" to 1592, and "Love's La- garding Shakespeare and his Works," 8vo, 1836, where it bour's Lost" to 1594, he had left an interval between those was suggested that this "' Richard II." might be the play years in which he could place not only "Richard II." but which Sir Gilly Merrick and others are known to have pro"' Richard III." In fact, we can arrive at no nearer approx- cured to be acted the afternoon before the insurrection imation; although Chalmers, in his " Supplemental Apology," headed by the Earls of Essex and Southampton, in 1601; contended that a note of time was to be found in the allusions (Bacon's Works by Mallet, iv. 320) but in a letter, published in the first and second Acts to the disturbances in Ireland. in a note to the same tract, Mr. Amyot argued, that " the It is quite certain that the rebellion in that country was re- deposing of King Richard " probably formed no part of the newed in 1594, and proclaimed in 1595: but it is far from play Forman saw, and that it might actually be another, and 1 There is another circumstance belonging to the title-page of the the insurrection of Lords Essex and Southampton. Thorpe's CoustuDuke of Devonshire's copy which deserves notice: it states that the smale Roffense, p. S9, contains an account of an interview between play was printed "as it hath been publikely acted by the Right Ho- Lambarde (when he presented his pandect of the records of the Tower) nourable the Lord Chamberlaine, his seruantes." The company to and Elizabeth, shortly subsequent to that event, in which she obwhich Shakespeare belonged were not called the servants of the Lord served, " I am Richard the Second, know you not that?" Lambarde Chamberlain after James I. came to the throne, but the King's replied," Such a wicked imagination was determined and attempted Majesty's servants," as in the title-page of the other copy of 1608. by a most unkind gentleman, the most adorned creature that ever This fact might give rise to the supposition, that it had been intended your Majestie made." " He (said the Q.ueen) that will forgett God to reprint an edition of Richard II., including " the Parliament will alsoe forgett his benefactors." The publication of the edition scene," but not mentioning it, before the death of Elizabeth; but of 1608, without the mention on the title-pagre of " the Parliament that for some reason it was postponed for about five years. Scene, and the deposing of King Richard," might have been con2 There might be many reasons why the exhibition of the deposing templated about this date. of Richard II. would be objectionable to Elizabeth, especially after lxxxvi INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. a lost play by Shakespeare, intended as a "first part to his T T V extant drama on the later portion of the reign of that monarch. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. It is also true that Forman says nothing of the formal deposition of Richard II.; but he tells us that in the course of the [I" The History of Henrie the. Fovrtb; With the battell at drama the Duke of Lancaster " made his own son King," and Shrewsburie, hetweene the King and Lord Henry Percy, he could not do so without something like a deposition ex- s amed Henrie otspr of the North. ith the h orous conceits of Sir Iohn Falstalffe. At London, printed by hibited or narrated. It is also to be observed, that if Forman's aceonnt be at all correct, Shakespeare coni never have P. S. for Andrew Wise, dwelling in Paunles Churchyard, at exhibited the characters of the King and of Gaunt so, incon- tes of the Angell. 159." to. 0. leaves. Merrk procuredThe History of Henry ther Fovrth; With the battell at sistently in two parts of the same play. The Richard andy of enry the Fovrthe bat the Gaunt of Forman, with their treachery and cruelty, are Shrewsbe, eteene the Kind y Percy, itotally unlike the Pdotich lied and Goantt f Shakespe For surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. With the humortotally unlike the p iyhard and Gaunt of Shakese.r Iohn alsFtafe. le corrected b these reasons we may, perhaps, arrive at the conclusion, that ous conceits of Sir lohn Faistalffe. Newly corrected by it was a distinct drama, and not by Shakespeare. We may Shake-speare. At London, Printed by S.S. for Andrew prenme, also, thato it was the ver~y piece which Sir Gilly Wise, dwelling in Paules Churchyard, at the signe of the Merrick procured to be represented, and for the performance Ange. 1599. o f 0 leee a a of which, according to a passage in the arraignment of Cuffehis Shrewsbutie, betweene the King, and Lord Henry Percy, and Merrick, the latter paid forty shillings additional, because shrnaews r Hetw of the Ni th morit was an old play, and not likely to attract an audience. surnamed Henry Hotpur of the North. w te h The very description of the plot given by Forman reads as os conceits of Sir Iohn Fstife. Newly corected by if it were an old play, with the usual quantity of blood and W. Shake-speare. London Printed by Valentine. Sitmes for Mathew Law, and are to be solde t his shop in Paules treachery. How it cade to be popular enough, in 1611, to be performed at the Globe must be matter of mere speculation: Churchyard, at the signe of the Fox. 1604." 4to. 40 leaves. perhaps the revival of it by the party of the Earls of Essex The istory of Hery the fourth, ithll of Shrewseburic, betweene the g ina, and Lord Henry Percy, and Southampton had recalled public attention to it, and improvements might have been made which would render it a surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. With the humorfhvourite in 1611, though it had been neglected in 1601. eaous.conceites of Sir Iohn Falstalffe. Newly corrected by Out of these improvements, and out of.this renewed popu- W. Shake-speare. London, Printed for Mathew Law, and Out of these impAovemes, nt an d out ofathis renew ed pop loou-like are to be sold at his shop in Paules Churchyard, neere unto larity, may, possibly, have grown the "1 new additions,"' which were first printed with the impression of Shakespeare's necuste gateate " Richard II." in 16081, and which solely relate to the deposing 40 leaves. of the King. On thepother hand, if these " new additions," The 4to edition of 161 also consists of 40 leaves: and the only differences between its title-page and that of 1608 are the as they were termed in 1608, were only a suppressed part of the den t date, and the statement that it was'L Printed by W. W." original play, there seems no sufficient ground for concluding In the folio of 1626, "The First Part of Henry the Fourth, thiat it was not Shakespeare's drama which was acted at thesta of IeTry amed H otre with the Life and Death of Henry Saitamed Hat -spvrre,iA instancer of Sir Gilly Merrick in 1601. If it were written in 159, as lone imgine, o even in 1596, accordi to the occupies twenty-six pages, viz. from p. 46 to p. 78 inclusive. 1593 as Mfalone imagoinedi orfe Einhr 156I.cod" gt the Itnhe laterfolios itis rep corinted n the sae orm. speculation of Chalmers, it might be called an old play in 1601, considering the rapidity with which dramas were often writ- AT the time when Shakespeare selected the portion of histen and brought out at the period of which we are speaking. tory included in the following play, as a fit subject for dramaIf neither Shakespeare's play, nor that described by Forman, tic representation, the stage we as in possession of an old play were the pieces selected by Sir Gilly Merrick, there must entitled, "The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth," if have been three distinct plays, in the possession of the com- which three early impressions, one printed in 1598, and two pany acting at the Globe, upon the events of the reign of others without late, have come dow en to us: a copy of one Richard II. edition without date is in the Collection of tih e Dukie of For the incidents of this "most admirable of all Shake- Devonshire; and, judging from the type and other circumspeare's purely historical plays," as Coleridge calls it, (Lit. stances, we may conclude that it was anterior to the impression Rem. ii. 164,) our great poet appears to have gone no farther of 1598, and that it made its appearance shortly after 1594, on than Holinshed, who was himself indebted to Hall and Fabian. the 14th of May of which year it was entered on the StationIowever, Shakespeare has nowhere felt himself bound to ad- eras' Registers. Richard Tarlton, who died in 1588, was an here to chronology when it better answered his purpose to actor in that piece, but how long before 1588 it had been prodesert it. Thus, the Prince of Wales, afterwards Henry V., duced, we have no means of ascertaining. It is, in fact, in is spoken of in Act v. so. 8, as frequenting taverns andstews, prose, although many portions of it are printedl to look like when he was in fact only twelve years old. Marston, in a verse, because, at the date when it first caine from the press, short address before his " Wonder of Women," 1606, aiming blank-verse had become popular on the stage, and.thie booka blow at Ben Jonson, puts the duty of a dramatic author seller probably was desirous of giving the old play a modern in ctis respect upon its true footing, when he says, pI have appearance. Our most ancient public dramas were composed not laboured to tie myself to relate anything as a historian, in rhyme: to rhyme seems to have succeeded prose; and but to enlarge everything as a poet;" and what we have just prose, about the date when Shakespeare is believed to have referred to in this play is exactly one of those anachronisms originally come to London, was displaced by blank-verse, invwhich, ii the words of Schlegel, Shakespeare committed termixed with couplets and stanzas. "The Famous Victories ":purposely and most deliberatelyi." IHis design, of course, of Henry the Fifth" seems to belong to the middle period; was in this instance to link together' Richard II." and the and as Stephen Gosson, in his " School of Abuse," 1579, leads first part of " Henry IV." us to suppose that at that time prose was nriot very usual in Of the four quarto editions of "Richard II." the most valu- theatrical performances, it may be conjectured that "The able, for its readings and general accuracy beyond all dispute, Famous Victories of HIenry tihe Fifth" was not written until is the impression of 1597. The other three quartos were, after 1580. umore or less, printed from it, and the folio of 1623 seems to That a play upon the events of the reign of Henry V. was have taken the latest, that of 1615, as the foundation of its upon the stage in 1592, we have the indisputable evidence of text; but, from a few words found only in the folio, it may Thomas Nash, in his notorious work, " Pierce Penniless, his secmu that the player-editors referred also to some extrinsic Supplication," which went through three editions in the same authority. It is quite certain, however, that the folio copied year: we quote from the first, (Sign. H 2.) where he says, ebvious and indisputable blunders from the quarto of 1615. " What a glorious thing it is to have I-Henry the Fifth repreThere are no fewer than eight places where the folio omits sented on the Stage, leading the French King prisoner, and passages inserted in the quartos, in one instance to the de- forcing him and the Dolphin to sweare fealtie." We know struction of the continuity of the sense, and in most to the also that a drama,. called "Harry the V.," was performed by detriment of the play. Hence not only the expediency, but Henslowe's Company on the 28th November, 1595, and it apthe absolute necessity of referring to the quarto copies, from pears likely that it was a revival of" The Famous Victories," which we have restored all the missing lines, andt have dis- with some important additions, which gave it the attraction tinguished them by placing them between brackets. of a new play; for the receipts (as we find by Henslowe's It may perhaps be inferred that there was an intention to publish " 27 June 1603 the " history, with these "new additions," in 1603: at all events, in "Matth. Lawe] in full Courte, ii] Enterludes or playes. The that year the right in "Richard II." "R' ichard III." and "Henry IV." first of Richard the 3d. The second of Richard the 2d. part i. was transferred to Matthew Law, in whose name the plays The third of Henry the 4, the first pte. all Kings. came out when the next editions of them appeared. The entry re- 2, Ich unternehme darzuthun, dass Shakespeare's Anachronismen lating to them in the books of the Stationers' Company runs mehrentheils gefiissentlich und mit grossem Bedacht angebracht thus:- sind." —Ueber dramatische Kunst and Litteratur, vol. ii. 43. INTRODUCOTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxxvii Diary) were of such an amount as was generally only pro- As the year did not then end until the 25th March, the 25th duced by a first representation. Out of this circumstance February, 1597, was of course the 25th February, 1598; and may have arisen the publication of the early undated edition pursuant to the above entry, Andrew Wise published the in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire. The reproduc- first edition of" The History of Henry IV." with the date of tion of "The Famous Victories" by a rival company, and the 1598: we may infer, therefore, that it was ready, or nearly appearance of it from the press, possibly led Shakespeare to ready, to be issued at the time the memorandum was made at consider in what way, and with what improvements, lie could Stationers' Hall: on the title-page, " the humorous conceits. avail himself of some of the same incidents for the theatre to of Sir John Falstalffe" are made peculiarly obvious. It is which he belonged. This event would at once make the sub- certain, then, that'before the play was;printed, the name of lect popular, and hence, perhaps, the re-impression of " The Oldcastle had been altered to that of Falstaff. The reason for PFatous Victories of Henry the Fifth" in 15981. The year the change is asserted to have been, that -some descendants 1596 may possibly have been the date when Shakespeare.wrote of "Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord' Cobham," (as he is his "Henry IV." Part i. called upon the title-page of a play which relates to his hisIt is to be observed, that the incidents which are summarily tory, printed in 1600,) remonstrated against the ridicule dismissed in one old play, are extended by our grear dramatist thrown upon the character of the protestant martyr, by the over three-the two parts of " Henry IV." and " Henry V.' introduction into Shakespeare's drama of a person bearing the It is impossible to institute any parallel between " The Fa- same name. Such, unquestionably, may have been the case; mous Victories" and Shakespeare's dramas; for, besides that but it is possible also that Shakespeare, finding that his play, the former has reached us evidently in an imperfect shape, the and his Sir John Oldcastle were often confounded with " The immeasurable superiority of the latter is such, as to render Famous Victories" and with Sir John Oldcastle of that drama, any attempt to trace resemblance rather a matter of contrast made the change' with'a'view that they "should be'disthan comparison. Who might be the writer of" The Famous tinguished. That he did not quite succeed, is evident from Victories," it would be idle to speculate; but it is decidedly the quotation we have made from Field's'Amends for inferior to most of the extant works of Marlowe, Greene, Ladies." Peele, Kyd, Lodg e, or any other of the more celebrated pre- Respecting the manner in which Falstaff was attired on tlhe decessors of Shakespeare. stage in the time of Shakespeare, we meet with a curions Sir John Oldcastle is one of the persons in " The Famous passage in a manuscript, the handwriting of hInigo Jones, the Victories;" and no doubt can be entertained that the charac- property of the Duke of Devonshire. The Surveyor of the ter of Sir John Falstaff, in the first part of Shakespeare's Works, describing the dress of a' person Who was to figure in "IHenry IV.," was originally called Sir John Oldcastle. If any one of the court masques, early in' the reign of James I., says, hesitation could formerly have been felt upon this point, it that lie is to be dressed"' like a Sir John' Falstaff, in a robe must have been recently entirely removed by IMr. Halliwell's of russet, quite low, with a great belly, like a swollen man, very curious and interesting tract, " On the character of Sir Iong moustachios,'the shoes short, and out of them great toes, John Falstaff, as originally exhibited by Shakespeare," 12mo. like naked feet: buskins, to show a great swollen leg." We 1841. How the identity of Oldcastle and Falstaff could ever are, perhaps; only to' understand from this description,, that have been questioned after the discovery of the following the appearance of the character was to bear a general resempassage in a play by Nathaniel Field, called, " Amends for blance to that of Sir John Falstaff, as exhibited on the stage Ladies," 1618, it is difficult to comprehend: the lines seem to at the Globe or Blackfriiars' Theatres.: us decisive:- Although we are without any contemporaneous notices of - "Did you never see the performance of Shakespeare's I-Ienry IV." Part i., there The play where the fat knight, hight Oldcastle, cannot be a doubt that it was extraordinarily popular. It Did tell you truly what this honour was?" went through five distinct impressions in 4to, in 1598, 1599, This can allude to nothing but to Falstaff's speech in Act v. 1604, 1608, and 1618, before it was printed in the first folio. sc. 2, of the ensuing play; and it would also show (as Mr. There was also an edition in 1639, which deserves notice, beIHalliwell points out) that Falstaff sometimes."retained the cause it was not a reprint of the play as it had appeared either name of Oldcastle after the author had altered it to that of in the first or second folios, but of the 4to. of 1618, that text Falstaff'." This fact is remarkable, recollecting that " Amends being for some reason preferred. Meres introduces " Ienry for Ladies" could hardly have been written before 1611, that the IVth" into his list in 1598, and we need feel little doubt prior to that date no fewer than four editions of " Ilenry IV." that he alluded to Part i., because, on the preceding page, Part i., had been printed, on the title-pages of which Falstaff (fo. 281, b) he makes a quotation from one of Falstaff's was prominently introduced, and that hlie was called by no speeches,-", there is nothing but roguery in villainous man," other name from the beginning to the end of that drama. -though without acknowledging.the source from which it The case is somewhat different with respect to Shakespeare's was taken. We may be tolerably sure, however, thant " Ilenry' Henry IV." Part ii., which contains a singular confirmatory IV." Part ii., had then been produced by Shakespeare, bt it piece of evidence that Falstaff was still called Oldcastle after is not distinguished by Meres, and he also' makes no menthat continuation of the " history" had been written and per- tion of " Henry V.," the events of whose reign, to his marformed. In. Acti. sc. 2 of the drama, Old. is given as the pre- riage with Catherine of France, were included in the old play fix to one of Falstaff's speeches. The error is met with in no of "I The Famous Victories." other part of the play, and when the MS. for the quarto, 1600, With regard to the text of this play, it is unquestionably was corrected for the press, this single passage escaped obser- found in its purest state in the earliest 4to. of 1598, and to vation, and the ancient reading was preserved until it was that we have mainly adhered, assigning reasons in our notes expunged in the folio of 1623. Malone and Steevens, in op- when we have varied from it. The editors of the folio, 1623, position to Theobald, argue that Old. was not meant for Old- copied implicitly the 4to. impression nearest to their own day, castle, but was the commencement of the name of some actor: that of 1613, adopting many of its defects, and, as fir as we none such belonged to Shakespeare's company, and the pro- can judge, resorting to no MS. authority, nor to the previous bability is all in favour of Theobald's supposition. quartos of 1598, 1599, 1604, and 1608.. Several decided errors, This change must have been made by Shakespeare anterior made in reprint of 1599, were repeated and multiplied in the to the spring of 1598, because we then meet with the subse- subsequent quarto impressions, and from thence found their quent entry in the Stationers' Registers, relating to the earliest way into the folio. Near the end of Act i. we meet with a edition of " Henry IV." Part i. curious proof of what we have advanced: we there find a line, " 25'Feb. 1597. thus distinctly printed in the 4to, 1598:Andrew Wissel A booke intitled the Historye of ti steals to Gledower and Lo: ortimer Hervy the liiith, with his battaile of Shrewsburye against Henry Hottspurre of the Northe with the that is, " I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer," Lo: conceipted Mirth of Sir John Falstaffe3.%" being a common abbreviation of " Lord;" but the composiThe third edition of " The Famous Victories" was printed after 3 There is another entry, under date 27th June, 1603, by which James I. came to the throne: it has no date, but it states on the title- Henry the 4 the first pte." seems to have been transferred by-Wise page that " it.was acted by the King's Majesty's servants.", This toLaw. for whom the edition of 1604 was in fact printed. assertion was, probably untrue, the object of the stationer being to Mr.: Halliwell does not seem to have been aware, when speaking induce buyers to believe that it was the same play as Shakespeare's of "The First part of the true and honorable History of the Life of work, which was certainly performed by "the King's Majesty's ser- Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham," a play attributed to vants." From this impression Steevens reprinted it in the Six Old Shakespeare on the title-page of most of the copies printed in 1600, Plays." 8vo. 1779. that two other copies of it have recently been discovered, -hich have 2 The same conclusion may perhaps be drawn from the mention of no author's name. Hence it might be inferred, that the original "fat Sir John Oldeastle," in "The Meeting of Gallants at an Ordi- title-page was cancelled at the instance of our great dramatist, and narie," 1604, 4to, a tract recently reprinted, under the, editorial care another substituted. of Mr. Halliwell, for the Percy Society. lxxxviii INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. tor of the 4to, 1599, strangely misunderstanding it, printed it Pistoll. As it hath bene sundry times playd by the Right as follows:- honorable the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. London (lie steale to Glendower and loe Mortimer;" Printed by Thomas Creede, for Tho. Millington, and lohn as if Lo: of the 4to, 1598, were to be taken as the interjection, Bnsby. And are to be sold at hishouse in Carter Lane, Busby. And are to be sold at his house in Carter Lane, as if Lo: of the 4to, wel nextthePowle head. 1600. 4to. 27 leaves. lo! then usually printed lee, and so the blunder was followednex thePowlehead 160 to 2 le. in the subsequent quartos, including that of 1613, fror whence foThe Ch ronicle History of Henry the frft With his battell it was transferred, literatim, to the folio, 1623. Thie erro' isth repeated in the folio, 1632; but Norton, the printer of the 4to, Pistoll. As it hath bene nn dry hmrs phn d by tbe fiht 1639, who, as has been remarked, did not adopt the text of honorable the Lord Chamberlaine his sr ants. London either of the folios, saw that there must be a blunder in the bPrnted at Thomas Creede for Tho s P signe and are to line, and although he did not know exactly how to set it right, be sold at his sip i or. at the eof the Cat and he at least made sense of it by givng t, Parrets, nare the Exchange. 160 4to 26 leaves. e at least madeI stense of it, by giving it, The Chronicle History of Henry thle ift, with his battell " I'11 steal to Glendower and to Mortimer." fought at Agin Courto in France. Together with ancient We only adduce this instance as one proof, out of many Pistoll. As it hath bene sundry times playd by the Right which might be brought forward, to establish the superiority Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine his Scruants. Printed of the text of the 4to. of 1598, to any of the subsequent re-' for T. P. 1608." 4to. 27 leaves. impressions. The Life of Henry the Fift, " in the folio of 1623, occupies twenty-seven pages, viz. from p. 69 to p. 95 inclusive. The pagination from " Henry IV." Part ii. to " Henry V." is SECOlND PART OF KING IHENRY IV. not continued, but a new series begins with "Henry V." " The Second part of Henrie the fourth, continuing to his on. ad is regularly followed to the end of the "Hisdeath, and coronation of Henrie the fift. With the humours ore The folio, 162, adopts this error but it s avoded of Sir lohn Falstaffe, and swaggering Pistoll. As it hath been sundrie times publikely acted by the right honourable, IT is a circumstance deserving remark, that not one of the the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. Written by William title-pages of the quarto editions of " Henry V. "' attributes Shakespeare. London Printed by V. S. for Andrew Wise, the authorship of the play to Shakespeare. It was printed and William Aspley. 1600." 4to. 43 leaves. three several times during the life of the poet, but in no inOther copies of the same edition, in quarto, not containing stance with his name. The fact, no doubt, is, that there never Sign. E 5 and E 6, have only 41 leaves, was an authorized edition of " Henry V. " until it appeared In the folio, 1623, "The Second Part of Henry the Fourth, in the folio of 1623, and that the quarto impressions were containing his Death: and the Coronation of King Henry surreptitious, and were published without the consent of the the Fift," occupies twenty-nine pages in the division of author, or of the company to which he was attached. They "Histories," viz. from p. 74 to p. 102 inclusive, the last came out in 1600, 1602, and 1608, the one being merely a retwo not being numbered. Pages 89 and 90, by an error of print of the other; and, considering the imperfectness and the press, are numbered 91 and 92. In the reprint of the deficiency of the text in the quarto of 1600, it is perhaps folio, 1632, this mistake is repeated. In the two later folios strange that no improvements were made in the subsequent the pagination continued from the beginning to the end of impressions. The drama must have enjoyed great popularity; the volume. it must have been played over and over again at the theatre, WE may state with more certainty than usual, that "Henry and yet the public interest, as far as perusal is concerned, IV. " Parf ii. was written before the 25th Feb. 1598. In the would seem to have been satisfied with a brief, rude, and munpreliminary notice of " Henry IV. " Part i. it is mentioned tilated representation of the performance. The quartos can that Act ii. sc. 2, of the " history before us contains a piece be looked upon in no other light than as fragments of the of evidence that Falstaff was still called Oldcastle when it was original play, printed in haste for the satisfaction of public written; viz. that the prefix of Old. is retained in the quarto, curiosity. 1600, before a speech which belongs to Falstaff, and which The quar os bear strong external and internal evidence of is assigned to him in the folio of 1623. Now, we know that fraud: the earliest of them was not published by a bookseller the name of Oldcastle was changed to that of Falstaff anterior or booksellers by whom Shakespeare's genuine dramas were to the entry of " Henry IV." Part i. in the books of the Sta- issued; and the second and third came from the hands of tioners' Company on the 25th Feb. 1597-8. This circumstance Thomas Pavier, who was instrumental in giving to the world overturns Malonee's theory, that "Henry IV." Part ii. was some pieces, with the composition of which Shakespeare had not written until 1599. It requires no proof that it was pro- no concern, though ascribed to him on the title-page. The duced after " Richard II." because that play is quoted in it. internal evidence shows that the edition was made up, not The memorandum in the Stationers' Registers, prior to the from any authentic manuscript, nor even from any combinapublication of the following play, is inserted literatim in Vol. tion of the separate parts delivered out to the actors by the ii. p. 183: it bears date on 23d Aug. 1600, and it was made copyist of the theatre, but from what could be taken down in by Andrew Wise and William Aspley, who brougtough t short-hand, or could be remembered, while the performance "The Seconde Parise ofthe History ofKinge Henry the ibrought was taking place. It is true that the quarto impressions con4to, in that yearte of the History of Kainge Henry the it, in not the slightest hint of the Chorusses, nor of whole There was only one edition of "Henry IV.:" Part ii. in 1600, scenes, and long speeches, found in the folio of 1623: and but some copies vary importantly. The play was evidently the inference seems to be that "Henry V." was originally produced froni the press in haste; and besides other large produced by Shakespeare in a comparatively incomplete state, omissions, a whole scene, forming the commencement of Act and that large portions contained in the folio, and of which iii. was left out. Most of the copies are without these pages, no trace can be pointed out in the quartos, were added at a but they are found in those of the Duke of Devonshire and subsequent date, to give greater novelty and attraction to the Malone. The stationer must have discovered the error after drama. Such, we know, was a very common course with all the publicatios, and sheet E was accordingly reprinted, in our early stage-poets. A play called " Henry V." was repreorder to supply the defected, in sented at Court on the 7th Jan. 1605, as we learn from " The The folio 1623 was taken from a complete copy of the edi- Extracts from the Accounts of the Revels," edited by Mr. tion of 1600; and, moreover, the actor-editors, probably from P. Cunningham, and printed by the Shakespeare Society, a play-house manuscript in their hands, furnished many other p. 204; and these important additions may have been inserted lines wanting in the quarto. On the other hand, the quarto, for that occasion. The entry runs, iteratim, as follows -- 1600, contains several passages not found in the folio, 1623. " On the 7 of January was played the play of Henry Our text includes both, (properly distinguished in the notes) the fift." in order that no syllable which came from the pen of Shake- In the margin we are informed that it was acted by his Maspeare may be lost. Even if we suppose our great dramatist jesty's players, but the name of the athor is not in this into have himself rejected certain portions, preserved in the stance given, although "Shaxberd" is placed opposite the quarto, the exclusion of them by a modern editor would be title of "Measure for Measure," stated to have been exhiunpardonable, as they form part of the history of the poet's bited on a preceding night. The fact that the actors belonged mind. to Shakespeare's company renders it most probable that his play was performed on the occasion; but it is to be recollected also, that the old play of " The Famous Victories of Henry KIN~G HENRY Y. the Fifth" purports on the title-page to have been "acted by the King's Majesty's servants," even at so late a date as 1617, " The Cronicle History of Henry the fift, With his battell when the last edition of it made its appearance. Neverthefought at Agin Court in France. Togither with Auntient less, we may perhaps take it for granted, that the ~ "Henry INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. lxxxix the fift., " played at Whitehall by the king's servants, on 7th THIS historical drama is first found in the folio of 1623: no Jan.'1605. was Shakespeare's historical drama; and it may earlier edition of it in any shape, or in any degree of impernot be too much to presume, that most of the additions (Cho10- fetness, has been discovered. Of the second and third parts russes excepted) included in the folio of 1623, were written in of " Henry VI.,, copies in quarto, under different titles, consequence of the selection of " Henry V. " by the Master lengthened in some speeches, and abbreviated in others, are of the-Revels for representation before James I. extant; but the first part of "Henry VI. " appeared originally Our opinion, then, is that Shakespeare did not originally in the collected edition of "Mr. William Shakespeare's Comecwrite his " Henry V. " by any means as we find it in the folio dies, Histories, and Tragedies," put forth under the care of of 1623, and that it was first produced without various scenes his fellow-actors, Heminge and Condell. and speeches subsequently written and introduced: we are This single fact is sufficient, in our mind, to establish perfectly convinced that the three quarto editions of 1600, Shakespeare's claim to the authorship of it, even were we to 1602, and 1608 do not at all contain the play as it was acted take Malone's assertion for granted (which we are by no in the first instance; but were hastily made up fronm notes means inclined to do) that the internal evidence is all opposed taken at the theatre during the performance, subsequently to that claim. When HIeminge and Condell published the patched together. Now and then we meet with a few con- folio of 1623, many of Shakespeare's contemporaries, authors, secutive lines, similar to the authentic copy, but in general actors, and auditors, were alive; and the player-editors, if they the text is miserably mangled and disfigured. We might find would have been guilty of the dishonesty, would hardly have proofs in support of our position in every part of the play, committed the folly of inserting a play in their volume which but as in his " Twenty quartos " Steevens has reprinted that was not his production, and perhaps well known to have of 1608, it will be needless to select more than a single speci- been the work of some rival dramatist. If we imagine the fremen. We give the text as we find it, literatim, in the quarto,quenters of theatres to have been comparatively ignorant upon 160o0, from' the copy in the Library of the Duke of Ievon- such a point, living authors and living actors must have been shire: our extract is from Act i. se. 2, the speech of the King, aware of the truth, and in the face of these Heminge and Condell just before the French Ambassadors are called in:- would not have ventured to appropriate to Shaikespeare what, "Call in the messenger sent from the Dolphin, had really come from the pen of another. That tricks of tile And by your aid, the noble sinewes of our land kind were sometimes played by fraudulent booksellers, in France being ours, weele bring it to our awe, publishing single plays, is certainly true; but I-eminge and Or breaok it all in pieces: Condell were actors of repute, and men of character: they Eyther our Chronicles shal with full mouth speak reely of our acts, spwere presenting to the world, in an important volume, scatOr else like toonglesse mutes - tered perfbrmances, in order to " keep the memory of so Not worshipt with a paper epitaph." worthy a friend and fellow alive, as was our Shiakespeare, " Such is the speech as it is abridged and corrupted in the and we cannot believe that they would have included any quarto, 1600: the correct text, as contained in the folio of drama to which lie had no title. In all probability they had 1623, may be found in this edition. acted with Shakespeare in the first part of "Henry VI.:" It not unfrequently happened that the person who took they had received his instructions and directions from time down the lines as the actors delivered them, for the purpose to time with reference to the performance of it, and they must of publishing the quarto, 1600, misheard what was said, and almost necessarily have been acquainted with the real state used wrong words which in sound nearly resembled the right: of the property in it. thus, earlier in the same scene, the Archbishop of Canterbury Our opinion is therefore directly adverse to that of Malone, says, according to the folio, 1623, who, having been "long struck with the many evident "They of those Marches, gracious sovereign, hakespeaeaeaemsms in these plays," afterwards came to the Shall be a wall sufficient to defend conclusion that he had been entirely mistaken, and that none Our inland from the pilfering borderers." of these peculiarities were to be traced in the first part of In the quarto, 1600, the materials for which were probably "Henry VI.:" I am, therefore (he added), decisively of surreptitiously obtained at the theatre, the passage is thus opinion, that this play was not written by Shakespeare." To given:- support this notion, he published a "Dissertation on the "The'Marches, gracious soveraigne, shalbe sufficient Three Parts of King Henry VI.," in which he argued that To guard your England from the pilfering borderers." the first part was not only not the authorship of Shakespeare, e might multipy instances of the same kind, but we do but that it was not written by the same persons who had We might multiplyinstancesofcomposed the second and third parts of "iienry VI." ot this there can be any red sonable doubit upon the point. With reference to the question, how far and at what time The quartos, as we have stated, contain no hint of the Chorusses, ut a passage in that which precedes Act v. cr- Shakespeare became connected with the plays, known as the tainly relates to the expedition of the Earl of Essex to Ireland, it wahrees very usuaof ry V i our great dramatist, thr one between the 15th ApPril and the 28th Sep~t. 1599, and must it was very usual in the time ofour great dramatist, for one between wthe 1th April and the 28th Sept. 1599, and must poet to take up the production of another, and, by making iave been written during his absence:-additions to and improvements in it, to appropriate it to his "As, by a lower but loving likelihod,wn us or to the use of the theatre to which he belonged. (Were no the gene al of our grIsous emprelss This practice applied to the works of living as well as of dead Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, poets, and it has been conjectured that when Robert Greene, i-How many would the peaceful city quit in his " Groatsworth of WViit," 1592, spoke of Shakespeare, as To welcome him." t" the only Shake-scene in a country," and as " an upstart The above lines were, therefore, composed between the 15th crow beautified with our feathers," he alluded chiefly to the April and the 28th Sept. 1599, and most likely the Chorusses manner in which Shakespeare had employed certain dramas, formed part of the piece as originally acted, althou'gh the by Greene and others, as the. foundation of his three parts of short-hand writer did not think it a necessary.portion of the 1"Henry VI." These certain dramas were some undiscovered performance to be included in the earliest quarto, 1600, which original of the first part of " Henry VI.;" the first part of was to be brought on with great speed; and perhaps the " The Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York length of these and other recitations might somewhat baffle and Lancaster," 1600; and "The True Tragedy of Richard his skill. Upon this supposition, the question when Shake- Duke of York," 1595. It was by making additions, alteraspeare wrote his " Henry V." is brought to a narrow point; tions, and improvements in these three pieces, that Shakeand confirmed as it is by the omission of all mention of the speare's name became associated with them as their author, play by Meres, in his Palladis Tamia, 1598, we need feel lit- and hence the player-editors felt themselves justified in intie doubt that his first sketch came from the pen of Shake- serting them among his other works in the folio of 1623. speare, for performance at the Globe theatre, early in the There are two other theories respecting the elder plays we summer of 1599. The enlarged drama, as it stands in the have mentioned, neither of them as it seems to us, supported folio of 1623, we are disposed to believe was not put into the by sufficient testimony. One of them is, that the -first part complete shape in which it has there come down to us, until of "Henry VI.," as it is contained in the folio of 1623, the shortly before the date when it was played at Court. first part of the Contention," 1594, and the " True Tra__gedy, 1595, were in fact productions by Shakespeare himself, which he subsequently enlarged and corrected: the FIRST PART OF KING " HENRY VI. other theory is, that the two latter were early editions of the same dramas that we find in the folio, and that the imper"The first Part of Henry the Sixt" was printed originally in fections or variations in the quarto impressions are to be acthe folio of 1623, where it occupies twenty-four pages; viz, counted for by the surreptitious manner in which the mannfrom p. 96 to p. 119 inclusive, in the division of "His- script, from which they were printed, was obtained by the I tories. It was reprinted in the folios 1632, 1664, and 1685. booksellers. In support of the first of these opinions, little xc INTRODUCTION TO TIHE PLAYS. better than conjecture can be produced, contradicted by the wished to have it believed, that the old play was the producexpressions of Greene in 1592, as far as those expressions tion of our great dramatist. apply to these plays; and with regard to the second opinion, Shakespeare's property, according to our present notions, in some places the quarto editions of the first part of the was only in the additions and improvements he introduced, "Contention" and the "True Tragedy" are fuller, by many which are included in the folio of 1623. In Act. iv. so. 1, is lines, than the copy in the folio, 1623, which would hardly a line necessarily taken from "the first part of the Contenhave been the case, had the dialogue been taken down in tion," as the sense, without it, is incomplete; but the old short-hand, and corrected by memory: in the next place, the play has many passages which Shakespeare rejected, and the speeches have such a degree of completeness and regularity murder of Duke Humphrey is somewhat differently managed. as to render it very improbable that they were obtained by so In general, however, Shakespeare adopted the whole coniduct uncertain and imperfect an expedient. We think it most of the story, and did not think it necessary to correct the oblikely that the first part of" Henry VI." was founded upon a vious historical errors of the original. previous play, although none such has been brought to light: It is impossible to assign a date to this play excepting by and that the materials for the second and third parts of conjecture. Its success, perhaps, led to the entry at Station"Henry VI." were mainly derived from the older dramas of ers' Hall of the older play in March, 1593, and to its appearthe first part of " The Contention betwixt the Two Famous ance from the press in 1594. Houses of York and Lancaster," and " The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York." Although no such drama has come down to us, we know, TIRPD PART OF KING HET RY ~I. on the authority of Henslowe's Diary, that there was a play iiIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. called " Harey the VI." acted on 3d March, 1591-2, and so "The third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the popular as to have been repeated twelve times. This was, Duke of Yorke," was first printed in the folio of 1623, where perhaps, the piece which Shakespeare subsequently altered it occupies twenty-six pages, in the division of " Histories," and improved, and to which Nash alludes in his' Pierce viz. from p. 147 to p. 172, inclusive, pages 165 and 166 being Penniless," 1592 (sign. H. 2.), where he speaks of "brave misprinted 167 and 168, so that these numbers are twice Talbot" having been made "to triumph again on the stage," inserted. The error is corrected in the folio, 1632. The after having been two hundred years in his tomb. Malone play is also contained in the folios of 1664 and 1685. (Shakespetre, by Boswell, vol. iii. p. 298.) concludes deci-f te commentators ever saw the first edition of the sively in the affirmative on both these points, forgetting, No~r of the co mm entators ever saw the first edition of the however, that the "Harey the VI." acted by Henslowe's comn- drama upon which, we may presume, Shakespeare founded however, that the" Hare' the VI. acted. by Henslowelp comihtposilybealy gtuanhis third part of " IHenry VI.:" it bears the following title:pany, might possibly be a play got up and represented in con- ", The true Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, and tihe death sequence of the success of the drama in the authorship of of the good King Henrie the Sixt, with the whole contention whicf Shakespea orreat dramatist foundcerned his first pt of Henry VI." betweene the two houses Lancaster and Yorke, as it was sunupon the play produced by Henslowe's company, of course, it re is srat Pitt ononb P f m could not-have been written until after March, 1592; but with brMle his serants. Printed st London by P.. for Thomas regard to the precise date of its composition we must remain Millington, and are to be sold at his shoppe under Saint regarr t o the precise date of its composition we must remain Peters Church in Cornwal. 1595." Svo. This play, like "the in uncertainty. Malone's later notion was, as we have already First Part of the Contention," was reprinted for the same observed, that Shakespeare's hand was not to be traced in any part of it; but Steevens called attention to several re- bookseller in 1600t the year 1619 a re-ipession markable coincidences of expression, and passages might be of plays was published by T. P.; and the name of pointed out so much in the spirit and character of Shake-Shakespeare, as has been already observed in our Introducet'twe^d^ nout son mucheiv them spiito andcha ter comefom Shak tion to " Henry VI." part ii., first appears in connection with speare, that we cannot conceive them to have come from any these "histories" in. that edition. other pen. Coleridge has instanced the opening of the play Believing that Shakespeare was not the writer of "The as unlike Shakespeare's metre (Lit. Remains, vol. ii. p. 184.): First Part of the Contention," 1594, nor of " The True Trahe was unquestionably right; but he did not advert to the gedy of Richard Duke of York, 1595, and thit Malone estabfact, of which there is the strongest presumptive evidence, gedy of Richard Duke of York, 1595, and that Malone estabthat mor than oe autho w n o ok lished his position, that Shakespeare only enlarged and altered thatvery discore thdance of style fauthor was engagedrt of the proofrk an. in hie them, it becomes a question by whom they were produced. lectures in 1815, Coleridge adduced many lines which he be- Chlers, ho posesed the only known copy of The True hieved must have been written by Shakespeare. Tragedy," 1595, without scruple assigned thiit piece to Chrislieved must have been written by Shakespeare *topher arlowe. Although there is no ground whatever for giving it to Marlowe, there is some reason for supposing that r^T^/^.^-^T-rv -PART OF Kr-^ING HENRY'T-v -j - it came from the pen of Robert Greene. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. In the Introduction to "Henry VI." part i., we alluded, as "The second Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the far aswas there necessary, to the language of Greene when Good Duke Hvmfrey," was first printed in the folio of 1623, speaking of Shakespeare in his "Groatsworth of Wit," 1592. where it occupies twenty-seven pages; viz. from p. 120 to This tract was not published until after the death of its author p. 146 inclusive, in the division of " Histories." It fills the in Sept. 1592, when it appeared under the editorship of Henry same place in the subsequent folio impressions. Chettle'; and what follows is the whole that relates to our e h istory" is an alteration of a play printed in 1594, great dramatist:-" Yes, trust them not; for there is an upTimE " historyE is an alteration of a play printed in 1594, start crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's under the following title: " The First part of the Contention heart, wrapo'd in aplayers hide, supposes he is as well able betwixt the two famous houses of Yorke and Lancaster, with to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being the death of the good Duke Humphrey: And the banishment an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the and death of the Duke of Suffolke, and the Tragicall end of only Shakescene in a countrey." (Dyce's Edit. of Greene's the proud Cardinall of Winchester, with the notable Rebellion Works, I. lxxxi;) In this extract, although Geene talks of of Iacke Cade: And the Duke of Yorkes first claime unto the an upstart crow beautifed with our feathers," he seems to Crowne. London Printed by Thomas Creed, for Thomas have referred principally to his own works, and to the manner Millingtorn, and are to be sold at his shop under Saint Peter's h which Shakespeare had availed himself of them. This Church in Cornwall. 1594.11 By whom it was written we qin which Shakes pare had availed himself of them. This Church in Cornwall. 1594." By whom it was written we opinion is somewhat confirmed by two lines in a tract called have no information; but it was entered on the Stationers', Greene's Funerals," by R. B., 1594, where the writer is Registers on the 12th March, 1593. Millington published a adverting to the obligations of other authors to Greene second edition of it in 1600: on the 19th April, 1602, it wass f e assigned by Millington to Tho. Pavier, and we hear of it Nay more, the men that so eclips'd hi fame again, in the Stationers' Register, merely as "'Yorke and Purloid his plumes-c they deny the same Lancaster," on the 8th November, 1630. Here R. B. nearly adopts Greene's words, " beautified'with The name of Shakespeare was not connected with "the our feathers," and applies to him individually what Greene, first part of the Contention," until about the year 1619, when perhaps to avoid the charge of egotism and vanity, had stated T. P. (Thomas Pavier) printed a new edition of the first, and more generally. It may be mentioned, also, as a confirmatory what he called "' the second, part" of the same play, with the circumstance, that the words "tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a name of " William Shakspeare, Gent." upon the general title- player's hide," in our extract from the " Groatsworth of page. The object of Pavier was no doubt fraudulent: he Wit," are a repetition, with the omission of an interjection and 1 Cettle acknowledges the important share he had in the publica- made for the Percy Society, vunder the editorial care of Mr. Rimbault. tion of " The Groatsworth of Wit," in his "Kind-heart's Dream," In his address to the " Gentlemen Readers," Chettle apologizes to which was printed at the close of 1592, or in the beginning of 1593. Shakespeare (not by name) for having been instrumental in the pub5.ee the excellent reprint of this very curious and interesting tract lication of Greene's attack upon him. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. xci the change of a word, of a line in "The True Tragedy," 1595, pation: with tile whole course of his detested life, and "(.0 tiger's heart, wrapp'din a woman's hide."most deserued death. As it hath beene lately Acted by the R, n a womans hdeight honourable the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. At Thus Greene, when charging Shakespeare with having ap- London, Printed b Valentine Sims, for Andrew Wise, propriated his plays, parodies a line of his own, as if to show dwelling in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Angell, the particular productions to which he alluded'. 1597." 4to. 47 leaves. Another fact tends to the same conclusion: it is a striking "The Tra*edie of King Richard the third. Conteining coincidence bet~ween a passage in "'he True Tragedy"' and his treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence: the Some lines in one of GreenE's ack-nowledged draimas, Alsome lines i one of Greene's acknowledged dramas, Al-T pitiful murther of his innocent Nephewes: his tyrannicall phonsus, King of Arragon," printed, in 1599, by Thomas vsurpation: with the whole course of his detested life, and Creed, the same printer who, in 1594, had produced from his most deserued death. As it hath beene lately Acted by the press an edition of "The First Part of the Contention." In Right honourable the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. By " Alphonsus" the hero kills Flaminius, his enemy, and thus William Shake-speare. London Printed by Thomas Creede, addresses the dying man:-for Andrew Wise, dwelling in Paules Church-yard, at the "Go, pack thee hence unto the Stygian lake, signe of the Angell. 1598." 4to. 47 leaves. And make report unto thy traitorous sire, The Tragedie of King Richard the third. Conteining his How well thou hast enjoy'd the diadem, treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence: the pittifull Which he by treason set upon thy head:ocent Nephewc: hi tyrannicall vurpaAnd if he ask thee who did send thee down, murther of his innocent Nep ewes: his trannicall vsurpaAlphonsus say, who now must wear thy crown." tion: with the whole course of his detested life, and most In "The Tr ue Tr gedy," 1595, Richard, while stabbing deserued death. As it hath bene lately Acted by the Right In The True Tragedy," 1595, Richard, while stabbing Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. Newly Henry VI. a second time, exclaims, augmented, By William Shakespeare. London Printed by " If any spark of life remain in thee, Thomas Creede, for Andrew Wise, dwelling in Paules Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither." Church-yard, at the signe of the Angell. 1602." 4to. 46 Shakespeare, when altering "'The True Tragedy" for his leaves. own theatre, (for, as originally composed, it had been played The Tragedie of King Richard the third. Conteining his by the Earl of Pembroke's servants, for whom Greene was in treacherous Plots against his brotner Clarence: the pittifull the habit of writing) adopted the line, murther of his innocent Nephewes: his tyrannicall vsurpation: with the whole course of his detested life, and most ( 0 tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide," descrued death. As it hath bin lately Acted by the Right without the change of a letter, and the couplet last quoted Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. Newly with only a very slight variation; augmented, by William Shake-speare. London, Printed "If any spark of life be yet remaining, by Thomas Creede, and are to be sold by Matthew Lawe, Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither." dwelling in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Foxe, As in c" Henry VI." part ii., Shakespeare availed himself near S. Austins gate, 1605." 4to. 46 leaves. of'"The First Part of the Contention," 1594, so in "Henry In the folio of 1623, "The Tragedy of Richard the Third: VI." part iii., he aplied to his own purposes much of "The with the Landing of the Earle of Richmond, and the BatTrue Tragedy of Richard Duke of York," 1595. He made, tell t Bowort Field," occpies thity-two e; viz. however, considerable omissions, as well as large additions, from p. 173 to. 204 inclusive. There is no material variaand in the last two Acts he sometimes varied materially from tio in the later folios. the conduct of the story as he found it in the older play. One THE popularity of Shakespeare's " Richard the Third" must improvement may be noticed, as it shows the extreme simpli- have been great,'judging only from the various quarto editions city of our stage just before what we may consider Shake- which preceded the publication of it in the folio of 1623. It speare's time; and it is to be ascertained by comparing two originally came out in 1597, without the name of the author: scenes of his " Henry VI." part iii., (Act iv. sc. 2 and 3) with it was reprinted in 1598, with " by William Shake-speare" a portion of "The True Tragedy." In the older play, War- on the tite-page, and again in 16022, all three impressions wick, Oxford, and Clarence, aided by a party of soldies, having been made for the same bookseller, Andrew Wise. standing on one part of the stage, concert a plan for surpris- On the 27th June, 1603, it was assigned to Mathew Lawe, as ing Edward IV. in his tent on another part of the stage. appears by an entry in the Stationers' Registers; accordingly, Having resolved upon the enterprise, they merely cross the he published the fourth edition of it with the date of 1605: boards of Edward's encampment, the audience being required the fifth edition was printed for the same bookseller in 16133. to suppose that the assailing party had travelled from theirThis seems to have been the last time it came out in quarto, own quarters in order to arrive at Edward's tent. Shake- anterior to its appearance in the first folio'; but after that speare showed his superior judgment by changing the place, date, three other quarto impressions are known, viz. in 1624, and by interposing a dialogue between the Watchmen, who 1629. and 1634, and it is remarkable that these were all mere guard the Kina's tent. Robert Greene, in his "Pinner of reprints of the earlier quartos, not one of them including any Wakefield," (See "' Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the of the passages which the player-editors of the folio first inStage," vol. iii. p. 368.) relied on the imagination of his audi- serted in their volume. This fact might show that the pubtors, exactly in the same way as the author of "The True lishers of the later quartos did not know that there were any Tragedy." material variations between the earlier quartos and the folio, It is to be observed of " Henry VI." part iii., as was re- that they did not think them of importance, or that the promarked in the Introduction to the second part of the same jectors of the folio were considered to have some species of play, that a line, necessary to the sense, was omitted in the copyright in the additions. These additions, extending in folio, 1623, and has been introduced into our text from 1" The one instance to more than fifty lines, are pointed out in our True Tragedy," 1595. It occurs in Act ii. se. 6, and it was, notes. It will also be found that more than one speech in probably, accidentally omitted by the copyist of the manu- the folio is unintelligible without aid fionm the quartos; and script from which Shakespeare's " history, as it appears in for some other characteristic omissions, particularly for one the folio, was printed. in Act iv. se. 2, it is not possible to account. With respect to the additions in the folio of 1623, we have KING RICHARD III. no means of ascertaining whether they formed part of the original play. Stevens was of opinion that the quarto, 1597, "' The Tragedy of King Richard the third. Containing, His contained a better text than the folio: such is not our treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence: the pittie- opinion; for though the quarto sets right several doubtful full murther of his innocent nephewes: his tyrannicall vsur- matters, it is not well printed, even for a production of that 1 There is a trifling fact connected with " Henry VI." part i, a no- a reprint of the previous impressions of 1597 and 1598, for the same tice of which ought not to be omitted, when considering the question bookseller. It is possible that the augmentations observable in the of the authorship of some yet undiscovered original, upon which that folio of 1623 were made shortly before 1602, and that Wise wished it play might be founded. In Act v. sc. 3, these two lines occur:- to be thought, that his edition of that year contained them. The "She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd; quarto reprints, subsequent to that of 1602, all purport to have been She is a woman, therefore to be won.":newly augmented." The last of these lines is inserted in Greene's "Planetomachia," 3 Malone gives the date 1612, and in his copy at Oxford the last printed as early as 1585. In" The First Part of the Contention" a figure is blurred. The title-page in no respect differs from that of pirate is mentioned, who is introduced into another of Greene's pro- 1605, excepting that the play is said to have been "acted by the ductions. King's MIajesty's servants." They were not so called, until after 2 By the title-pages of the four earliest editions on the opposite leaf, May, 1603. it will be seen, that it was professed by Andrew Wise, that the play 4 An impression in 1622 is mentioned in some lists, but the exist4n 1602, had been " newly augmented," although it was in fact only ence of a copy of that date is doubtful. xcii INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. day, and bears marks of having been brought out in haste, ng the death of Edward IV., and the whole story is thencealnd from ian ilnperfect manuscript. Tile copy of the " his- forward most inartificially and clumsily conducted, with a tory" in the fulio of 1623 was in some places a reprint of the total disregard of dates, facts, and places, by characters iamquarto, 1602, as several obvious errors of the press are re- perfectly drawn and ill sustained. Shore's wife plays a conpeated, righqt for "fight," lielps for "helms," &c. For the ad- spicuous part; and the tragedy does not finish with the titions, a'manuscript was no doubt employed; and the va- battle of Bosworth Field, but is carried on subsequently, riations in some scenes, particularly near the middle of the although the plot is clearly at an end. The conclusion is play, are so numerous, and the corrections so frequent, that quite as remairkable as the commencement. After the desth it is probable a transcript belonging to the theatre was there of Richard, Report (a personification like some of those in the consulted. Our text is that of the folio, with due notice of old Moralities) enters, and holds a dialogue with a Page, to itll the chief variations. inform the audience of certain matters not exhibited; ancd Tilie earliest entry in the Stationers' Registers relating to after a long scene between Richmond, the Queen mother, Shakespeare's " Richard the Third," is in these terms:- Princess Elizabeth, &c., two'Messengers enter, and, mixina " 20 Oct. 1597 with the personages of the play, detail the succession of Andrew Wisel The Tragedie of Kinge Richard the Third, events anc of monarchs from the death of Richard until the with the death of the Duke of Clarence." accession of Elizabeth. The Queen mother then comes forThis memoranduim, probtbly, immediately preceded the ward, and pronounces an elaborate panegyric upon Elizabeth, publication of the quarto, 1597. The only other entry relat- ending with these lines: — Ing to "Richard the Third " we have already mentioned, "For which, if ere her life be taen away, and the exact words of it may be seen in a note to our Intro- God grant her soule may live in heaven for aye; duction to " Richard the Second." For if her Graces dayes be brought to end, It is certain that there was a'historical drama upon some Your hope is gone, on whom did peace depend." of the events of the reign of Richard III. anterior to that of As in this sort of epilogue no allusion is made to thio ShaIkespeare. T. W~artoil quoted Sir John Ilarington's Spanish Armada, though other public events of less promiApoloale for Poetry," prefixed to his translation of Ariosto nenes are touched upon, we may perhaps infer that. the in 1591, respecting a tragedy of "Richard the Third," acted drama was written before the year 1588. iat St. John's, Cambridge, which would "have moved Pha- The style in which it is composed also deserves observation: laris, the tyrant, and terrified all tyrannous-minded men;" it is partly in prose, partly in heavy blank-verse, (such as mind Steevens adduced Heywood's "Apology for Actors1," was penned before Marlowe had introduced his improve1612, to the samine effect, without apparently being aware that ments, and Shakespeare had adopted and advanced them) Hleywood was professedly only repeating the words of Her- partly in ten-syllable rhyming couplets, and stanzas, and iiigton. Both those authors, however, referred to a Latin partly in the long fourteen-syllable metre, which seems to driama on the story of Richard III., written by Dr. Legge, have been popular even before prose was employed upon our iaond acted at Cambridge before 15883. Steevens followed up stage. In every point of view it may be asserted, that few his quotation from Heywood by the copy of an entry in the more curious dramatic relics exist in our language. It is perStationers' Registers, dated June 19, 1594, relating to an haps the most ancient printed specimen of composition for a Enalish play on the same subject. When Steevens wrote, public theatre, of which the subject was derived from Engand for many years afterwards, it was not known that such a lish history. drama had ever been printed; but in 1821 Boswell reprinted Boswell asserts that " The True Tragedy of Richard the ia larie fragment of it (with many errors) from a copy want- Third" bad " evidently been used and read by Shakespeare," ings the commencement. A perfect copy of this very rare bnt we cannot trace any resemblances, but such as were proplay is in the collection of the Duke of Devonshire, and from bably purely accidental, and are merely trivial. Two persons it weve transcribe the fbllowing title-page:- could hardly take up the same period of our annals, as the "The true Tra'cedie of Richard the third: Wherein is ground-work of a drama, without some coincidences; but showne the death of Edward the fourth, with the smothering there is no point, either in the conduct of the plot or in the of the two yoong Ptrinces in the Tower: With a lamentable language in which it is clothed, where our great dramatist ende of Shore's wife, an exasmple for all wicked women. does not show his measureless superiority. The portion of And lastly, the coniunction and ioyning of the two noble;the story in which the two plays make the nearest approach Houses, Lancaster and Yorke. As it was playd by the to each other, is just before the murder of the princes, where Queeines Maiesties Players. London Printed by Thmomnas- Richard strangely takes a page into his confidence respecting Creede, and are to be sold by William Barley, at his shop in the fittest agent for the purpose. Newgate Mlarket, n.eare Christ Church doore. 159." It is not to be concluded, because the title-page of " The This title-page so-neiarly corresponds with the entry in the True Tragedy of Richard the Third" expresses that it was Stationers' Reeisfers2, a,' to leave no doubt that the latter re- acted " by thle Queen's Majesty's''Players," that it was the ferred to the former. The piece itself, as a literary composi- association to which Shakespeare belomged, and which betion, deserves little remark, but as a drama it possesses se- came "the King's Players" after James I. ascended the veral peculiar features. It is in some respects unlike any throne. In 1583, the Queen selected a company from the relic of the kind, and was evidently written several years theatrical serv ants of several of her nobility; (Hist. of Engl. before it came from Creede's press. It opens with a singular Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. 254;) and in 1590 there dialogne between Truth and Poetry:- were two companies, called "her Majesty's Players," one "Poetrie. Truth, well met. under the meangement of Laneham, and the other of Laud: Trusth. Thankes, Poetrie: what makes thou upon a stage? rence Duttoh3. By one of these companies "The True Tra"Poet. Shadowes. gedy of Richard'the Third" must have been performed. Truth. Then, will I adde bodies to the shadowes. Until te death of Elizabeth, the association to hich ShakeThlerefore depart, and -ive Truth leave Toa hew her pageantl. speare was attached was usually called "the Lord Chaillber"Poet. Why, will Truth be a Player? lain's Servants."' Truth. No; but Tragedia like for to present In the " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 121, it is shown A Tragedie in England done but late, that IHenslowe's company, subsequent to 1599, was either in That will revive the hearts of drooping mindes. possession of a play upon the story of Richard III., or that uPoet. Whereof? some of the poets he employed were engaged upon such a Trsituthl. M\arry, thus." drama. From the sketch of five scenes, there inserted, we Hence Truth proceeds with a sort of argument of the play; may judge that it was a distinct performance from " The but before the Induction begins, the ghost of George, Duke Trrue Tra-gedy of Richerd the Third." By an entry in Hemof Clarence, had passed over the stage, delivering two lines slowe's Diary, dated 22d June, 1602, we learn that Ben Jonas he went, which we give precisely as in the original copy son received 101. in earnest of a play called "R ichard Crooknow before us: — back," and for certain additions he was to make to Kyd's "Cresse cruor sanguinis, satietur sanguine cresse, Spanish Tragedy. Considering the success of Shakespeare's Quod spero scitio. 0 scitio, scitio, vendictea!" "Richard the Third," and the active contention, at certain The drama itself afterwards opens with a scene represent- periods, between the company to which Shakespeare be1 Stevens calls it " The Actors' Vindication," as indeed it was enti- wvith the Smotheringe of the twoo Princes in the Tower, with tied when it was republished (with alterations and insertions) by a lamentable End of Shores wife, and the conjunction of the Cartwright the Comedian, without date, but during the Civil WTars. twoo Houses of Lancaster and York. See the reprint of this tract by the Shakespeare Society, the text being 3 This new fact in the history of our early drama and theatres, we taken from the first impression. owe to Mr. Peter Cunningham, who establishes it beyond contradic2 It is as follows, being rather unusually particular:- tion, in his interesting and important volume of " Extracts from.the Tho. Creedel An Enterlude entitled the Tragedie of Richard Accounts of the Revels at Court," printed for the Shakespeare Sothe Third, wherein is shoawen the Death of Edward the Fourthe, ciety. Introd. p. xxxii. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. xciii longed, and that under the management of H-cnslowe, it known before it appeared in the folio of 1623, and we may may be looked upon as singular, that the latter should have infer that Butter failed in getting "good allowance" with been without a drama on that portion of English history "the wardens' hands to it." until after 1599; and it is certainly not less singular, that as The Globe Theatre was destroyed on 29th June, 1613, the late as 1602 Ben Jonson should have been occupied in writ- thatch with which it was covered having been fired by the ing a new play upon the subject. Possibly, about that date discharge of some small pieces of ordnance. (Hist. of Engl. Shakespeare's " Richard the Third " had been revived with Dram. )Poetrv and the Stage, vol. iii. p. 298.) It has been the additions; and hence the employment of Jonson on a stated by Howes, in his continuation of Stowe's Chronicle, rival drama, and the publication of the third edition of Shake- that the play then in a course of representation was " Henry speare's tragedy after an interval of four years. the Eighth;" but Sir Henry Wotton, who is very particular Malone was of opinion that Shakespeare wrote "Richard in his description of the calamity, asserts that the play was the Third " in 1593, but did not adduce a particle of evidence, called " All is True." There is little doubt that he is right, and none in fact exists. We should be disposed to place it because a ballad, printed on the occasion, has the burden of somewhat nearer the time of publication. "All is True": at the end of every stanza. The question then is, whether this was Shakespeare's "Henry the Eighth" under a different title, or a different play? Sir Henry Wotton informs us in terms that it was "a new play,") and as he KIIN-G HEN'RY VIII. was right in the title, we may have the more faith in his statement respecting the novelty of the performance. "The Famous History of the Life of King Henry the Eight," In the instance of " Henry the Eighth," as of many other was first printed in the folio of 1623, where it occupies works by our great dramatist, there is ground for believing twenty-eight pages; viz. from p. 205 to p. 232, inclusive that there existed a preceding play on tile same story. HenIt is the last plav in the division of " Histories." It fills slowe's Diary affords us some.curious and important evithe same place in the later impressions in the same form. dence on this point, unknown to Malone. According to this authority two plays were written in the year 1601 for the THE principal question, in relation to Shakespeare's Earl of Nottingham's players, on the events of the life of " Henry the Eighth," is, when it was written. We are satis- Cardinal Wolsey, including necessarily some of the chief infied, both by the internal and external evidence, that it cidents of the reign of Henry VIII.'These plays consisted came from the poet's pen after James I. had. ascended the of a first and second part, the one called "The Rising of' throne. Cardinal Wolsey," and the other, " Cardinal Wolsey." We Independently of the whole character of the drama, which collect that the last was produced first, and the success it met was little calculated to please Elizabeth, it seems to us that with on the stage was perhaps the occasion of the second Cranmer's prophecy, in Act v. sc. 4, is quite decisive. There drama, containing, in fact, the commencement of the story. the poet first speaks of Elizabeth, and of the advantages de- Of this course of proceeding Henslowe's Diary furnishes rived from her rule, and then proceeds in the clearest several other examples. manner to notice her successor:- The earliest entry relating to "' Cardinal Wolsey," (tlhe second play in the order of the incidents, though the earliest "Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when in point of production) is dated 5th June, 1601, when Henry The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phcenix, Chettle was paid 20s. "for writing the book of Cardinal Her ashes new create another heir, Wolsey." On the 14th July'he was paid 40s. more on the As great in estimation as herself; same account, and in the whole, between 5th June and 1Ttl So shall she leave her blessedness to oneand 7t (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness) Jly, he wapaid 51., as large a sum as he sually obtained Who from the sacred ashes of her honour for a new play.'Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, We have no positive testimony of the success of "' CardiAnd so stand fix'd." nal Wolsey," of which Chettle was the sole author; but we are led to infer it, because very soon afterwards we find no Ingenuity cannot pervert these lines to any other meaning; fewer than four poets engaged upon the production of the but it has been said that they, and some others which follow drama under the title of " The Rising of Cardinal Wolsey," them, were a subsequent introduction; and, moreover, that which, doubtless, related to his early life, and to his gradual they were the work of Ben Jonson, on some revival of the advance in the favour of Henry VIII. These four poets were play in the reign of James I. There does not exist the Drayton, Chettle, Munday, and Wentworth Smith; and so slightest evidence to establish,either proposition. Any per- mamny pens, we may conjecture, were employed, that the play soe, reading the whole of Cranmer's speech at the christening, might be brought out with all dispatch, in order to follow up can hardly fail to perceive such an entireness and sequence the popularity of what may be looked upon as thie second of thoughts and words in it, as to make it very unlikely part of the same "history." Another memorandum in Henthat it was not dictated by the same intellect, and written slowe's Diary tends to the same conclusion, for it appears by the same pen. Malone and others made mup their minds that the play was licensed piece-meal by the Master of the thiat "Henry the Eighths " was produced before the death of Revels, that it might be put into rehearsal as it proceeded, Elizabeth; and finding the passage we have quoted directly and represented immediately after it was finished. in the teeth of this supposition, they charged it as a subse- A farther point established by the same authority is, that quent addition, fixed the authorship of it upon a different IHenslowe expended an unusual amount in getting up the poet, and printed it within brackets. - drama. On the 10th Aug. 1601, he paid no less than 211. for As to external evidence, there is one fact which has never "velvet, sattin, and taffeta" for the dresses, a sum equal now had sufficient importance given to it. We allude to tihe fol- to about 1001. Upon the costumes only, in the whole, lowing memorandum in the Registers of the Stationers' considerably more than 2001. were laid out, reckoning the Company:- value of money in 1601 at about five times its value at "12 Feb. 1604 present, "l Nth.;Butteri Yf he get good allowance for the En- We may conclude with tolerable certainty that Shakespeare Naterlude of K Henry 8th before ie beyn to sint it' wrote " Henry the Eighth " in the winter of 1603-4, and terlude of K. Henry 8th before he begyn to print it; ^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ the Globe sooh after the commenceand then procure time wardess hands to yt for thethat it was first acted at the Globe soon after the commenceand t hen procure the wardens hands to yt for the ment of the season there, which seems to have begun toentrance of vt: he is to have the same for his copy." theat open to t wards the close of April, as soon as a theatre open to the Chalmers asserted, without qualification, that this entry weather could be conveniently employed. The coronatioln referred: to a contemporaneous play by Samuel Rowley, under procession of Anne Bullen forms a prominent feature in the tihe title of "'When you see me you know me," 1605; but drama; and as the coronation of James I. and Anne of Denthe " enterlude " is expressly called in the entry, " K. Henry mark took place on the 24th July, 1603, we may not unrea8th," and we feel no hesitation in concluding that it referred sonably suppose that the audiences at the Globe were into Shakespeare's drama, which had probably been brought tended to be reminded of that event, and that the show, doout at thle Globe Theatre in the summer of 1604. The me- tailed with such unusual minuteness in the folio of 1623, was moraindurm, judging fiom its terms, seems to hlave been made, meant as a remote imitation of its splendour. The opinion, not ait the instance of Nathaniel Butter, the bookseller, but that Shakespeare's " Henry the Eighth " was undoubtedly of the company to which Shakespeare belonged, audin order written after the accession of James I., was expressed and to prevent a surreptitious publication of the play. The printed by us nearly twenty years ago. The words "aged "12 Feb. 1604," wamis, of course, according to our present princess," (no part of the imputed addition by Ben Jonson) reckoning time 12 Feb. 1605, and at that date Butter had not would never have been used by Shakespeare during the life begun to print "Henry the Eighth." No edition of it is of Elizabeth. xciv INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. s AT"H tories," and "Tragedies," at the beginning of the TIUROILUS AND C -RESSID'A. volume was most likely printed last, and the person who The Famous Historic of Troylus and Cresseid. Excellently formed it accidentally omitted " Troilus and Cressida," beexpressing the beginning of their loues, with the conceited cause it had been as accidentally omitted in the pagination. wooing of Pandarus Prince of Licia. Written by Wil- No copy of the folio of 1623 is, we believe, known, which liam Shakespeare. London Imprinted by G. Eld for R. does not contain "Troilus and Cressida:" it is not there diBonian and H. Walley, and are to be sold at the spred Eagle vided into acts and scenes, although at the commencement of in Paules Ch urch-yeard, ouer against the great North doore. the piece we have Actus Primus, Sccena Prima. 1609. 4to. 46 leaves. Such are the facts connected with the appearance of the The Historic of Troylus and Cresseida. As it was acted by tragedy in quarto and folio. It seems very evident that the Kings Maiesties seruants at the Globe. Written by " Troilus and Cressida " was acted in the interval between the William Shakespeare. London Imprinted by G. Eld for first and the second issue of the quarto, as printed by G. Eld R. Bonian and HI. Walley, and are to be sold at the spred for Bonian and Walley in the early part of 1609. It is probEagle in Paules Church-yeard, ouer against the great able that our great dramatist prepared it for the stage in the North doore. 1609. 4to. 45 leaves. winter of 1608-9, with a view to its production at the Globe In the folio of 1623, " The Tragedie of Troylus and Cressida" as soon as the season commenced at that theatre: before it occupies twenty-nine pages, the Prologue filling the first was so produced, and after it had been licensed,1 Bonian and page and the last being left blank. It retains its place in Walley seem to have possessed themselves of a copy of it; the later folios; but in that of 1685 the Prologue is placed and having procured it to be printed, issued it to the world at the head of the page on which the play commences. as "a new play, never staled with the stage, never clapperWE will first state the facts respecting the early impressions clawed with the palms of the vulgar." That they had obof" Troilus and Cressida," and then make such obervations talied it without the consent of the company, " the grand upo trolushem and see ssid necessarytions possessors," as they are called, may be gathered from the The play was originally printed in 1609. It was formerly conclusion of the preface. The second issue of Bonian and supposed that there were two editions in that year, bnt they Walley's edition of 1609 was not made until after the tragedy were merely different issues of the same impression: the had been acted at the Globe, as is stated on the title-page. body of the work (with two exceptions, pointed out hereafter) This is an easy and intelligible mode of accounting for the is alike in each; they were from the types of the same main differences in the quarto copies; and it enables us with printer, and were published by the same booksellers. The o usibility to conjecture, that the date when Shakestitle-pages, as may be seen on the opposite leaf, vary ma- peare wrote "Troilus and Cressida" was not long before it terially: but there is another more remarkable alteration. was first represented, and a still shorter time before it was (n the title-page of the copies first circulated, it is not stated first printed. that the drama had been represented by any company; and Some difficulty has arisen out of the entry, already quoted, in a sort of preface headed, " A never Writer to an ever of a " Troilus and Cressida" in the Stationers' books, with Reader. News," it is asserted that it had never been " staled the date of 7th Feb. 1602-3, in which entry it is stated that with the stage, never clapper-clawed with the palms of the the play was " acted by the Lord Chamberlain's servants;" vulgar;" in other words, that the play had not been acted. the company to which Shakespeare belonged having been so This was probably then true; but as " Troilus and Cressida" denominated anterior to the license of James I. in May, 1603. was very soon afterwards brought upon the stage, it became This circumstance formed Malone's chief ground for contendnecessary for the publishers to substitute a new title-page, iug that Shakespeare wrote his " Troilus and Cressida" in and to suppress their preface: accordingly a re-issue of the 1602. It may, however, be reasonably inferred that this was same edition took place, by the title-page of which it ap- a different play on the same subject. Every body must be peared, that the play was printed " as it was acted by the struck with the remarkable inequality of some parts of King's Majesty's servants at the Globe." Shakespeare's " Troilus and Cressida," especially towards In the Stationers' Registers are two entries, of distinct dates, the conclusion: they could hardly have been written by the relating to a play, or plays, called, " Troilus and Cressida:" pen which produced the magnificent speeches of Ulysses and they are in the following terms:- other earlier portions, and were probably relics of a drama "7 Feb. 1602-3 acted by the Lord Chamberlain's servants about 1602, and in "Mr. Roberts] The boo'ke of Troilus and Cresseda, as the spring of1603 intended to be printed by Roberts. In April yt is acted by my Lo. Chamberlens men." and May, 1599, it appears by Henslowe's Diary that lie paid " 28 Jar. 1608-9 various sums to Dekker and Cihettle for a play they were then " Rich. Bonion and Hen. Whallevs] Entered for their writing utnder the title of " Troilus and Cressida:" it may be copie under t' hands of Mr. Segar Deputy to concluded that it was soon afterwards acted by the Earl of Sir Geo, Bucke, and Mr. Warden Lownes: A Nottingham's players, for whom it was composed; tand the booke called the History of Troylus and Cressula."" Troilus and Cressida," entered by Roberts on the 7th Feb. The edition of 1609 was, doubtless, published in conse- 1602-3, may have been a tragedy, not by Shakespeare, brought quence of the entry of ~ "28 Jan. 1608-9;" but if Roberts out by the Lord Chamberlain's servants at the Globe, in comnprinted a (" Troilus and Cressida," whether by Shakespeare petition with their rivals at the Rose or Fortune. Of this or by any other dramatist, in consequence of the earlier entry piece it is not impossible that Shakespeare in some degree of "'7 Feb. 1602-3," none such has come down to our time. availed himself; and he might be too much in haste to iave Shakespeare's tragedy was not again printed, as far as can time to alter and improve all that his own taste and genius now be ascertained, until it appeared, under rather peculiar would otherwise have rejected. circumstances, in the folio of 1623. This brings us to the question of the source from which In that volume the dramatic works of Shakespeare, as is Shakespeare derived his plot: how far he did, or did not, well known, are printed in three divisions-" Comedies," follow the older play we suppose him to have employed, it " Histories," and "Tragedies;" and a list of them, under is not possible to determine. In 1581 "'a proper ballad, those heads is inserted at the commencement. In that list dialogue-wise, between Troilus and Cressida" was entered " Troilus and Cressida" is not found; and it is farther re- on the Stationers' Registers by Edward White, and in the lax markable, that it is inserted near the middle of the folio of form of expression of that day this may have been a dramatic 1623, without any pa.ging, excepting that the second leaf is performance. More than a century earlier, viz. in 1471, Caxnumbered 79 and 80: the signatures also do not correspond ton had printed his "Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye," with any others in the series. Hence it was inferred by which at various dates, and in a cheap form, was reprinted. Farmer, that the insertion of " Troilus and Cressida " was Ldgate's " History, Sege, and Destruccyon of Troye " came an afterthought by the player-editors, and that when the rest from Pynson's press in 1513; but Shakespeare seems to have of the folio was printed, they had not intended to include it. been so attentive a reader of Chaucer's five books of " Troylus It seems to us, that there is no adequate ground for this and Creseyda" (of which the last edition, anterior to the pronotion, and that the peculiar circumstances to which we have duction of Shakespeare's play, appeared in 1602) as to have alluded may be sufficiently accounted for by the supposition been considerably indebted to them. It is not easy to trace that " Troilus and Cressida" was given to, and executed by, any direct or indirect obligations on the part of Shakespeare a different printer. The paging of the folio of 1623 is in to Chapman's translation of Homer, of which the earliest several places irregular, and in the division of " Tragedies " portion canme out in 1598. It is well known that the adven(at the head of which " Troilus and Cressida" is placed) tures of Troilus and Cressida are not any where mentioned in there is a mistake of 100 pages. The list of " Comedies," the Iliad. 1 We infer this from the terms of the entry in the Stationers' acted for the Master of the Bevels. Sir George Buck was not formally Registers, in which Sir George Buck, and his deputy, Segar, axe appointed until 1610. mentioned. It is upon this evidence only that we know that Segar INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. xcv After adverting to the real or supposed origin of the story ment of the received text. This copy of the second issue of of " Troilus and Cressida," Coleridge remarks in his Literary the quarto, 1609, seems originally to have belonged to HumRemains, vol. ii. p. _130, that it "can scarcely be classed with phry Dyson, a curious collector, who considerably outlived his dramas of Greek and Roman History; but it forms an in- Shakespeare, and who registers on the title-page, with the termediate link between the fictitious Greek and Roman Hits- attestation of his signature, that " Troilus and Cressida "' was tories, which we may call legendary dramas, and the proper " printed amongest the workes " of Shakespeare, referring of ancient histories; that is, between the Pericles or Titus An- course to tlhe folio of 1623. dronicas, and the Coriolanus or Julius Caesar." He then ad- Dryden produced an alteration of " Troilus and Cressida" verts to the characters of the hero and heroine, and the at the Dorset Garden Theatre in 1679, and it was printed in purpose Shakespeare had in view of pourtraying them, and the same year: in the preface he states that he had" refined goes on to observe:-" I am half inclined to believe that Shakespeare's language, which before was obsolete." Shakespeare's main object, or sliall I rather say, his rulingo impulse, was to translate the poetic heroes of paganism into the not less rude, but more intellectually vigorous, and more A D D ES S featurely, warriors of Christian chivalryv.-and to substantiate the distinct and graceful profiles or outlines of the Homeric PREFIXED TO SOME COPIES OF TIE EDITION OF 1609. epic into the flesh and blood of the romantic drama, —in short, to give a grand history-piece in the robust style of Albert Durer." Consistently in some degree with this opinion, A never Writer to an ever Reader. News'. Schlegel remarks, that the whole play is one continued irony Eternal reader. you have ere ew play never led wit of the crown of all heroic tales-the tale of Troy," and after the stage, never'clapper-clawed with the pahns of the ulgart dwelling briefly upon this point, he adds -"in all this let no taIe stge, neverl c - clawed wit p s of tie vulgr mnan conceive that an indignity was intended to Homer: and yet rassing full of te palmt comock l to it cm a bvtl of Shakespeare had not the Iliad before hii, but the chivalrous your brain, that never undertook ally thing comicl vnly: and were but the vain haiines of cpmedies changed for the Lomances ov tile Trojan war derived fros Dtil~es Phry,~ titles of connodities, 0r of pslas for pleas, you should see all romances of the Trojan war derived from Dares flhrygins.si Shakespeare, in fact, found the story popular, and he applied to p it to a popular purpose in a popular manner. those grand censors, that now style theam such vanities, flock One reason fA r thinksing that "Troius d and Cressido a to them for the main g'race of their gravities; especially this Onagtereason ecor, fandtells them, ^ TroilusndCressida autor's comedies, t" atisr so frained to ta e life, that they came from the hands of a different printer, though little or auve for thor's comedies, tt are o fomrmed to thle tht they no distinction can be traced in the type, is that there is hardly e for tie nost common coimnemri ica ofe of thaions nyplay in the fio of 1623 which contains so many hrdly of our lives, showing such a dexterity and power of wit, that ny playS it tdie folio of 1623 which contains so tgeny erarorh e aof th press. Tye quarto of 1609 oas unqlestionably tie the most aispleased with plays are pleased with his comedies. foundation of th e text of the folio, for in various instances And all such dull and heavy-witted worldlings, as were never fourdation of the text of the folio, for in various instancs le of the wit of a coaqedyo, coming by S report of them to the latter adopts the literal blunders of the former: it besides capable of te wit of a edy, comiig by report of tem to introduces not a few important corruptions, for which it is t not hois representations, have found that wit there that they never easy to account, so that the language of Shakespeare, on th e found in themselves, hlmd have parted better-witted than they whole, is perhaps best represented in the quarto. There are, e; feeling ede of wit set upon them, more than ever however some valuable additions in the folio, not found i e ayea thy t.t in This grns iat oen. sob ti epistle, is oly oun insuc coiesof Trilu an Crssia" such. suunined salt of wit is in Ill comedwic, that they sbeen the quarto, while on the other hand the quarto contains (fur thei he ilt of ple isre) to be omed in that sea, tbee passages omitted in the folio, though sometimes absolutely (rourhht fortheitous. Amongst all there is none morm itety necessary to the sense. The variations, whether important or comparatively insignificant, are nioted at the foot of the than this; and d I tie I wold coment upon it, t page; but there are two instances deserving notice in which I know it needs not, (for so much as will make you think our text differs from that of all preceding editions. It las your testern well bestowed) but for so much worth, as even been thought that the quarto nipressions of 1609, as fir ias poor know to be stuffed in it. It deserves such a labour, regards the body of the play, are identical. Such is ot pre- as well as time best comedy i Terence or Plautus: and believe clsely the case, and a copy of the drama issue.d fter it had this, that when he is gone, and his comedies out of sale, you been "acted by the King's Majesty's servants at the Globe," will scramble for them, and set up a new Enlish inquisition. belongng.toIheDuk ofDeonshreontaistwv Take this for ii warning, and at the peril of your pleasure's belonging to the Duke of Devonshire, contains two valuable improvements of the text, as it d een given in the earlier loss, and judgment's refuse not, nor like his the less for not copies published before it had been performed. Tihe first of beinf sullied with tie smoky breath of tIe multitude; but these occurs in Act iii. se. 2, whdre Troilns, anticipating the thank fortune for tile scape it hath made amongst you, since entrance of Cressidl, exchfimis, as we find the passage in all by the grand possessors' wills, I believe, you should have mod~ent~~~ra~~nce eoesid, eprayed for tlhem, rather than been prayed.3 And so I leave all such to be prayed for (for the states of their wits' healths) "I am giddy: expectation whirls me round. that will not praise it.- Vale. Th' imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense; what will it be When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed Love's thrice-reputed nectar?" COIOLANUS. For i' thrice-reputed nectar," tihe Duke of Devonshire's ", The Tragedy of Coriolanus"' was first printed in the folio copy of the qumarto, 1609, has "tihrice-repusred nectar," or f 1623, where it occupes tity pages, viz. fom p. 1 to p. thrice purified and refined nectar. The other instance of the incuive, a nw itio ommencin with tt same kind occurs near the end of the play (Act v. so. 7.) drama. In time folio of 1612 the mew pagination beins where Achilles is exciting his armed Myrmidons to the with " Troils a Cessid, d in theolios of 1664 ad slaughter of ector, and tells them, 1685 " Coriolanus" is inserted in tile saimme order. " Empale him with your weapons round about: iNOTHING has yet been discovered to lead to thie belief that In felet manner execute your arms." there was a play on the story of Coriolanus anterior to ShakeThus it stands in all editions, from the folio of 162.3 down- speare's tragedy. IHenslowe's Diary contmains no himit of the wards, and the commenntators have been at some pains to ex- kind. plain the phrase "execute your arms," when in truth, as The materials for this drama appear to have been derived Steevens suspected, it ms nothing but a misprint for m' execute exclusively from " the Lifi of Cmmius Martius Coriolamnus," in your aims," as appears upon tIme authority of the quarto, the early translation of Plutiarch by Sir Thomas North.'That 1609, in the collection of tihe Duke of Devonshire: for translation came from the press in folio in 1579, with thile folAchilles, to charge his followers to encircle Hector with their lowing title: "Tihe Lives of the noble Grecians and tRomanes, weapons, and then to execute their, aims against him in tihe compared toeetliem by that grave learned Philosopher and fellest manner, requires no explanation, and is an improve- Historiographer, Plutarke of Clhmtronea." It was avowedly A never Writer to an ever Reader. News.] This address, or — rather than been prayed.] This passage refers, probably, to epistle, is only found in such copies of: Troilus and Cressida" as do the unwillingness of the company to which Shakespeare belonged not state on the title-page that it " was acted by the King's Majesty's i to allow any of their plays to be printed. Such seems to have been servants at the Globe." See Introduction. I the case with all the associations of actors, and hence the imperfect — and set up a new English inquisition.] This prophecy has I manner in which most of the dramas of the time have come down to been well verified of late years, when (to say nothing of the prices us, and the few that issued from the press, compared with the numof first editions of Shakespeare's undoubted works) 1]001. have been i her that were written. The word "; them," in "1prayed for them," given for a copy of the old "Taming of a Shrew," 15094, and 1301. for refers, as Mr. Barron Field suggests to me, not to the "grand posThe True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York 1195, merely because seesors, but to' his comedies," mentioned above. they were plays which Shakespeare made use of in his compositions. xcvi INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. made from the French of Aumiot, Bishop of Auxerre, and ap- to recollect that our dramatic poets were then only. beginning pears to have been very popular: though published at a high to throw off the shackles of rhyme, and their versification parprice (equal to about 51. of our present money), it was took of the weight and monotony which were the usual accomseveral times reprinted; and we may, perhaps, presume that paniments of couplets. " Titus Andronicus" is to be read our great dramatist made use of an impression nearer his own under this impression, and many passages will then be found time, possibly that of 1595. In many of the principal in it which, we think, are remarkable indications of skill and speeches he has followed this authority with verbal exact- power in an unpractised dramatist: as a poetical production ness; and he was indebted to it for the whole conduct of his it has not hitherto had justice done to it, on account, partly, plot. The action occupies less than four years, for it com- of the revolting nature of the plot. Compared with the vermences subsequent to the retirement of the people to Molis sification of Greene, Peele, or Lodge, the lines in " Titus AnSacer in 262, after the foundation of IRome, and terminates dronicus" will be found to run with ease and variety, and with the death of Coriolanus in A. U. C. 266. they are scarcely inferior to the later and better productions "The Tragedv of Coriolanus " originally appeared in the of Marlowe. Neither is internal evidence wholly wainting, for folio of 1623, where it is divided into acts but not into scenes; words and phrases employed by Shakespeare in his other and it was registered at Stationers' Hall by Blount and Jag- works may be pointed out; and in Act iii. sc. 1, we meet a regard on thie 8th of November of that year, as one of the markable expression, which is also contained in " Venus and'copies" which had not been' entered to other men." Adonis." Hence we infer that there had been mio previous edition of it With reference to the general complexity of the drama, and in quarto. Malone supposed that " Coriolanus" was written the character of the plot, it must also be borne in minid that in 1610; but wo are destitute of all evidence on the point, it was produced at a timie, when scenes of horror were especibeyond what may be derived from the style of composition: ally welcome to public audiences, and when pieces were actuthis would certainly induce us to fix it somnewlat late in the ally recommended to their admiration in consequence of the career of our great dramiatist. blood and slaughter with which they abounded. Shakespeare, It is on the whole well printed for the time in the folio of perhaps, took up the subject on this account, and he worked 1623; but in Act ii. se. 8, either the transcriber of the manu- it out in such a way as, prior to the introduction and formascript or the comupositor ntust have omitted a line, which tion of a purer taste, would best gratify those for whose Pope supplied from conjecture (with the aid of North's amusement it wa iintended. Plutarch), and which has ever since been received into the The oldest known edition of "' Titus Andronicus" beaurs text, because it is absolutely necessary to the intelligibility date in 1600: two copies of it are extant, the one in the collecof the passage. For the sake of greater distinction, we have tion of Lord Francis Egerton, now before us, and the other printed thie line within brackets, besides pointing out the in the Signet Library at Edinlburgh. This second copy was circumstance in a note. not discovered until very recently, and we feel convinced that a more ancient impression will some time or other again be brought to light. That it once existed, we have the testimony TITTUS ANDRONICU[S. of Langbaine, in his " Account of English Dramatic Poets," 8 vo. 1691, where he tells us that the play was " first printed The most lamentable Romaine Tragedie of Titus Andronicus. 4to. Lond. 1594." Consistently with this assertion we find the As it hath sundry times beene playde by the Right Honour- following entry in the Registers of the Stationers' Company:able the Earle of Pemrnbrooke, the Earle of Darbie, the Earle " 6 Feb. 1593 of Sussex, and the Lorde Chamberlaine theyr Seruants. At John Danter] A booke entitled a noble Roman Historye of London, Printed by I. H. for Edward White, and'are to bee' Tytus Andronicus." solde at his shoppe, at the little North doore of Paules, at The Stationers' books contain several subsequent memothie signe of the Gun. 1600. 4to. 40 leaves, randa respecting " Titus Andronicus,1" bearing date 19th The most lamentable Tragedie of Titus Andronicus. As it April, 1602, 14th'Dec. 1624, and 8th Nov. 16830; but none hath sundry times beene plaide by the Kings Maiesties which seems to have relation to the editions of 1600'and Seruanits. London, Printed for Eedward White, and are to 1611. No quarto impressions of a subsequent date are known, be solde at his shoppe, nere the little North dore of Pauls, and the tragedy next appeared in the folio of 1626. The folio at the signe of the Gun. 1611. 4to. 40 leaves, was printedl from the quarto of 1611, but with the addition In the folio of 1623, " The Lamentable Tragedy of Titus An- of a short scene in the third Act, which otherwise, according dronicus" occupies twenty-two pages, in the division of to the divisions there adopted, would have consisted of only "Tragedies," viz. friom p. 31 to p. 52 inclusive. The three one scene. later folios, ofourse insert it in the same part of the volunme. The wording of the title-page of the edition of 1600 is reWE. feel no hesitation in assimghig " Titus Andronicus" to muirkable, altholnghm it has hitherto been passed over without Shakespeare. Whether he mayvlay claim to it as the author due notice: it pro fasses that the drama had been played not of thle entire tragedy, or only iia qlualified'sense, as having only by-" the Lord Chamberlain's servants," of whom Shakemade additions to, and improvements in it, is a different and speare was one, but by the theatrical servants of the Earl of a more difficult question. Pembroke, the Earl of Derby, and the Earl of Sussex. The'We find it uiven to him by his contemporary, Francis Meres, performance of Shakespeare's plays seems almost uniformly in his Palludis Tmnzia, 1598, where hlie mentions' Titus An- to have been confined to the company to which he belonged; dronicus" in immediate connection with "Richard II.," but we know from Henslowe's Diary that between 3rd June,'Richard III.," "Henry IV.," ".King John," and "Romeo 1594, and 15tih Nov. 1596, the Lord-Clniamberlain's servants and Juliet." It was also inserted in'tlue folio of 1623 by were acting in apparent conjunction with those of the Lord Shakespeare's fellow-actors, hIemuinge and Condell, and they Admuiral2: one of the plays, enumerated by Henslowe as havplace it between "Coriolanus" and "'Romeo and Juliet.'" ing been acted in this interval, is "Titus Andronicus," which 1ad it not been by our great dramattist, Meres, who was well circumstance lie records under date of 12th June, 1594. This acquainted with the literature of his time, would not have may have been the very play Shakespeare had written, and attributed it to him; and the player-editors, wlho had been which having been thus represented by several companies, Shakespeare's " fellows and friends," and were men of char- although the Earl of Nottingham's servants was not one of acter and experience, would not have included it in their vol- them, the fact was stated on the title-page of the earliest exume. These two facts are, in our view, sufficient. taent impression. It is to be observed, however, that Henslowe It was, undoubtedly, one of his earliest, if not his very has an entry of the performance of " Titus Andronicus" on earliest dramatic production. We are not to suppose that at the 23rd Jan. 1593-4, when it appears to have been a new the time he first joined a theatrical company in London, when play. The "Titus Andronicus," therefore, acted on 12th June, he migrht not be more than twenty-two or twenty-three years 1594, may have been a repetition of a drama, which possibly old, hlis style was as formed and as matured as it afterwards had been got up for Henslowe, in consequence of the success became: all are aware that there is a most marked distinction of a tragedy upon the same story, the property of a rival between his mode of composition early and late in life; as ex- company. There can be little doubt that Shakespeare's " Tihihited, for in-stance, in " Love's Labour's Lost," and in "The tus Andronicus" was written several years earlier. Winter's Tale;" and we apprehend that " Titus Andronicus" It is very possible tihat Shakespeare's " Titus Andronicus" belongs to a period even anterior to tlhe former. Supposing was founded upon some anterior dramatic performance, but "Titus Andronicus" to have been written about 1588, we are on this point we have no evidence beyond what may be colWe consider Ravenscroft's testimony, in his alteration of " Titus speare only gave "m some master-touches to one or two of the principal Andronicus," (acted about 1678, and printed nine years afterwards) characters." of very little value: in his suppressed Prologue he asserted it to be the 2 See " The Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," published by the Shakeunquestionable -work of Shakespeare, while in his preface to the speare Society, p. 22. The theatre the Lord Chamberlain's and the printed copy in 1687, he mentions it as a stage-tradition, that Shake- Lord Admiral's players jointly occupied, was that at Newington Butts. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. xcvii lected from the piece itself, in certain real or supposed dissimi- sometimes more particular; and our inference is, that it owed larities of composition. part of its popularity, not merely to printed narratives in When Danter entered the L' noble Roman History of Titus prose or verse, nor to the play spoken of by Brooke in 1562, Andronicus" in 1593, he coupled with it " the ballad thereof," but to subsequent dramatic representations, perhaps, more or which probably is the same printed in Percy's "Reliques,l" less founded upon that early drama. vol. i. p. 241, edit. 1812. A play called " Andronicus" is men- How far Shakespeare might be indebted to any suchl protioned by Ben Jonson in the Induction to his " Bartholomew duction we have no tmeans of deciding; but Malone, Steevens, Fair," (played first in 1614,) as a piece of twenty-five or thirty and others have gone upon the supposition, that Shakespeare years standing. This may have been Shakespeare's tragedy, was only under obligations either to Brooke's poem, or to that acted by Henslowe's company, or a drama which had Paynter's novel; and least of all do they seem to have conserved as a foundation of both. The oldest notice of " Titus templated the possibility, that he might have obtained assistAndronicus" (excepting that by Meres) is contained in a tract ance from some foreign source. called " Father Hubbard's Tales, or The Ant and the Night- Arthur Brooke avowed that he derived his materials from ingale,"4to. 1604, imputed to Thomas Middleton, where (Sign. Bandello (Part ii. Nov.'9), La fobrt'unata morte di dcue ivi/elE. 3) the author speaks of the " lamentable action of one arm, cissini Amanti, &c.; and Paynter very literally translated like old Titus Andronicus." The loss of his hand by the Boisteau's Histoire de deux Amans, d&c., in the collection of hero would no doubt form an incident in every drama written _fIistoire's Tragiques, published by Belle-forest. Both Brooke's upon the subject. poem and Paynter's prose version have recently been reprinted in a work called' Shakespeare's Library," where the antiquity of the story is considered. Steevens was disposed to ROMEO AND JULIET. think'that our great dramatist had obtained more from Paynn excellent conceited Trgedie of Roeo d Inliet As it ter than firom Brooke, while Malone supported, and we think, hath been often (with great applause) plaid publiquely, by mstablishei, a contrary opinion. He examined a utnbtcr of the right Honourable the L. of Hunsdon his Seruants. Lon- minute points of those whmblnce; ut, surely, no dollowingt casho be don, Printed by Iohn Danter. 1597. 4to. 39 leaves. don, Printed hy Iohn Daflnter. lodt7. 4to. 39 leaves, entertained by those who only compare the following' short The most excellent and lamentable tgedie of omeo ad passage from a speech of Friar Laurence with three lines from The most excellent and lamentable Triagedic, of Romeo,and f>,-_-i'p " Rwpns nnsl _nlpt." Iuliet. Newly corrected, augmented, and amended: As it Brooke's "Romeus and Juliet." hath bene sundry times publiquely acted, by the right Hon- Art thou a man? Thy form cries out then art; octrahie the Lord~ Chiamberl at~n e hits Setnnts. L~ondon Thy tears are womanish; thy ild acts denote ourable the Lord Cliamberlaine his Seruants. London The unreasonable fury of a beast." —(Act iii. sc. 3.) Printed by Thomas Creede, for Cuthbert Burby, and are to Th n en f o i a."o ii c 3. be sold athis shop neare the Exchange. 1599. 4to. 46 leaves. This, as will be seen from what is subjoined, is almost verThe most excellent and Lamentable Trafedie, of Romeo and bally from Brooke's poem:Juliet. As it hath beene sundrie times publiquely Acted, "Art thou." quoth he, " a man? hy shape saith so thou art; by the Kings Maiesties Seruanuts at tihe Globe. Newly cor- Thy crying and thy weeping eyes denote a woman's heart * * ected, e nd aeded ondon Printed for oh If thou a man or woman wert, or els a brutish beast." reetedau gm ented and amended: London Printed fobr ohn (Sakesp. Lib. part vii. p. 43.) Smethwiok, and are to be sold at his Shop in Saintt Diun- atral ar vi stanes Churclh-yatrd, itt Fleetestreete vuder the Dyall. 1609.. Sharkespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" originally came out, but s4to. 46 leaves, in an imperfect manner, in 1597, quarto. This edition is in In the folio of 1693 "The Tra.edie of Romeo and Inliet" two different types, and was probably executed in haste by occiuthpies twety-five pa cc, vix. from p. 53 to py 79, o-two different printers. It has generally been treated as an vccupies twenty-five pagses, viz. from p. 5I to ps 79, inclu- authorized impression from an authentic manuscript. Such, sire, in the difision of " Tragdies." It fills the sane space after tile most careful examination, is not our opinion. We En t ahe wblios of 16b e, 1664, and 1685. It is cert ain that there was an English play upon the story think that the manuscript used by the printer or printers (no of Romeo aid Julien t hbefre wtie year 156n; ans te fact estab- bookseller's or stationer's name is placed at the bottom of the of Romleo and Juliet before the yeart 1562; and the f act estab-smrdly lishes that, even at that early date, our dramatists resorted top, partly fro portio of e play as Italian novels, or translations of them, for the subjects of their it was acted, but unduly obtained, and partly from notes taken produbctions. It is time mIost ancient piece of evidlence of the at the theatre during representation. Our principal ground kind yet discovered, and it is given by Arthur Brooke, who for this notion is, that there is such gremt inequality in differin that ear Jublishcd; narrtive poem, called' The Tragicall ent scenes and speeches, and in some places precisely that Historve of Romneus and Juliet." At the close of his address degree and ided of impefectnes, hch o lad belong to " to tiePReader" lie observes:-"ThoughlI sawthe sameargu- mamnuscript prepared from defective short-Iand notes. As meent lately set forth on stage with mdore commendation tham I Steevens printed the first and the third edition of "Romeo cn look for (beinlg the re uch betterset forth, thoan I have, or and Juliet" in his s " Twenty Quartos," a comparison, to test can do), yet the s(me matter, penned as it is, may serve the the truth of our remark, may be readily made. We do not like goocd effect." (Hist, of English Dramatic Poetry and the of course go the length of contending that Shakespeare did Stage, vol. ii. p. 416.] Thus we see also, that the play had not alter and improve the play, subsequent to its earliest proheem received"' with-comtendation," aud that Brooe him- duction on the stage, but merely that the quarto, 1597, does been received 11 with commendation," and that Brooke him- no t contain the tragedy as it was originally represented. The self, unquestionably a competent judge, admits its excellence. senot contdin the tragedy as ition was originted in 1599, and it reprofesess to have We can scarcely suppose that no other drama would be second edition ewlycorrecinted, augmentedin 159, and amit pofessd: the thirde founded upon the same interesting incidents between 1562 beed newly corrected, aumente, and amecende:" tIe thir and the date when Shakespeare wrote his tragedy, a period ted edition appeared n 1609; but some copies witout of, probably, more than thirty years; but no hint of the kind date are known, which most likely were posterior to 1609, but is given in any record, and certainly no such vwork, either mn — nteriom to the appearance of the folio in 1623. The quarto, cescript or printed, has come down to us. Of the extireme pop- 1637, is of no authority. celrity of the stotey we hove munedont pmoof, and ot a e temote The quarto, 1609, was printed from the edition which came date. It was included by Wmilliam Paynter in the " second out te yeseter; and the repetition, i the folio of 1623, tomne" of eis "Pc e of Plsu,' the dedication of which of some decided errors of the press, shows that it was a reohhe dates 4thm Nalov.c 1o67,,ad on Oldi vopiter e find fieemt pnt of the quarto, 1609. It is remarlKable, that although metetion of tie hemo and hemouno. Thomas Dalapeud gies every early qotarto impression coutains a Prologue, it was not mthe folloovnit hbitef "ro -ett" inhomas Dalapeend Fable of transferred to tihe folio. The qucarto, 1597, has lines not in lermnphroditUs and Salmhacis," 1565:_"oA noblte n-teyden of the quartos, 1599, 1609, nor in the folio: and the folio, reprintthe cytye of Vetroti, in Itahe, whmychme loved Roin-eus eldest ing the quarto, 1609, besides ordinary errors, makes several soye of tie Lode oethe, id bege ryvlye ryd imnport.mnt omissions. Our text is that of the quarto, 1599, togythier, he at last poysoned hymi selfe for love of her: sie, compared, of course, with the quarto, 1609, and with the folio for owe of his dethe, lee er elfye in the same toie of 1623, and in some places importantly assisted by the quarto with ys dg B.s Rich, lie hirs"Dinolohe b me M- of 1597. Of the value of this assistance, as regards particuwith hys dtffger." 3B. Richl in his "I ialogue betwene Mer- we will only give a single instance, out of many, ciry and ai Soouldier," 1574, says that " the pittifull history of ilar words, we vill omnly give a sge insae te out of manyflict Rotmeus and Julietta," was so well known as to be represented from Act iii. so. 1, where Benvo in referene to te conflict omo tapestry. It is again alluded to in " The Gorgeous Gal- between Mercuti o and Tyb,' lt, says of Romeo' His agile arm beats down their fatal points." hery of Gallant Imventioms," 1578; and in "1 A Poore Knigct" his Palmoce of Private Pleasure," 1579. Austin Sakher's "Nar- The quartos, 1599 and 1609, amd the folio of 1623, absurdly bonus," 1580, contains the subsequent passage: — Ilad Ro- read "aged arm;" and the editor of the folio of 16382 substimeus hewrayed his martiage at the first, and manifested cth e tuted "able arm:" the true word, for which no substitute intent of his meaning, he had done very wisely, and gotten equally good could be found, is only in the quarto, 1597. nicei;se for the lives of two fymithfml friends." After this date It vill be observed that on thie title-page of the quarto, the inention of the story becomes even more frequent, and 1597, it is'stated that "Roomeo and Juliet" was acted by the xcviii INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. players of Lord Hunsdon; and hence Malone argued that it It is remarkable that in no edition of" Romeo and Juliet," must have been first performed and printed between July, printed anterior to the publication of the folio of 1623, do we 1596, and April, 1597. The company to which Shakespeare find Shakespeare's name upon the title-pa.e. Yet Meres, in was attached called themselves " the servants of the -Lord his Palladis Tamia, had distinctly assigned it to him in 1598; Chamberlain." Henry Lord Hunsdon died Lord Chamber- and although the name of the author might be purposely left lain on 22nd July, 1596, and his son George succeeded to the out in the imperfect copy of 1597, there would seem to be no title, but not to the office, which, in August, was conferred reason, especially after the announcement by Meres, for not upon Lord Cobham. Lord Cobham filled it until his death inserting it in the " corrected, augmented, and amended" in March subsequent to his appointment, very soon after edition of 1599. But it is wanting even in the impression of which event George Lord Hunsdon was made Lord Chiam- 1609, although Shakespeare's popularity must then have been berlain. It seems that the theatrical servants of Henry Lord at its height. " King Lear," in 1608, had been somewhat Hunsdon, Lord Chamberlain, did not. on his decease, trans- ostentatiously called " M. William Shake-speare, his, &c. Life fer their services to his successor in office, Lord Cobham, but and Death of King Lear;"'and his Sonnets, in 1609, were to his successor in title, Georfge Lord Hunsdon, and called recommended to purchasers, as " Shake-speare's Sonnets," themselves the servants of that nobleman in the interval be- in unusually large characters on the title-page. tween the death of his father on 22nd July, 1596, and 17th April, 1597, when he himself became Lord Chamberlain. Malone concludes that in this interval, while those players TIMON OF ATHENS. who had been the servants of the Lord Chamberlain called themselves the servants of Lord Hunsdon, " Romeo and "The Life of Tymon of Athens " first appeared in the folio,Juliet " was first performed and printed; and that, in conse- of 1623, where it occupies, in the division of " Tragedies," quence, the title-page of the first edition states, that it had twenty-one pages, numbered from p. 80 to. p. 98 inclusive; been played by "the L. of Hunsdon his servants." but pp. 81 and 82, by an error, are repeated. Page 98 is The answer that may be made to this argument is, that followed by a leaf, headed, " The Actors' Names," and the though the tragedy was printed in 1597, as it had been acted list of characters fills the whole page: the back of it is left by Lord IHunsdon's servants, it does not follow that it might blank. The drama bears the same title in the later folios. not have been played some years before by -the same actors, SH-AKESPEARE is supposed not to have written " Timon of when calling themselves the Lord Chamberlain's servants. Athens" until late in his theatrical career, and Malone has This is true; and it is not to be disputed that there is an allu- fixed upon 1610 as the probable date when it came from his sion in one of the speeches of the Nurse (Act i. sc. 3) to an pen. We know of no extrinsic evidence to confirm or contraearthquake which, she states, had occurred eleven years diet this opinion. The tragedy was printed in.1623, in the before:- folio edited by Heminge and Condell; and having been inserted in the Registers of the Stationers' Company as a play On Lmm as eve at night shall she be fourteen;aid, not formerly entered to other men," we may infer that it OThat shalamms s he, marry; I remembe fourteen; had not previously come from the press. The versification is'T is since the earthquake now eleven years; remarkably loose and irregular, but it is made to appear more And she was wean'd." so by the manner in which it was originally printed. The object, especially near the close, seems to have been to make It has been supposed that this passage refers to the earth- the drama occupy as much space as could be conveniently quake of 1580, and, consequently, that the play was written filled: consequently, many of the lines are arbitrarily divided in 1591. However, those who read the whole speech of the into two: the drama extends to p. 98 in the folio, in the diviNurse cannot fail to remark such discrepancies in it as to sion of " Tragedies;" what would have been p. 99, if it had render it impossible to arrive at any definite conclusion, even been figured, contains a list of the characters, and what would if we suppose that Shakespeare intended a reference toea par- have been p. 100 is entirely blank: the next leaf, being the ticular earthquake in England. First, the Nurse tells us, that first page of " Julius Cwsar," is numbered 109. It is possible Juliet was in a course of being weaned; then, that she could that another printer began with ll Julius Cesar," and that a stand alone; and, thirdly, that she could run alone. It would miscalculation was made as to the space which would be occuhave been rather extraordinary if she could not, for even pied by " Coriolanus," "Titus Andronicus," "Romeo and according to the Nurse's own calculation the child was very Juliet," and " Timon of Athens." The interval between nearly three years old. No fair inference can, therefore, be what would have been p. 100 of the foio of 1623, and p. 109, drawn from the expression, "'T is since the earthquake now which immediately follows it, may at all events be in this way eleven years," and we coincide with Malone that the tragedy explained. was probably iritten towards the close of 15961. There is an apparent want of finish about some portions of Another trifiing circumstance may lead to the belief that " Tihmon of Athens," while others are elaborately wrought. em Romeo and Juliet " was not written, at all events, until after In his Lectures in 1815, Coleridge dwelt upon this discordance 1594. In Act ii. (not Act iii., as Malone states) there is an of style at considerable length, but we find no trace of it in allusion, in the words of Mercatio —" a gentleman of the very the published firagments of his Lectures in 1818. Coleridge first house-of time first and second ca.se," —to a work on said, in 1815, that he saw the same vigorous hand at work duelling, called " Vincentio Saviolo his Practise." That book throughout, and gave no countenance to the notion, that any was first printed in 1594, and again in 1595, and the issue of parts of a previously existing play had been retained in the second impression might call Shakespeare's attention to " Timon of Athens," as it lhad come down to us. It was it just before lie began "Romeo and Juliet." We have Shakespeare's throughout; and, as originally written, he already seen " Vincentio Saviolo his Practise " more particu- apprehended that it was one of the author's most complete larly referred to in " As You Like It." We place little performances: the players, heowever, he felt convinced, had reliance upon the allusion in "Romeo and Juliet," because done the poet much injustice; and lie especially instanced (as " the first and second cause " are also mentioned ine "Love's indeed he did in 1818) the clumesy, "clap-trap " blow at the Labour's Lost," though the passage may, like some others, Puritans in Act iii. sc. 3, as an interpolation by the actor of have been an insertion just prior to Christmas, 1598. the part of Timon's servant. Coleridge accounted for the Malone hastily concluded from a reference in Marston's ruggedness and inequality of the versification upon the same Satires, that Shakespeare's " ERomeo and Juliet " was acted at prlnciple, and he was persuaded that only a corrupt and imthe Curtain Theatre, in Shoreditch; but we can be by no perfect copy had come to the hands of the player-editors of mneans sure that Marston, by the terms "Curtain plaudities," the folio of 1623. Why the manuscript of"' Timon of Athens " did not mean applauses at any theatre, for all had "curtains," should have been more mutilated, than that from which other and we have no trace that any other of our great dramatist's dramas were printed for the first time in the same volume, plays was acted at the Curtain. The subject must have been was a question into which he did not enter. HIis admiration a favourite with the public, and it is more than probable that of some parts of the tragedy was unbounded; but he mainrival companies had contemporaneous plays upon the same tained that it was, on the whole, a painful and disagreeable story. (See the Memoirs of Edward Alleyn, p. 19.) To some production, because it gave only a disadvantageous picture of piece formed upon the samee incidents, and represented at thee huniam nature, very inconsistent with what, he firmly beCurtain Theatre, Marston may have referred. lieved, was our great poet's real view of the characters of his 1 The Registers of the Stationers' Company throw little light upon and "The Taming of a Shrew ") was entered to "Mr. Linge," with the question when " Romeo and Juliet" was first written. On 5 consent of "Mr. Burby." On 19 Nov. 1607, John Smythick entered Aug. 1596, Edward White entered "A newe ballad of Romeo and " Hamlet," The Taming of a Shrew," "Romeo and Juliet," and Juliett," which may possibly have been the tragedy, printed (without: Love's Labour's Lost," as having derived his property in them from a bookseller's name) in 1597, though called only a ballad. On 22 Jan. Linge. 1606-7, " Romeo and Juliet " (together with " Love's Labour's Lost " INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. xcix fellow creatures. He said that the whole piece was a bitter dramatic satire,-a species of writing in which Shakespeare JULIUS, CJESAR. had shown, as in all other kinds, that he could reach the very [",, The Tragedie of Julins Cmesar" was first printed in the highest point of excellence. Coleridge could not help sus- folio f 623, where it ccupeswey-wo pes; viz. fro pecting that the subject might have been taken up under some temporary feeling ofpvexation and disappoinmnt.. p 109 to p. 130 inclusive, in the division of "Tragcdies." How far this notion is well founded can of course be matter e Acts bnt not the Scenes, are distigished and it of mere speculation but a whole play could hardly be com- appeared in the same manner in the thee later folios. posed under a transient fit of irritation, and to us it seems No early quarto edition of " Julius Caesar" is known, and more likely, that in this instance, as in others, Shakespeare there is reason to believe that it never appeared in that form. adopted the story because he thought he could make it The manuscript originally used for the folio of 1623 must acceptable as a dramatic representation. We agree with have been extremely perfect, and free from corruptions, for Farmer in thinking that there probably existed some earlier there is, perhaps, no drama in the volume more accurately popular play of which Timon was the hero. The novels in printed.'aynter's " Palace of Pleasure " were the common property Malone and others have arrived at the conclusion that of the poets of the day; and " the strange and beastly nature 1" Julius Cmsar " could not have been written before 1607. of Timon of Athens "' is inserted in the first volume of that We think there is good ground for believing that it was acted collection, which came out before 1567. Paynter professes to before 1603. have derived his brief materials firom the life of Marc Antony, We found this opinion upon some circumstances connected in Plutarch; but Sir Thomas North's translation having made with the publication of Drayton's " Barons' Wars," and the its appearance in 1579, all the circumstances may have been resemblance between a stanza there found, and a passage in familiar to most readers. True it is, that Shakespeare does " Julius Caesar," both of which it will be necessary to quote. not appear to have followed these authorities at all closely, In Act v. sc. 5, Antony gives the following character of and there may have been sonie version of Lucian then current Brutus:with which we are now unacquainted. To these sources His life was gentle; and the elements dramatists preceding Shakespeare may have resorted; and So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up we find Timon so often mentioned by writers of the period, And say to all the world, This was a man." that his habits and disposition, perhaps, had also been made In Drayton's " Barons' Wars," book iii. edit. Svo., 1603, we known through the medium of' the stage. Shakespeare himmeet with the subsequent stanza. The author is speaking of self introduces Timon into " Love's Labour's Lost," which, Mortimer:in its original shape, must certainly have been one of our great dramatist's early plays. In Edward Guilpin's " Such one he was, of him we boldly say, our grea r~ramatist's early plays. In Edward Gnilpin s In whose rich soul all sovereign powers did suit, collection of Epigrams and Satires, published, under the title In whose rich soul al sovereign powers did suit, of " Skialetheia," in 1598, we meet with the following line, SoIn hom in peacs none could sovereignty impute; (Epigr. 52,) which seems to refer to some scene in which As all did govern, yet all did obey: Timon had been represented:- His lively temper was so absolute, 1" Like hate-man Timon in his cell he sits:" That't seem'd, when heaven his model first began, And in the anonymous play of " Jack Drum's Entertainment," In him it shew'd perfec i a m printed in 1601, one of the characters uses these expressions:- Italic type is hardly necessary to establish that one poet'" But if all the brewers' jades in the town can drag me from the must have availed himself, not only of the thought, but of the love of myself, they shall do more than e'er the seven wise men of very words of the other. The question is, was Shakespeare Greece could. Come, come; now I'll be as sociable as Timon of indebted to Drayton, or Drayton to Shakespeare? We shall Athens." not enter into general probabilities, founded upon the original We know also that there existed about that date a play and exhaustless stores of the mind of our great dramatist, but upon the subject of Timon of Athens. The original manu- advert to a few dates, which, we think, warrant the concluscript of it is in the library of the Rev. Alexander Dyce, who sion that Drayton, having heard'" Julius Cesar " at the has recently superintended an impression of it for the Shake- theatre, or seen it in manuscript before 1603, applied to his speare Society. He gives it as his opinion, that it was own purpose, perhaps unconsciously, what, in fact, belonged " intended for the amusement of an academic audience," and to another poet. although the epilogue muay be considered rather of a contrary Drayton's " Barons' Wars" first appeared in 1596, quarto, complexion, the learned editor is probably right: it is, how- under the title of " Mortimeriados." Malone had a copy ever, nearly certain that it was acted; and although it will not without date, and he and Steevens imagined that the poem bear a mnoment's comparison with Shakespeare's " Timon of had originally been printed in 1598. In the quarto of 1596, Athens," similar incidents and persons are contained in both. and in the unidated edition, it is not divided into books, and Thus, Timon is in the commnencement rich, bountiful, and is in seven-line stanzas: and what is there said of Mortimer devoured by flatterers: he becomes poor, and is at once bears no likeness whatever to Shakespeare's expressions in deserted by all but his faithful steward;-but before he aban- " Julius Csesar." Drayton afterwards changed the title from dons Athens in disgust, he invites his parasites to a last' Mortimeriados " to " The Barons' Wars," and re-modelled banquet, where he gives them stones painted to resemble the whole historical poem, altering the stanza from the artichokes, which he flings at them as he drives them out of English ballad forem to the Italian ottava rima. This course his hall. Shakespeare represents Timon as regaling his guests he took before 1603, when it came out in octavo, with the with warm water; but it is very remarkable, that at the end stanza first quoted, which contains so marked a similarity to of his mock-banquet scene, after the hero has quitted the the lines from " Julius Cnesar." We apprehend that lie did stage, leaving certain lords behind him, upon whom he had so because he had heard or seen Shakespeare's tragedy before thrown the warm water, the following dialogue occurs:- 1603; and we think that strong presumptive proof that he "1 Lord. Let's make no stay. was the borrower, and not Shakespeare, is derived from the 2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad. fact, that in the subsequent impressions of " The Barons' 3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones. Wars," in 1605, 1608, 1610, and 1613, the stanza remained 4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones." precisely as in the edition of 1603; but that in 1619, after Shakespeare's Timon had cast no "' stones " at his guests, and Shakespeare's death and before " Julius Cmsar" wvas printed, the above extract reads exactly as if it had formed part of Drayton made even a nearer approach to the words of his some play in which stones (as in the " Timon " edited by the original, thus:Rev. A. Dyce) had been employed insteaJ of warm water. "He was a man, then boldly dare to say, Unless stonies had been thrown, there could, as Steevens In whose rich soul the virtues well did suit; observes, be no propriety in the mention of them by the fourth In whom so mix'd the elements did lay, Lordl; and thouvh Shakespeare may not have seen the aca- That none to one could sovereignty impute; demic play to which we have alluded, a fragment may by As all did govern, so did all obey: accident have found its way into his " Timon of Athens," He of a temper was so absolute, which belonged to some other drama, where tie banquet- As that it seem'd, when Nature him began, She meant to show all that mnight be.in man." scene was differently conducted. It is just possible that our great dramatist, at some subsequent date, altered his original We have been thus particular, because the point is obvidraugiht, and by oversight left in the rhyming couplet with ously of importance, as regards the date when 1" Julius Coesar" which the third Act concludes. We need not advert to other was brought upon the stage. Malone seems to have thought resemblances between the academic play and " Timon of that " The Barons' Wars-" continued under its original name Athens," because, by the liberality of the possessor of the man- and in its first shape until the edition of 1608, and concluded uscript, it may be now said to have become public property. that the resemblance to Shakespeare was first to be traced in c INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. that impression. He had not consulted the copies of 1603, or in the days of Edward the Confessor. And Duncan bad them both 1605 (which were not in his possession), for if he had looked kindly welcome. and made Macbeth forthwith Prince of North umberat them he must have seen that Drayton had copied," Julius land; and sent him home to his own Castle, and appointed Macbeth Coesar " as early as 1603, and, consequently, unless Shake- to provide for him, for he would sup with him the next day at night, and did so. speare imitated Drayton, that that tragedy must then have a"nAnd Macbeth contrived to kill Duncan, and through the persuabeen in existence. That Drayton had not remodelled hiis sion of his wife did that night murder the king in his own Castle. " Mortimeriados " as late as 1602, we gather from the circum- being his guest. And there were many prodigies seen that night and stance, that he reprinted his poems in that year without " The the day before. And when Macbeth had murdered the King, the Barons' Wars' in any form or under any title. blood on his hands could not be washed off by any means, nor from Another slight circumstance might be adduced to show that his wife's hands, which handled the bloody daggers in hiding them, "Julius Csar" was even an older tragedy than " lamlet." by,which means they became both much amazed and affronted. J s Cesr was evenn older. tragedythan Ha The murder being known. Duncan's two sons fled, the one to In the latter (Act iii. so. 2) it is said that Julius Cmssar was England, the [other to] e Wales, to save themselves: they, being fled, killed in the Capitol:"1 in Shakespeare's drama such is the Nwere supposed guilty of the murder of their father, which was representation, although contrary to the truth of history. nothing so. This seenms to have been the popular notion, and we find it'Then was Macbeth crowned King, and then he for fear of Banquo, confirmed in Sir Edwartd Dyer's "P prnvse of Nothing.," 1585, his old companion, that he should beget Kings but be no king himself, qnrto, a tract unknowni to evEer'y "hibiogranpher, where the5se he contrived the death of Banquo, and caused himn to be murdered on the way that he rode. The night, being at supper with his noblewords occur: "I Thy stately Capitol (proud Rome) had not men, whom he had bid to a feast, (to the which also Banquo should beheld the bloody fall of pacified Cmesar, if nothing lhad accom- have come.) he began to speak of noble a.nquo, and to wish that he panted him." Robert Greene, a graduate of both Universities, were there. And as he thus did, standing up to drink a carouse to makes the same statement, and Shakespeare may have fol- him, the ghost of Banquo came, and sat down in his chair behind lowed some older play, wheere the assassination scene was laid him. And he, turning about to sit down again, saw the ghost of ioe theoe Capitold: Chanlces y heat so spoksen of et n his " Moells idBanqu, which fronted him, so that he fell in a great passion of fear in the Capitol: Chaucer had so spoken of it in his,6 Monk's ~Ta~le." iti oheeeil tD e,hnwoeand fury, uttering many words about his murder, by which, when It is not, howvever, likly that Dr. Eeies, -who wo they heard that Banquo was murdered, they suspected Macbeth. a Latin academical play oni the story, acted at Oxford in 1582, " Then Macduff fled to England to the King's son, and so they should have conlmmitted the error. raised an army and came to Scotland, and at Dunston Anyse overShakespeare appears to have derived nearly all his materials threw Macbeth. In the mean time, while Macduff was in England, friom Plutarchi, as translated by Sir Thomas North, and first Macbeth slew Macduff's wife and children, and after, in the battle, published inl 1579. At the same time, it is not unlikely that Macduff slew Macbeth. " Observe, also, how Macbeth's Queen did rise in the night in her there was a preceding play, anti our reason for thrilting so leep, and walkh, and talked and confessed all, and the Doctor noted is asesi'gnecd in a note in Act iii. sc i. It is a new fact, ascer- her words." tained from an entry in Henslowe's Diary dated 22nd May, 1602, that Anthony Manday, Michael Drayton, John Webster, Ourr principal reason for thinkiing that'! Macbeth" had Thlomees Middleton, and other poets, were engeged upon a been originally represented at least four years before 1610, is tragedy entitled " Cesar's Fall." The probability is, that the striking allusion, in Act iv. se. 1, to the union of the three these dramsatists united their exertions, in order without kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, in the haends of delaey to bring out a tragedy on the same subject as that of James I. That monarch ascended the throne in March, Shakespeare, which, perhaps, was then performing at the 1602-3, and the words, Globe Theatre with success. Malone states that there is no " Some I see, proof that any contemporary writer " had presumed to new- That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry," model a story that had already employed the pen of Shake- would have had little point, if we suppose them to have been speare." He forgot that Ben Jonson was engaged upon a delivered after the king who bore the balls and sceptres had " Richard Crookback " in 1602; and he omitted, when exam- been more than seven "years on the throne. James was proinIng Henslowe's Diary, to observe, that in the same year claimed king of Great'Britain and Ie!land on the 24th of four distinguished dramatists, and "other poets," were October, 1604, and we may perhaps conclude that Shakespeare employed upon " Caesear's Fall." wrote " Macbeth " in the year 1605, and that it was first acted From Vertue's manuscripts we learn that a play, called at the Globe, when it was opened for the sumimser season, in " Crosar's Tragcedy," was acted at Court in 1613, which might the spring of 1606. be the production of Lord Stirlineg, Shakespeare's drama, that Malone elaborately supports Iis opinion, that "Macbeth " written by Munday, Drayton, Webster, Middleton, and others, was produced in 1606, by two allusions in the speech of the or a play printed in 1607, under the title of " The Tragedy of Porter, Act ii. sc. 8, to the cheapness of corn, and to the docCresar and Pomnpey, or Caesar's Revenge." Mr. Peter Cun- trine of equivocation, whicli had been supported by Robert ningham, in his " Revels' Accounts," (Introd. p. xxv.) has Garnet, who was executed on the 3d of May, 1606. We are shown that a dramatic piece, with the title of " The Tragedy generally disposed to place little confildence i such passages, of Cresar," wvas exhibited at Court on Jan. 31, 1636-7. not only because they are lrequently obscure in their aepplcation, but because they may have been introduced at any subsequent period, either by the author or actor, with the MI~ACO-BETI-Hlp. purpose of exciting the applause of the audience, by reference [, The Trgedie of Macbeth " was first printed in thee folio of to some circumstance then attracting public attention. We 1623The Tgedie ocbtcupies " was fistty-one printeds viz from p. 131 now that dramatists were in the constant heabit of making 1623, where it occuies twenty-one pages; viz. from p. 11 additios nd alterations, and that comic performers lhad the to p. 151 imclusive, in the division of " Tragedies."'h additions end ehe to p. 151 inclusive, in the division o "Tragedies. Th ice of delivering " more than was set down for them." The Acts and Scenes are regularly marked there, as well as in of e poreg, in which the tdo foe temporary speOech of' the Porter, in which the two supposed tempormry TH nyacrandfc e ciethe anter folios.f allusions are contained, is exactly of the kind which. the perTnE o.ly ascertained fec.t sespeting the performance of former of the part might be inclined to enlarge, and so Macbeth," in the lifetime of its author, is that it was repre- strongly was Coleridge convinced that it weas an interpolation pented at the Globe Theatre on the 20th of April, 1610. by the player, that lhe boldly " pledged himself to demonstrate Whether it was then a new play, it is impossible to decide; it." (Lit. Rem. vol. ii. p. 235.) This notion was not new to but we are inclined to think that it was not, and that Malone him ill 1818; for three years earlier he had publicly declared was right in his conjecture, that it was first acted about the it in a lecture devoted to " Macbeth," although hlie admitted year 1606. The subsequent account of the plot is derived that there'was something of Shakespeare in "the primrose from Dr. Simon Forman's manuscript Diary, preserved in thle way to the everlasting bonifire." It may be doubted whether Ashmolean Museum, from which it appears, that he saw he would have meade this concession, if lhe had not recollected " Macbeth " played at the Globe on the day we have stated:- " the primrose path of dalliance " ins "Hamlet." " In Macbeth, at the Globe, 1610, the 20th of April, Saturday, there Shaklespeare, doubtless, derived eall tlee materials he required was to be observed, first, how Macbeth and Banquo, two noblemen of from Holinshed, without resorting to Boethhis, or to any other Scotland, riding through a wood, there stood before them three women authority. Steevens continued to maintain,'that Shakespearo Fairies, or Nymphs, and saluted Miacbeth. saying three times untos was indebted, in some degree, to Middleton's "Witch" for him, Hail, Macbeth, King of Codor, for thou shalt be a King, but the preternatural portion of " Macbeth;" but Malone, who at shalt beget no Kings, &c. Then, said Banquo, What! all to Macbeth, first entertained the same view of tlie sutlject, ultimately and nothing to me? Yes, said the Nymphs, Hail to thee, Banquo; thou shalt beget Kings, yet be no King. And so they departed, and abandoned it, and became convinced tleet " The Witl " us came to the Court of Scotland, to Duncan, King of Scots, and it was a play written subsequently to thee production of" Macbeth." Lord Stirling published a tragedy under the title of "Julius of Shakespeare's tragedy about 1603 may have led to the printing of Casar." in 1604: the resemblances are by no means numerous or that by Lord Sterling in 1604, and on this account the date is of conobvious, and probably not more than may be accounted for by the sequence. Malone appears to have known of no edition of Lord fact, that two writers were treatingthe same subject. The popularity Stirling's "Julius Cersar" until 1607. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. ci Those who read the two will, perhaps, wonder how a doubt This undated edition was probably printed in 1607, as it was could have been entertained. "The Witch," in all proba- entered at Stationers' Hall on Nov. 19, in that year. An bility, was not written until about 1613; and what must impression, by R. Young, in 4to, 1637, has also John Smethsurprise every body is, that a poet of Middleton's rank could wicke at the bottom of the title-page. so degrade the awful beings of Shakespeare's invention; for In the folio of 1623, "l The Tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of although, as Lamb observes, "the power of Middleton's Denmarke," occupies thirty-one pages, in the division of witches is in some measure over the mind," (Specimens of Tragedies;" viz. from p. 152 to p. 280, inclusive, there Engl. Dram. Poets, p. 174,) they are of a degenerate race, as being a mistake of 100 pages between p. 156 and what if, Shakespeare having created them, no other mind was ought to have been p. 157.] sufficiently gifted even to continue their existence. Whether Shakespeare obtained his knowledge regarding THE story upon which, there is reason to believe, Shakespeare these agents, and of the locality he supposes them to have founded his tragedy of "Hanmlet," has recently been reprinted, frequented, from actual observation, is a point we have cn- from the only known perfect copyi, as part of a work called sidered in the Biography of the poet. The existing evidenceare's Library and there is perhaps, nothing on the question is there collected, and we have shown, that more remarkable than the manner in which our great dramaten years before the date hitherto assigned to that circum- tist wrought these barbarous, uncouth, and scanty materials ten years before the, date hitherto a~ssigned to that circin- into the magnificent structure he left behind him. A coru, stance, a company called "the Queen's Players" had visited to the ma fi st e he leftbehnd h Edinburgh. This fact is quite new in the history of the parison of "The Historie of Hamblet," as it was translated at introduction of English theatrical performances into Scotland. an erly date from the French of Belleforest2, with " The That the Queen's comedians were north of the Tragedy of Hamlet," is calculated to give us the most exalted That the Queen's comedians were north of the Tweed in 1599, notion of, and profound reverence for, the genius of Shakeon the invitation of James VI., we have distinct evidence: ion of and profound revence for, the genius of Shakewe know also that they were in Aberdeen in 1601, when the speare: his vast superiority to Green and Lodge was obvious freedom of the city was presented to Laurence Fletcher (the in "The Winter's Tale," and "As You Like It;" but the first name in the patent of 1603); but to establish that they novels of " Pan d esto" and "t osalynde," as narratives, were were in Edinburgh in 1589 gives much more latitude for perhaps as far above "The Historie of Hamblet," as "The speculation on the question, whether Shakespeare, in the Winter's Tale" and "As You Like It " were above the origiinterval of about fourteen years before James I. ascended the als from which their main incidents were deived. Nothing, throne of Eugland, had at any time accompanied his fellow- in point offact, can be muchmore worthless, in story and ctors oto Scomtpnid style, than the production to which it is supposed Shakespeare At whatever date we suppose Shakespeare to have writtenwas indebted for the foundation of his "Hamlet." "Macbeth," we may perhaps infer, from a passage in Kemp s There is, however, some ground for thinking, that a lost "Nine Days' Wonder," 1600, that there existed a ballad upon play upon similar incidents preceded the work of Shakethe story, which may have been older than the tragedy: such speare: how far that lost play might be an improvement upon is the opinion of th e Rev. Mr. Dye, in his notes to the reprint the old translated " Historie" we have no means of deciding, is ththis tract by te Camd e, pn his notes p.. T he repo int, ow-nor to what extent Shakespeare availed himself of such imever, is doubtful, and it is obvious tat Kemp di not meanPvement. A drama, of which Hamlet was the hero, was ever, is doubtful, and it is obvious that Kemp did not mean certainly in being prior to the yea r 1587, (in all probability to be very intelligible: his other allusions to ballad-makers of certaly n or S ha ksprito the 1587, (n all pobabiity his time arepurposely obscuretoo early a date for Shakespeare to have been the writer of it) "Macbeth was inse rted by the player-editorsfor we find it thus alluded to by Thomas Nash, in his preof 1623; and, as in other similar cases, we may presume that liminary epistle to the "Menaphon" of Robert Greene, it had not come from the press at an earlier date, because in published in that year3:- Yet English Seneca, read by the books of the Stationers' Compamny it is registered by candle-light, yeelds many good sentences, as blood is a beggar, Blount and Jaggard, on the 8th of November, 1623, as one of and so forth and if yo u entreat him fair in a fosty morning the plays " not formerly eitemed to other ua." It has beenhe will afford you whole Ilamlets, I should say handfuls, of han ed down in an unusually complete state, for not only are tragical speeches." The writer is referring to play-poets and the divisions of the acts pointed out, but the subdivisions of ther productions at that period, and he seems to have gone the scenes carefly and acuratly noedout of his way, in order to introduce the very name of the the scenes carefully and accurately noted. performance against which he was directing ridicule. Another piece of evidence, to the same effect, but of a more questionable kind, is to be found in Henslowe's Diary, under the date HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. of June 9th, 1594, when a "1 Hamlet " was represented at the theatre at Newington Butts: that it was then an old play is LThe Tragicall Historie of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke By ascertained from the absence of the mark, which the old William Shake-speare. As it hath beene dinerse times manager usually prefixed to first performances, and from the acted by his Highnesse seruants in the Cittie of London: fact that his share of the receipts was only nine shillings. At as also in the two Vniuersities of Cambridge and Oxford, that date, however, the company to which Shakespeare beand else-where. At London printed for N. L. and Iohn longed was in joint occupation of the same theatre, and it is Trundell. 1603. 4to. 33 leaves. certainly possible, though improbable, that the drama repreThe Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke. By sented on June 9th, 1594, was Shakespeare's " Hamlet." William Shakespeare. Newly imprinted and enlarged to We feel confident, however, that the " Hamlet " which has almost as much againe as it was, according to the true and come down to us in at least six quarto impressions, in the perfect Coppie. At London, Printed by I. R. for N. L. and folio of 1623, and in the later impressions in that form, was are to be sold at his shoppe vnder Saint Dunstons Church not written until the winter of 1601, or the spring of 1602. in Fleetstreet. 1604. 4to. 51 leaves. Malone, Steevens, and the other commentators, were acThie title-page of the edition of 1605 does not differ in the most quainted with no edition of the tragedy anterior to the quarto minute particular from that of 1604. of 1604, which professes to be " enlarged to almost as much The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke. By William again as it was:" they, therefore, reasonably suspected that Shakespeare. Newly imprinted and enlarged to almost as it had been printed before; and within the ~last twenty years munch againe as it was, according to the true and perfect a single copy of an edition in 1603 has been discovered. This, Coppy. At London, Printed for Iohn Smethwicke and are in fact, seems to have been the abbreviated and imperfect to be sold at his shoppe in Saint Dunstons Church yeard in edition, consisting of only about half as much as the impresFleetstreet. Vnder the Diall. 1611. 4to. 51 leaves. sion of 1604. It belongs to the Duke of Devonshire, and, by The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke. Newly Im- the favour of his Grace, is now before us. From whose press printed and inlarged, according to the true and perfect it came we have no information, but it professed to be Copy lastly Printed. By William Shakespeare. London, "printed for N. L. and Iohn Trundell." The edition of the Printed by W. S. for Iolh Smethwicke, and are to be sold following year was printed by I. R. for N. L. only; and why at his Shop in Saint Dunstans Church-yard in Fleetstreet: Trundell ceased to have any interest in the publication we Vnder the Diall. 4to. 51 leaves. know not. N. L. was Nicholas Ling; and I. R., the printer 1 Dr. Farmer had an imperfect copy of it, but it is preserved entire 2 Belleforest derived his knowledge of the incidents from the History among Capell's books in the library of Trinity College, Cambridge, of Denmark, by Saxo Grammaticus. first printed in 1514. and was printed in 1608, by Richard Bradocke, for Thomas Pavier. 3 We give the date of 1587 on the excellent authority of the Rev. " There can be little doubt that it had originally come from the press A. Dyce, (Greene's Works, vol. i. pp. xxxvii. and ciii.) We have considerably before the commencement of the seventeenth cenitury, never been able to meet with any impression earlier than that of although the multiplicity of readers of productions of the kind, and 1589. Sir Egerton Brydges reprinted the tract from the edition of the carelessness with which such books were regarded after perusal, 16160, (when its name had been changed to " Green's Arcadia ") in has led to the destruction, as far as can now be ascertained, of every il Archaica," vol. i. earlier copy." —Introduction to Part IV. of " Shakespeare's Library." cii INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. of the edition of 1604, was, no doubt, James Roberts, who, The impression of 1604 being intended to supersede that two years before, had made the following entry in the of 1603, which gave a most mangled and imperfect notion of Registers of the Stationers' Company: — the drama in its true state, we may perhaps presume that the " 26 July 1602.quarto of 1604 was, at least, as authentic a copy of" I Hamlet" James Roberts] A booke, The Revenge of Hamlett prince as the editions of any of Shakespeare's plays that came from of Deninarke, as yt was latelie acted by the Lord the press during his lifetime. It contains various passages, Chamberlayn his servantes." some of them of great importance to the conduct and character " The words, "as it was lately acted," are important upon of the hero, not to be found in the folio of 1623; while tho the question of date, and the entry farther proves, that the folio includes other passages which are left out in the quarto tragedy had been performed by the company to which Shake- of 1604; although, as before remarked, we have the evidence speare belonged. In the spring of 1603" the Lord Chamber- of the quarto of 1603, that they were originally acted. The lain's servants " became the King's players; and on the different quarto impressions were printed from each other; title-page of the quarto of 1603 it is asserted that it had been and even that of 1637, though it makes some verbal changes, acted " by his Highness' servants." On the title-page of the contains no distinct indication that the printer had resorted quarto of 1604 we are not informed that the tragedy had been to the folios. acted by any company. The three later folios, in this instance as in others, were Thus we see, that in July, 1602, there was an intention to printed from the immediately preceding edition in the same print and publish a play called "The Revenge of Hamlet, form; but we are inclined to think, that if "Hamlet," in the Prince of Denmark;" and this intention, we may fairly con- folio of 1623, were not composed from some now unknown elude, arose out of the popularity of the piece, as it was- then quarto, it was derived from a manuscript obtained by Heinacted by the Lord Chamberlain's servants," who, in May inge and Condell from the theatre. The Acts and Scenes following, obtained the title of " the King's players." The are, however, marked only in the first and second Acts, after object of Roberts in making the entry already quoted, was which no divisions of the kind are noticed; and where Act iii. to secure it to himself, being, no doubt, aware that other commences is merely matter of modern conjecture. Some printers and booksellers would endeavor to anticipate him. large portions of the play appear to have been omitted for It seems probable, that he was unable to obtain such a copy the sake of shortening the performance; and any editor who of" Hamlet" as he would put his name to; but some inferior should content himself with reprinting the folio, without large and nameless printer, who was not so scrupulous, having additions from the quartos, would present but an imperfect surreptitiously secured a manuscript of the play, however notion of the drama as it came from the hand of the poet. impertect, which would answer the purpose, and gratify public The text of "tlHamlet " is, in fact, only to be obtained from curiosity, the edition bearing date in 1603 was published. a comparison of the editions in quarto and folio, but the misSuch, we have little doubt, was the origin of the impression prints in the latter are quite as numerous and glaring as in of which only a single copy has reached our day, and of which, the former. In various instances we have been able to correct probably, but a few were sold, as its worthlessness was soon the one by the other, and it is in this respect chiefly that the discovered, and it was quickly entirely superseded by the quarto of 1603 is of intrinsic value. enlarged impression of 1604. Coleridge, after vindicating himself from the accusation As an accurate reprint was made in 1825 of "' The Tragicall that he had derived his ideas of Hamlet from Schlegel, (and Historie of Hamlet Prince of Denmarke," 1603, it will be we heard him broach them some years before the Lectures, unnecessary to go in detail into proofs to establish, as we Ueber Dr'cmatisclhe Kunst und Litteratur, were published,) could do without much difficulty, the following points:- thus, in a few sentences, sums up the character of Hamlet:1. That great part of the play, as it there stands, was taken "In Hamlet, Shakespeare seems to have wished to exemplify down in short-hand. 2. That where mechanical skill failed the moral necessity of a due balance between our attention the short-hand writer, he either filled up the blanks friom to the objects of our senses, and our meditation on the workmemory, or employed an inferior writer to assist him. 3. That ings of our mind, — an eqguilibriusm between the real and although some of the scenes were carelessly transposed, and the imaginary worlds. In Hamlet this balance is disturbed; others entirely omitted, in the edition of 1603, the drama, as his thoughts and the images of his fancy are far more vivid it was acted while the short-hand writer was employed in than his actual perceptions; and his very perceptions, intaking it down, was, in all its main features, the same as the stantly passing through thle miedium of his contemplations, more perfect copy of the tragedy printed with the date of acquire, as they pass, a form and a color not naturally their 1604. It is true, that in the edition of 1603, Polonius is called own. Hence we see a great, an almost enormous, intellectual Corambis, and his servant, Montano, and we may not be able activity, and a proportionate aversion to real action conseto determine why these changes were made in the immedi- quent upon it, with all its symptoms and accompanying ately subsequent impression; but we may perhaps conjecture qualities. This character Shakespeare places in circumstances that they were names in the older play on the same story, under which it is obliged to act on the spur of the moment. or names which Shakespeare at first introduced, and subse- Hamlet is brave, and careless of death; but he vacillates quently thought fit to reject. We know that Ben Jonson from sensibility, and procrastinates from thought, and loses changed the whole dramatis personem of his "Every Man in the power of action in the energy of resolve." (Lit. Rein. his Humour." vol. ii. p. 205.) But although we entirely reject the quarto of 1603, as an It has generally been supposed that Joseph Taylor was authentic " Hamlet," it is of high value in enabling us to the original actor of Hamlet-and Wright, in his "Historiu settle the text of various important passages. It proves, Histrionica," 1699, certainly speaks of him as having perbesides, that certain portions of the play, as it appears in the formed the part. This, however, must have been after the folio of 1623, which do not form part of the quarto of 1604, death of Richard Burbage, which happened precisely eighty were originally acted, and were not, as has been hitherto years before Wright published his tract. We know, from imagined, subsequent introductions. We have pointed otit the manuscript Elegy upon Burbage, sold among Heber's these and other peculiarities so fully in our notes, that we books, that he was the earliest representative of Hamlet; need not dwell upon them here; but we may mention, that and there the circumstance of his being "fat and scant of in Act iii. se. 4, the quarto of 1603 explains a curious point breath," in the fencing scene, is noticed in the very words of stage-business, which puzzled all the commentators. Just of Shakespeare. Taylor did not belong to the company for as the Ghost is departing from the Queen's closet, Harnlet which Shakspeare wrote at the date when "Hamlet" was exclaims, produced.;: Look, how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he lived!" Malone, Steevens, and Monck Mason argue the question KING LEAR. whether in this scene, the Ghost, as in former scenes, ought to wear armour, or to be dressed in " his own familiar habit;" M. William Shak-speare: His True Chronicle Historie of the and they conclude, either that Shakespeare had "forgotten life and death of King Lear and his three Daughters. With himself," or had meant "to vary the dress of the Ghost at the vnfortunate life of Edgar, sonne and heire to the Earle this his last appearance." The quarto of 1603, shows exactly of Gloster, and his sullen and assumed humour of Tom of how the poet's intention was carried into effect, for there we Bedlam. As it was played before the Kings Maiestie at meet with the stage-direction,' Enter the Ghost in his night- Whitehall vpon S. Stephans night in Christmas Hollidayes. gown;" and such was unquestionably the. appearance of the By his Maiesties seruants playing vsually at the Gloabe on performer of the part when the short-hand writer saw the the Bancke-side. London, Printed for Nathaniel Butter, tragedy, with a view to the speedy publication of a fraudulent and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Church-yard, at the impression. "My father, in the habit as he lived," are the signe of the Pide Bull neere St. Austin's Gate. 1608. 4to. words he recorded from the mouth of the actor of Hamlet. 41 leaves. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. ciii M. William Shake-speare, His True Chronicle History of the Lear," and on the 26th November he procured the following life and death of King Lear, and his three Daughters. unusually minute memorandum to be made in the Stationers' With the vnfortunate life of Edgar, sonne and heire to the Registers:Earle of Glocester, and his sullen and assumed humour of "'26 Nov. 1607. Tom of Bedlam. As it was plaid before the Kings Maiesty Na. Butter and Jo. Busby]' Entered for their Copie at White-Hall, vppon S. Stephens night, in Christmas Hol- under t' hands of Sir Geo. Bucke, Kt. and the Warlidaies. By his Maiesties Seruants, playing vsually at the dens, a booke called Mr. Willim Shakespeare, his Globe on the Banck-side. Printed for Nathaniel Butter. Historye of Kinge Lear, as yt was played before the 1608. 4to. 44 leaves. King's Majestic at Whitehall, upon St. Stephen's The title-page of a third impression in 1608 corresponds with night at Christmas last, by his Majesties Servants that last above given. playing usually at the Globe on the Bank-side." In the folio of 1623, "The Tragedie of King Lear " occupies This entry establishes that Shakespeare's "King Lear" had twenty seven pages, in the division of "Tra edies;" viz. been played at Court on the 26th December, 1606, and not from p. 283 to p. 309, inclusive. The last page but one, by on the 26th December, 1607, as we might infer from the titlean error, is numbered 38, instead of 308. In the first, as pages of'the three editions of 1608. well as in the folios of 1632, 1664, and 1685, the Acts and The memorandum we have just inserted would lead us to Scenes are regularly marked.] -believe that John Busby was the printer of "King Lear," THE mnost remarkable circumstance connected with the early although his name does not otherwise at all appear in connec~ publication of r " King Lear is, that the same stationer pub- tion with it. The differences between the quartos are seldom ished three quarto mpressions of it in 1608, thatree quarto impressioners of than in 1verbal08, but they are sometimes important: after a being a person who had not put forth any of the authentic very patient comparison, we maystate, that the quartos with(as far as they can deserve to be so considered) editions of out the publisher's address are more accurate than that with Shakespeare's plays. After it had been thus thrice printed his address; and we presume that the latter was first issued. (for they were not merely re-issues with fresh title-pages) in would seem that the folio of 1623 was composed from a the samine year, the tragedy was not again printed until it manuscript, which had been much, and not very judiciously, appeared in the folio of 1623. Why it was never republished abridged for the purposes of the theatre; and although it in quarto, in the interval, must be matter of speculation, but contains some additions not in any of the quartos, theplays more, such was not an unusual occurrence with the works of our perhas, ew quarto s of any of Shakespeare's plays more great dramatist: his "Midsummer Night's Dream," "Mer- v aluabl e quantity of matter they contain, of which chant of Venice," and "Troilus and Cressida" were each there is no trace in the folio. twice printed, the two first in 1600, and the last in 1609, and We have said that we agree with Malone in opinion, that they were not again seen in type until they were inserted in'King Lear" was brought out at the Globe Theatre in the ti folio of 1623: there was also no second qarto edition of spring of 1605, acording to our present mode of computing' Much ado about Nothing," nor of " Love's Labour's Lost." the year. We may decide with certainty that it was not The extreume popularity of " King Lear" seems proved by written until after the appearance of Harsnet's "Discovery The mere fea that thepu blic demand for it, in the first year of Popish Impostors " in 1603, because from it, as Steevens of its publication, could not be satisfied without three distinct stablished, are taken the names of various fiends mentioned impressions. As we -find a'1King Leir 11 entered on the Stationers'books It will be seen by the exact copies of the title-paces which Aswefind a "King Leir "entered on the Stationers' books we have inserted on the opposite leaf, that although Nathaniel in 1594, we can have no hesitation in m riving at the coneInButter was the publisher of the three quarto editions, he only 810ion that the old pla, printed by Simon Stafford for John put his address on the title-page of one of them. It is per- Wright, in 1605, when Shakespeare's "King Lear" was (as haps impossible now to ascertain oni what account the differ- we have supposed) experiencing a run of popularity at the ence was made; but it is to be observed that " Printed by J. Globe, was considerably anterior in point of date. There is Roberts," without any address, is found at the bottom of the little doubt that Shakespeare was acquainted with it, and title-pages of some of the copies of "The Merchant of probably adopted from it at least that part of the conduct of Venice" and L"Midsummer Night's Dream " in 1600. A his story which relates to the faithful Kent. There are other more remarkable circumstance in relation to the title-pags general, but few particular resemblances; for both the chief of " Ki'n~ Learr" is that the iame of William Shakeser is'-' materials were evidently derived from H-olinshed, but Shakemade, soobvious at the top of them, the type being larger pe varied fiom all authorities in cis catastrophe. he then that used for any other part of the work: moreover, we seems to have thought, that to abandon the course of the have it a am at te head of the leaf on which the tredy ordinary and popular narrative, would heighten and improve commences, " M. William Sheke-speere, his History of Kim t effect of hi drama, and give a novelty to its terminmtion. Lear." This peculiarity has never attracted sufficient atten- ser in B. oii.. 10, of his gFairie Queene," and thence it has tion, and it belongs not only to no other of Shakespeare's beer tout that ShespeFare Queobtaine," and thence it has plays, but to no other production of any kind of that period bee n thouht that Shakesa re obtained the nae of Co which we recollect. It was clearly intended to enable pur- delia, till then usually called Cordella. That portion of the chasers to make sure that they were buying the drama which plot which relates to the Earl of Gloster, he may have pro"M. William Shakespeare " had written upon the story of cured from Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia," first printed in iM. Tillim Shaespeare hai 1590, 4to. B. ii. c. 10, of that romance is thus headed The cause of it is, perhaps, to be found in the fact, that The pitifull state and storie of the Paphalgonian unkinde there was aoiother contemporary drama upon tihe same sub- King, and his kind son." An early ballad on King Lear was ject, and with very nearly the same names to the principal also published (see Percy's Reliques, vol. ii. p. 249; edit. characters, which was not by Shakespeame, but which thie 1812), but no copy with a date has come down to us: although apublier probably had endeSaored to peass off as his work. it employs the older names of some of the characters, it adopts publisher probablf y bad ep ndeavored to pass off as his work. that of Cordelia; and there are several circumstances, besides An edition of this play was printed in 1605, under the follow- a more modern style of composition, which lead us to the in title:- The True Chronicl Iistory of King Leir d his a more modern style of compositio, which lead us to the ingtthree uhteTr CGo roricl,,e CHord sit batdhis belief that it was written posterior to the production of Shakethree Dauvlters, Gonori, Raga^n, and Cordella. As it hath "speare's Tragedy. bene divers anid sundry times lately macted." It was printed, spears tragedy. by Simon Stafford, for John Wright; and we agree with Malone in thinking that this impression was put forth in consequence of the popularity of Shakespeare's " King Lear," OTHELLO. which was then in a course of successful performance at the Globe theatre. That this edition of "The True Chronicle [" The Tragoedy of Othello, The Moore of Venice. As it hath History of King Leir" was a re-impression we have little beene diuerse times acted at the Globe, and at the Blackdoubt, because it was entered at Stationers' Hall for publica- Friers, by his Maiesties Seruants. Written by William tion as early as 14th May, 1594: it was entered again on 8th Shakespeare. London, Printed by N. 0. for Thomas May, 1605, anterior to the appearance of the impression with Walkley, and are to be sold at his shop, at the Eagle and that date, the title-page of which we have above quoted. Child, in Brittans Bursse. 1622." 4to. 48 leaves, irreguWe may presume that in 1605 no bookseller was able to larly paged. obtain from the King's Players a copy of Shakespeare's "King "The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice," occupies Lear;," for there is perhaps no point in our early stage-history thirty pages in the folio of 1623; viz. from p. 310 to p. 339 more clear, than that the different companies took every pre- inclusive, in the division of " Tragedies:" it is there, as in caution in order to prevent the publication of plays belonging the three later folios, divided into Acts and Scenes, and on to them. However, in the autumn of 1607, Nathaniel Butter the last page is a list of the characters, headed, " The Names had in some way possessed him of a manuscript of "King of the Actors." civ INTRODTUCTION TO THE PLAYS. BY the subsequent extract from "The Egerton Papers," must be wrong, the compositor of the folio having caught printed by the Camden Society, (p. 343) it appears that I' keeps " from the later portion of the same line. In Pope's "Othello " was acted for the entertainment of Queen Eliza- edition, c feels " was substituted for keeps, and the word has beth, at the residence of Lord Ellesmere (then Sir Thomas since usually continued in the text, with Malone's note, "the Eperton, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal) at Harefield, in the correction was made by Mr. Pope." The truth is, that Pope beginning of August, 1602:- was right in his conjecture as to the misprinted word, for in "(6 August 1602. Rewards to the Vaulters, players, and the quarto of 1630, which Malone could not have consulted, dauncers. Of this x1" to Bnurbidge's players for Othello, but which lie nevertheless pronounced " of no authority," the Ixiiii1 xviiiis Xd." passage stands thus:The part of the memorandum which relates to i" Othello" 7 —_- " Like to the Pontick sea, is interlined, as if added afterwards; but thus we find de- tWhose icy current, and compulsive course cisively, that this tragedy was in being in the summer of Ne'erfeels retiring ebb," &c. 1602; and the probability is, that it was selected for perform- If Malone had looked at the quarto of 1680, he would have ance because it was a new play, having been brought out at seen that Pope had been anticipated in his proposed ementhe Globe theatre in the spring of that year.' dation about a hundred years; and that in the manuscript The incidents, with some variation, are to be found in fionm which the quarto of 1630 was printed, the true word Cinthio's Jecatommnithi, where the novel is the seventh of the was " feels," and not keeps, as it was misprinted in the folio third Decad, and it bears the following explanatory title in the of 1623. We will take an instance, only six lines earlier in Monte Regale edition of 1565:-i" Un Capitano Moro piglia the same scene, to show the value of the quarto of 1630, in per mogliera una cittadina Venetiana: un suo Alfieri laccusa supporting the quai'to of 1622, and in correcting the folio of di adulterio al marito; cerca che l'Alfieri uccida colui ch'egli 1623. Ot]hello exclaims,- as we find the words in the folio, credea l'adultero: il Capitano uccide la moglie, e accusato dallo Alfieri, non confessa il Moro, ma essendovi chiari inditii Arise, blac veneance fom the hollow el e bandito; et lo scelerato Alfieri, credendo nuocere ad altri, a line which has been generally thus printed, adopting the procacciata se la morte miseramente." This novel was early text of the quarto of 1622:translated into French, and in all probability into English,eane, from thy hollow ell;" but no suchlversion has descended to us. Our great dramatist may indeed have read the story in the original language; and these are exactly the words in the quarto of 1630, although and it is highly probable that he was sufficiently acquainted it can be established that it was printed, not from the quarto with Italian for the purpose. Hence he took only the name of 1622, nor from the folio of 1623, but from a manuscript of Desdlemona. which in many places differed materially from both, and in We have seen, by the quotation from "The Egerton some few supplied a text inferior to both. It is not necessary Papers," that the company by which "Othello" was per- to pursue this point farther, especially as our brief notes formed at Harefield was called "Burbidge's players;" and abundantly establish that the quarto of 1630, instead of being there can be no doubt that he was the leading actor of the," of no authority," is of great value, with reference to the company, and thereby in the account gave his name to the true reading of some important passages. association, though properly denominated the Lord Chamber- Walkley, the publisher of the quarto of 1622, thus entered lain's Servants. Richard Burbage was the original actor of that edition on the Stationers' Registers, shortly previous to the part of Othello, as we learn from an elegy upon his death, its appearance:among the late Mr. Heber's manuscripts. To the same fact 6 Oct. 1621. we may quote the concluding stanza of a ballad, on the inci- Tho. Walkley] Entered for his, to wit, under the dents of'" Othello," written after the death of Burbage, which handes of Sir George Buck and of the Wardens: has also come down to us in manuscript:- The Tragedie of Othello, the Moore of Venice."': Dick Burbage, that most famous man, It is perhaps not too much to presume, that this impression, That actor without peer, though dated 1622, had come out at the close of 1621; and With this same part his course began, that it preceded the folio of 1623 is very obvious, from the AnShd kept it may a year.ow fact, that " Othello " was not included in their list by Blunt Shakespeare was fortunate, I trow, That such an actor had: and Jaggard, the publishers of the folio of 1623, because they If we had but his equal now, were aware that it had already been printed, and that it had For one I should be glad." been entered as the property of another bookseller. The The writer spoke at random, when he asserted that Burbage qarto of 1622 was preceded the followig adress began his career with Othello, for we have evidence to show "' The Stationer to the Reader. that he was an actor of high celebrity, many years before "To set forth a booki without an epistle were like to the Shakespeare's " Othello " was written, and we have no proof old English proverb,'A blue coat without a badge; and that there waes any older phlay uponi the psame subject. the author being dead, I thought good to take that piece of There are two quarto editions of "' Othello," one bearing work upon me. To commend it I will not-for that which date in 1622, the year before the first folio of "Mr. William is good, I hope every man will commend without entreaty; Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies" appeared, and I am the bolder, because the author's name is sufficient and the other printed in 1630. An exact copy of the title-page to vent his work. Thus leaving every one to the liberty of of the quarto of 1622, will be found in the usual place, and judgment, I have ventured to print this play, and leave it that published in 1630 differs only in the imprint, which is to the general censure. Yours, THOMAS WALKLEY." "by A. M. for Richard Hawkins," &c. We have had fre- The publishers of the folio of 1623, perhaps purchased qnent occ;0,pion in our notes to refer to this impression, which Walkley's interest in " Othello." has, indeed, been mentioned by the commentators, but nothing like sufficient attention has been paid to it. Malone sumsmarily dismissed it as "an edition of no authority," but. it is ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. very clear that he had never sufficiently examined it. It was unquestionably printed from a manuscript different from that [" The Tragedie of Anthonie and Cleopatra " occupies twentyused for the quarto of 1622, or for the folio of 1623; and it nine pages in the folio of 1623; viz. from p. 340 to p. 368 presents a number of various readings, some of which singu- inclusive, in the division of " Tragedies." Although at Iarly illustrate the original text of " Othello." Of this fact it the beginning it has Actus Pr'imus. Sccena Primnc, it is may be fit here to supply some proof. not divided into acts and scenes, nor is the defect cured In Act iii. so. 3, a passage occurs in the folio of 1623, which in any of the subsequent folio impressions of 1632, 1664, is not contained in the quarto of 1622, and which runs thus and 1685. They are all without any list of characters.] imperfectly in the folio:- WE are without any record that "Antony and Cleopatra" ----- Like to the Pontick sea, was ever performed,; and when in Act v. sc. 2, the heroine Whose icy current and compulsive course anticipates that " some squeaking Cleopatra" will " boy her Ne'er keeps retiring ebb, but keeps due on greatness " on the stage, Shakespeare seems to hint that no To the Propontick and the Hellespont," &c. young male performer would be able to sustain the part It will not be disputed that " Ne'er 7keeps- retiring ebb" 7without exciting ridicule. However, the same remark will, 1It appears from Mr. P. Cunningham's " Extracts from the been always so popular as to remain what is teanied " a stock piece;" Accounts of the Revels at Court," (printed for the Shakespeare Society) and it was perf6rmed again before King Charles and his Queen at p. 203, that aplay, called " The Moor of Venis," no doubt, " Othello," Hampton Court on Dec. 8, 1636. Ibid. Introd. p. xxv. was acted at Whitehall on Nov. 1, 1604. The tragedy seems to have INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. cv more or less, apply to many of his other female characters; The novel by Boccaccio has many corresponding features: and the wonder, of course, is, how so much delicacy, tender- it is the ninth of Giornata IL, and bears the following title: ness, and beauty could be infused into parts which the poet "Bernabe da Genova, da Ambrogiuolo ingannato, perde il knew must be represented by beardless and crack-voiced suo, e comanda che la moglie innocente sia uccisa. Ella boys. scampa, et in habito di huomo serve il Soldano; ritrova PinThe period of the year at which "Antony and Cleopatra " gannato.re, e Bernabo conduce in Alessandria, dove l'inganwas entered on the Stationers' Registers might lead to the natore punito, ripreso habito feminile col marito ricchi si inference, that, having been written late in 1607, it was tornano a Genova." This tale includes one circumstance brought out at the Globe in the spring of 1608, and that Ed- only found there and in Shakespeare's play: we allude to ward Blunt (one of the publishers of the folio of 1623) thus the mole which Iachimo saw on the breast of Imogen. The put in his claim to the publication of the tragedy, if he could parties are all merchants in Boccaccio, excepting towards the procure a manuscript of it. The memorandum bears date close cf his novel, where the Soldan is introduced: the vilon the 20th May, 1608, and the piece is stated to be " a book" lain, instead of being forgiven, is punished by being anointed called " Anthony and Cleopatra." Perhaps Blunt was un- with honey, and exposed in the sun to flies, wasps, and mosable to obtain a copy of it, and, as far as we now know, it quitoes, which eat the flesh from his bones. was printed for the first time in the folio of 16238. A modification of this production seems to have found its It does not appear that there was any preceding drama on way into our language at the commencement of the seventhe story, with the exception of the "Cleopatra'" of Samuel teenth century. Steevens states that it was printed in 1603, Daniel, originally published in 1594, to which Shakespeare and again in 1620, in a tract called " Westward for Smelts." was clearly under no obligation. Any slight resemblance If there be no error as to the date, the edition of 1603 has between the two is to be accounted for by the fact, that both been lost, for no copy of that year now seems to exist in any poets resorted to the same authority for their materials-Plu- public or private collection. Mr. Halliwell, in his reprint of tarch-whose "Lives" had been translated by Sir T. North The First Sketch of "The Merry Wives of Windsor," (for in 1579. The minuteness with which Shakespeare adhered the Shakespeare Society) p. 135, has expressed his opinion to history is more remarkable in this drama than in any other; that Steevens must have been mistaken, and that "Westand sometimes the most trifling circumstances are artfully, ward for Smelts" was not published until 1620: only one but still most naturally, interwoven. Shakespeare's use of copy even of this impressio'n is known'; and if, in fact, it history in "Antony and Cleopatra" may be contrasted with were not, as Steevens [upposes, a reprint, of course ShakeBen Jonson's subjection to it in "1 Sejanus." speare could not have resorted to it: however, he might, "Of all Shakespeare's historical plays (says Coleridge) without much difficulty, have gone to the original; or some'Antony and Cleopatra' is by far the most wonderful. There version may then have been in 6xistence, of which he availed is not one in which he has followed history so minutely, and himself, but which has not come down to our day. The ieciyet there are few in which he impresses the notion of angelic dents in " Westward for Smelts" are completely anglicised, strength so much-perhaps none in which he impresses it and the scene is laid in this country in the reigns of Henry VI. more strongly. This is greatly owing to the manner in which and Edward 1V. In the French and Italian versions, lachimo the fiery force is sustained throughout, and to the numerous (or the person answering to him) is conveyed to Imogen's momentary flashes of nature, counteracting the historic ab- chamber in a chest, but in "Westward for Smelts," where straction." (Lit. Rem. vol. ii. p. 143.) the tale is in other respects vulgarised, he conceals himself under her bed. Some German critics, whose opinions are often entitled to P~tVCYMBELIN'T TE. ^the most respectful consideration, have supposed that " Cymbeline" was written in 1614 or 1615, not adverting to the' The Tragedie of Cysmbeline " was first printed in the folio circumstance that Shakespeare had then relinquished all conof 1623, where it stands last in the division of "Trage- nection with the stage, and had retired from the metropolis. dies," and occupies thirty-one pages; viz. from p. 369 to Malone thought that 1609 was the year which could be most p. 399, misprinted p. 993. There is another error in the probably fixed upon; and although we do not adopt his reapagination, as p. 379 is numbered p. 389. These errors soming upon the point, we are strongly inclined to believe are corrected in the three later folios.] that this drama was not, at all events, written at an earlier period. Forman, the astrologer, was present when " CymbeTHE materials in Holinshed for the historical portion of"Cym- line." was acted-most likely, in 1610 or 1611-but he does beline " are so imperfect and scanty, that a belief may be not in his Diary insert the date when, nor the theatre where, entertained that Shakespeare resorted to some other more he saw it. His brief account of the plot, in his " Booke of fertile source, which the most diligent inquiries have yet Plaies and Notes thereof" (MS. Ashmol. No. 208), is in the failed to discover. The names of Cymbeline and of his sons, following terms:Guiderins and Arviragus, occur in the old Chronicle, and there we hear of the tribute demanded by the REoman em- - "Remember, also, the story of Cymbeline, king of England in wLucius' time: how Lucius came from Octavius Czssar for tribute, peror, but nothing is said of the stealing of the two young and being denied, after sent Lucius with a great army of soldiers, princes, nor of their residence with Bellarius among the who landed at Milford Haven, and after were vanquished by Cymbemountains, and final restoration to their father. line, and Lucius taken prisoner; and all by means of three outlaws, All that relates to Posthumus, Imogen, and lachimo is of the which two of them were the sons of Cymbeline, stolen from merely fabulous, and some of the chief incidents of this part him when they were but two years old, by an old man whom Cym-of the plot are to be found in French, Italian, and Engfish. beline banished; and he kept them as his own sons twenty years We will speak of them separately, with him in a cave. And how one of them slew Cloten, that was the queen's son, going to Milford Haven to seek the love of Imnogen, They had been employed for a dramatic purpose in France the king's daughter, whom he had banished also for loving his at an early date, in a Miracle-play, printed in 1889 by Messrs. daughter. Monmerque and Michel, in their Tsaatre Francois au 2oyen- "And how the Italian that came from her love conveyed himself i aqe from a manuscript in the Bibliothdque du Roi. In that into a chest, and said it was a chest of plate, sent from her love and piece, mixed up with many romantic circumstances, we find others to be presented to the king. And in the deepest of the night, th e wager on the chastity of the heroine, her flight in the she being asleep, he opened the chest and came forth of it, and viewthe proof of her innocence, and h fin ed her in her bed, and the marks of her body, and took away her disguise of a page, the proof of her innocence, and her final bracelet, and after accused her of adultery to her love, &c. And in restoration to her husband. There also we meet how he came with the Romans into England, and was circumstances, introduced into Shakespeare's " Cymbeline," taken prisoner, and after revealed to Imogen, who had turned herself but not contained in any other version of the story with into man's apparel, and fled to meet her love at Milford Haven; and which we are acquainted: we allude to thie boast of Beren- chanced to fall on the cave in the woods where her two brothers gier (the lachimo of the French Drama), that if he were. allow- were: and how by eating a sleeping dram they thought she had ed the opportunity of speakinng to the heroine but twice, he been dead, and laid her in the woods, and the body of Cloten by her ed the opportunity of speaking to the heroine but twice, he i e s p h h e b i h n: s s fu in her love's apparel that he left behind him, and how she -was found should be able to accomplish his design: bachimo (Act i. by Lucius," &c. se. 5) mnakes the same declaration. Again, in the French Miracle-play, Berengier takes exactly Shakespeare's mode We have ertainly no right to conclude that "Cymbeline " of assailing the virtue of Imogen, by exciting her anger and was a new piece when Forman witnessed the performance of jealousy by pretending that her husband, in Rome, had set it; but various critics have concurred in the opinion (which iher the example of infidelity. Incidents somewhat similar we ourselves entertain) that in style and versification it reare narrated in the French romances of La Violette, and Flore sembles "The Winter's Tale," and that the two dramas et Jehanne: in the latter, the villain, being secretly admitted belong to about the same period of the poet's life. Forman by an old woman into the bed-room of the heroine, has the t Among Capell's books, which he gave to Trinity College, Cammeans of ascertaining a particular mark upon her person bridge, and which are there preserved with care proportionate to their while she is bathing. value. I____~~~~~. ___~~~~~~~~ _ ~~vaue cvi INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. saw "1 The Winter's Tale " on 17th May, 1611, and, perhaps, we feel persuaded that we could extract nearly every line that he saw " Cymbeline " at the Globe in the spring of the pre- was not dictated by his great intellect. We apprehend that ceding year. However, upon this point, we have no evidence Shakespeare found a drama on the story in the possession of to guide us, beyond the mere mention of the play and its one of the companies performing in London, and that, in incidents in Forman's Diary. That it was acted at court at accordance with the ordinary practice of the time, he made an early date is more than probable, but we are without any additions to and improvements in it, and procured it to be record of such an eveit until 1st January, 1633 (Vide Hist. represented at the Globe theatrel. Who might be the author of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. ii. p. 57); under of the original piece, it would be in vain to conjecture. which date Sir Henry Herbert, the Master of the Revels, Although we have no decisive proof that Shakespeare ever registers that it was performed by the King's Players, and worked in immediate concert with any of his contemporaries, that it was "well liked by the King." The particular allusion it was the custom with nearly all the dramatists of his day, in Act ii. sc. 4, to'" proud Cleopatra " on the Cydnus, which and it is not impossible that such was the case with "' Pericles." "swell'd above his banks," might lead us to think that The circumstance that it was a joint production, may partly "Antony and Cleopatra " had preceded " Cymbeline." account for the non-appearance of " Pericles" in the folio of It is the last of the " Tragedies " in the folio of 1623, and 1623. Ben Jonson, when printing the volume of his Works, we have reason to suppose that it had not been printed at any in 1616, excluded for this reason " The Case is Altered," and earlier date. The divisions of acts and scenes are throughout " Eastward Ho!" in the composition of which he had been, regularly marked. engaged with others; and when the player-editors of the folio __ of 1623 were collecting their materials, they perhaps omitted "Pericles " because some living author might have an interest TPERICLES*TTnT PRINCE OFr R TYRE. in it. Of course we only advance this point as a mere specuPERICLES, PRINCE OF TY1 lation; and the fact that the publishers of the folio of 1623 [" The late, And much admired Play, called Pericles, Prince could not purchase the right of the bookseller, who had then of Tyre. With the true Relation of the whole Historie, the property in "Pericles," may have been the real cause of aduentures, and fortunes of the said Prince: As also, The it s non-insertion. no lesse strange, and worthy accidents, in the Birth and The Registers of the Stationers' Company show that on the Life, of his Daughter Mariana. As it bath been diuers aind 20th May, 1608, Edward Blount (one of the proprietors of the sundry times acted by his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe folo o 1623) entered "The booke of Pencl, Prync of on the Banck-side. By William Shakespeare. Imprinted Tyre," with one of the undoubted works of Shakespeare, at London for Henry Gosson, and are to be sold at the signe Antony and Cleopatra." Nevertheless, " Pericles " was not of the Sunne in Pater-noster row, &c. 1609." 4to. 35 published by Blount, but by Gosson in the following year; leaves. 19.4o. 85and we may infer, either that Blount sold his interest to "The late, And much admired Play, called Pericles, Prince Gosson, or that Gosson anticipated Blount in procuring a of Tyre. With the true Relation of the whole History, manuscript of the play. Gosson may have subsequently aduentures, and fortunes of the saide Prince. Written by parted with Pericles" to Thomas Pavier, and hence the W. Shakespeare. Printed for T. P. 1619." 4to. 34 leaves. re-impresson by the latter n 119. "'The late, And much admired Play, called Pericles, Prince HIaving.thus spoken of the internal evidence of authorship, of Tyre. With the true Relation of the whole History, and of the possible reason why " Pericles " was not included aduentures, and fortunes of the sayd Prince: Written by in the folio of 1623, we will now advert briefly to the external Will. Shakespeare: London, Printed by I. N. for R. B. and evidence, that it was the work of our great dramatist. In are to be sould at his shop in Cheapside, at the signe of the the first place it was printed in 16097 with his name at full Bible. 1630." 4to. 84 leaves. length2, and rendered unusually obvious, on the title-p age. In the folio of 164, the llowing is the heading of thepage The answer, of course, may be that this was a fraud, and that on the folio of 1664,ich t he llowplay beg ins: "The ch admi red Playge it had been previously committed in the cases of the first part on which the play begins. The much a mired Play, f,- *r J Oideastle 160 and oyf it Tpe Y\r i rc called, Pericles, Prince of Tyre. With the true Relation of "Sir John Oldcastle, 1600, and of "The Yorkshire of the whole History, Adventures, and Fortunes of the said Tragedy," 1608. It is undoubtedly true, that Shakespeare's Prince. Written by W. Shakespeare, and published in his name is upon those title-pages; but we know, with regard to life time." It occupies twenty-pages; viz. from p. 1 to p. "Sir John Oldcastle," that the original title-page, stating it 20, inclusive, a new pagination of the volume commencing to have been " Written by William Shakespeare was canwith " Pericles." It is there divided into Acts, but irreou- celled, no doubt at the instance of the author to Whom it was larly, and the Scenes are e not marked.] ialsely imputed; and as to " The Yorkshire Tragedy," many la and the Scenes are not arkedpersons have entertained the belief, in which we join, that THE first question to be settled in relation to "; Pericles," is Shakespeare had a share in its composition. We are not to its title to a place among the collected works of Shakespeare. forget that, in the year preceding, Nathaniel Butter had made There is so marked a character about every thing that pro- very prominent use of Shakespeare's name, for the sale of ceeded from the pen of our great dramatist,-his mode of three impressions of " King Lear;" and that in the very year thought, and his style of expression, are so unlike those of when " Pericles" came out, Thorpe had printed a collection any of his contemporaries, that they can never be mistaken. of scattered poems, recommending them to notice in very They are clearly visible in all the later portion of the play; large capitals, by stating emphatically that they were "Shakeand so indisputable does this fact appear to us, that, we con- speare's Sonnets." fidently assert, however strong amay be the external evidence Confirmatory of what precedes, it may be mentioned, that to the same point, the internal evidence is infinitely stronger: previously to the insertion of " Pericles "' in the folio of 1664, to those who have studied his works it will seem incontro- it had been imputed to Shakespeare by S. Shepherd, in his vertible. As we do not rely merely upon particular expres- " Times displayed in Six Sestiads," 1646; and n lines by J. smons, nor upon separate passages, but upon the general Tatham, prefixed to R. Brome's "Jovial Crew," 1652. complexion of whole scenes and acts, it is obvious, that we Dryden gave it to Shakespeare in 1675, in the Prologue to C. cannot here enter into proofs, which would require the re- Davenant's " Circe." Thus, as far as stage tradition is of impression of many of the succeeding pages. value, it is uniformly in flavour of our'position; and it is An opinion has long prevailed, and we have no doubt it is moreover to be observed, that until comparatively modern well founded, that two hands are to be traced in the composi- times it has never been contradicted. tion of "Pericles." The larger part of the first three Acts The incidents of'" Pericles " are found in Lawrence Twine's were in all probability the work of an inferior dramatist: to translation from the Gesta Romanorum, first published in these Shakespeare added comparatively little; but he found 1576, under the title of "The Patterne of Painfull Advenit necessary, as the story advanced and as the interest in- tures," in which the three chief characters are not named as creased, to insert more of his own composition. His hand in Shakespeare, but are called Apollonius, Lucina, and begins to be distinctly seen in the third Act, and afterwards Tharsia3. This novel was several times reprinted, and an 1 By a list of theatrical apparel, formerly belonging to Alleyn, and 3 The novel is contained in a work called " Shakespeare's Library," preserved at Dulwich College, it appears that he had probably acted as well as Gower's poetical version of the same incidents, extracted in a play called Pericles." See " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," from his Confessio Amantis. Hence the propriety of making Gower printed for the Shakespeare Society, p. 21. This might be the play the speaker of the various interlocutions in "Pericles." The origin which Shakespeare altered and improved. of the story, as we find it in the Gesta Romanoruim, is a matter of 2 It seems that "Pericles " was reprinted under the same circum- dispute: Belleforest asserts that the version in his Histoires Trastances in 1611. I have never been able to meet with a copy of this *giques was from a manuscript tire diz Grec. Not long since, Mr. edition, and doubted its existence, until Mr. Halliwell pointed it out Thorpe printed an Anglo Saxon narrative of the same incidents; and to me, in a sale catalogue in 1804: it purported to have been " printed it is stated to exist in Latin manuscripts of as early a date as the tenth for S. S." This fact would show, that Shakespeare did not then con- century.-"' Shakespeare's Library," part v. p. ii. tradict the reiterated assertion, that he was the author of the play. INTRODUCTION TO THE PLAYS. cvii edition of it came out in 1607, which perhaps was the year it was so originally. Pericles tells Simonides, in the novel, in which " Pericles was first represented " at the Globe on that the Bank-side," as is stated on the title-page of the earliest His blood was yet untainted, but with the heat got by the wrong edition in 1609. The drama seems to have been extremely the king had offered him, and that he boldly durst and did defy himpopular, but the usual difficulty being experienced by book- self, his subjects, and the proudest danger that either tyranny or sellers in obtaining a copy of it, Nathaniel Butter probably treason could inflict upon him." employed some person to attend the performance at the To leave out only two or three expletives renders the sentheatre, and with the aid of notes there taken, and of Twine's tece perfect dramatic blank-verse:version of the story, (which, as we remarked, had just before been reprinted) to compose a novel out of the incidents of the "His blood as yet untainted, but with heat play under the following title: " The Painfill Adventures of Got by the wron the ing had offer'd him; Pericles Prince of Tyre. Being the true History of the Pla And that he boldly durt and did defy h His subjects, and the proudest danger that of Pericles, as it was lately presented by the worthy and Or tyranny or treason could inflict." ancient Poet Iohn Gower. At London. Printed by T. P. for Nat. Butter. 1608." It has also a wood-cut of Gower, no Many other passages to the same end might be produce doubt, in the costunie he wore at the Globe. from the novel of which thele is no trace in the play. We This publication is valuable, not merely because it is the shall not, however, dwell farther upon the point, than to menonly known specimen of the kind of that date in our language, tion a peculiarly Shakespearean expression, which occurs in but because though in prose, (with the exception of a son) the novel, and is omitted in the drama. Lychorida brings it gives some of the speeches more at length, than in the pla the w-bon to Pericles, who in the pnted ply as it has come down to us, and explains several obscure and ct. s ss to it, disputed passages. For this latter purpose it will be seen -- thou'rt the rudeliest welcome to this norld that we have availed ourselves of it in our notes; hut it will That eer was price's child. Happy what follows not be out of place here to speak of the strong presumptive Thou hfat as chiding a nativity As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make." evidence it affords, that the drama has not reached us by any means in the shape in which it was originally represented. In the novel founded upon the play, the speecl is thus The subsequent is given, in the novel of 1608, as the speech given, and we have printed the expression, which, we think, of Marina, when she is visited in the brothel by Lysimachus, must have come from the pen of Shakespeare, in italic type: the governor of Mitylene, whom, by her virtue, beauty, and "Poor inch of nature! (quoth he) thou art as rudely welcome to eloquence, she diverts from the purpose for which he came. the world, as ever princess' babe was, and hast as chiding a nativity as fire, air, earth and water can afford thee."; If as you say, my lord, you are the governor, let not your authority, The existence of such a singular production was not known which should teach you to rule others, be the means to make you misgovern yourself. If the eminence of your place came unto you by to any of the commentators but several copies of it have descent, and the royalty of your blood, let not your life prove your been preserved, and one of them was sold in the library of birth bastard: if it were thrown upon you by opinion, make good the late Mr. Heber. that opinion was the cause to make you great. What reason is there It will have been remarked, that the novel printed in 1608 in your justice, who hath power over all, to undo any? If you tale states that "Pericles" had been " lately presented," and oil from me mine honour, you are like him that makes a gap into for- the title-page of the edition of the play in 1609 it is termed bidden ground, after whom many enter, and you are guilty of all "4the late and much-admired Play called Pericles: it is, their evils. My life is yet unspotted, my chastity unstained in e a ed Play called Peicl it i thought: then, if your violence deface this building, the workman- besides, spoken of as "a new play," in a poetical tract called ship of heaven, made up for good, and not to be the exercise of sin's " Pimlico or Run Red-cap," printed in 1609. Another piece, intemperance, you do kill your own honour, abuse your own justice, called "Shore, is mentioned in "imlico," under exactly and impoverish me." similar circumistances: there was an older drama upon the ystory of Jatle Shore, and this, like "Pericles," had, in all Of this speech in the printed play we only meet with the tory of Je d a following emphatic germ -~- probability, about the same date been revived at one of the following emphatic germ:- theatres, with additions. theatres, with additions. "If you were born to honour, show it now: "Pericles " was five times printed before it was inserted If put upon you, make the judgment good, in the folio of 1664, viz. in 1609, 1611, 1619, 1630, and 1635. That thought you worthy of it."-(A. iv. sc. 6.) The folio seems to have been copied from the last of these, with a multiplication of errors, but witih some corrections. It will hardly be required of us to argue, that the powerful The first edition of 1609 was obviously brought out in haste, address, copied from the novel founded upon "Pericles," and there are many corruptions in it; but more pains were could not be the mere enlargement of a short-hand writer, taken with it than Malone, Steevens, and others imlnained: who had taken notes at the theatre, who fiom the very diffi- they never compared different copies of the same edition, or culty of the operation, and from the haste with which he they would have seen that the impressions vary importantly, must afterwards have compounded the history, would be and that several mistakes, discovered as the play went throlgli much more likely to abridge than to expand. Iml some parts the press, were carefully set right: these will be found pointof the novel it is evident that the prose, there used, was made ed out in our motes. The commentators dwelt upon the up from the blank-verse composition of the drama, as acted blunders of the old copies, in order to warrant their own at the Globe. In the latter we meet with no passage similar extraordinary innovations; but wherever we could do so, to what succeeds, but still the ease with which it may be with due regard to the sense of the author, we have restored re-converted into blank-verse renders it almost certain that the text to that of the earliest impression. i I —~- " DRAMATIS PERSONS. ALONSO, King of Naples. STEPHANO a drunken Butler. SEBASTIAN, his Brother. Master of a Ship, Boatswain, Mariners. PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan. MIRANDA, Daughter to Prospero. ANTONIO, his Brother, the usurping Duke of ARIEL, an airy Spirit. Milan. IRIS, FERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples. CERES GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor. JUNO, Spirits. ADRIAN, l L, Nymphs, FRANCISCO, ords. Reapers, CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave. TRINCULO, a Jester. Other Spirits attending on Prospero. SCENE, a Ship at Sea;1 afterwards an uninhabited Island. ACT I. a S a his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning heard.2 to be hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt. Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain, as on ship-board, Re-enter Boatswain. shaking off wet.3 Boats. Down with the top-mast: yare; lower, lower. lMaster. Boatswain! Bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.] Boats. Here, master: what cheer? A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the Mast. Good. Speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely,4 weather, or our office.or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [Exit. Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO. Enter Mariners. Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er, and Boats. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my drown? Have you a mind to sink? hearts! yare, yare. Take in the topsail; tend to the Seb. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, master's whistle.-Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if incharitable dog! room enough! Boats. Work you, then. Enter ALONZO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, GON- Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noiseZALO, and Others, from the Cabin.5 maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. Alon. Good boatswain, have a6 care. Where's the Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the master? Play the men. ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as Boats. I pray now, keep below.. an unstanched wench. Ant. Where is the master, boatswain? Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold. Set her two courses: Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour. off to sea again; lay her off. Keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. Enter Mlairiners, wet. Gon. Nay, good, be patient. Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [Ex. Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What care these Boats. What! must our mouths be cold? [them. roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! Gon. The king and prince at prayers let us assist trouble us not. For our case is as theirs. Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Seb. I am out of patience. Boats. None that I more love than myself. You Ant. We are merely7 cheated of our lives by drunkare a counsellor: if you can command these elements ards. to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will This wide-chapp'd rascal,-would, thou might'st lie not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you drowning, cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make The washing of ten tides! yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the Gon. He'll be hanged yet, hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our Though every drop of water swear against it, way, I say. [Exit. And gape at wid'st to glut him. [A confused noise Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: me- within.] Mercy on us!thinks, he hath no drowning mark upon him; his com- We split, we split-Farewell, my wife and children!plexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to Farewell, brother!-We split, we split, we split!1 Former editions: the sea with a ship. 2 heard: not in f. e. s as on ship-board, etc.: not in f. e. 4 Nimbly. 5 from the cabin: not in f. e. 6: not in f. e. 7 Absolutely. 1 2 THE TEMPEST. ACT I. Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. In the dark backward and abysm of time? Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. any thing. The wills above be done! but I would Mira. But that I do not. fain die a dry death. [Exit. Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, SCENE II.-The Island: before the cell of PROSPERO. Thy father was the duke of Milan, and A prince of power. Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA. Mira. Sir, are not you my father? Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. She said-thou wast my daughter; and thy father The sky; it seems, would pour down stinking pitch) Was duke of Milan) thou6 his only heir But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's heat,1 And princess, no worse issued. Dashes the fire out. 0! I have sufferd Mira. 0 the heavens! With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, What foul play had we, that we came from thence? Who had no doubt some noble creatures2 in her, Or blessed was't. we did? Dashed all to pieces. 0! the cry did knock Pro. Both, both, my girl: Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perished. By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence; Had I been any god of power, I would But blessedly help hither. Have sunk the sea within the earth, or eMer ira. 0! my heart bleeds It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and To think o' the teen' that I have turned you to, The fraughting souls within her. Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. Pro. Be collected: Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, calld Antonio,No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart, I pray thee, mark me,-that a brother should There's no harm done. Be so perfidious!-he whom, next thyself, Mira. 0, woe the day! Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put Pro. No harm. The manage of my state; as, at that time, I have done nothing but in care of thee, Through all the signiories it was the first, (Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!) who (And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing In dignity) and, for the liberal arts, Of whence I am; nor that I am more better Without a parallel: those being all my study, Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, The government I cast upon my brother, And thy no greater father. And to my state grew stranger, being transported Mira. More to know And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncleDid never meddle with my thoughts. Dost thou attend me? Pro.'Tis time Mira. Sir, most heedfully. I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, And pluck my magic garment from me.-So: How to deny them, whom t'advance, and whom [Lays down his robe.3 To trash8 for over-topping, new created Lie there my art.-Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd them, The direful spectacle of the wrreck, which touc'd Or else new form'd them; having both the key The very virtue of compassion in thee, Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state I have with such prevision* in mine art To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was So safely order'd, that there is no soul- The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, No, not so much perdition as an hair, And suckd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. Betid to any creature in the vessel Jira. 0 good sir! I do. Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit Pro. I pray thee, mark me. down; I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated For thou must now know farther. To closeness, and the bettering of my mind Mira. You have often With that, which but by being so retired Begun to tell me what I am; but stoppd, O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother And left me to a bootless inquisition, Awakd an evil nature: and my trust, Concluding, " Stay, not yet." Like a good parent, did beget of him Pro. The hour's now come, A falsehood, in its contrary as great The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit, Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A confidence sans bound. He being thus loaded,9 A time before we came unto this cell? [Sits down.5 Not only with what my revenue yielded, I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not But what my power might else exact,-like one, Out three years old. Who having to untruth.10 by telling of it, Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. Made such a sinner of his memory, Pro. By what? by any other house, or person? To credit his own lie,-he did believe Of any thing the image tell me that He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution, Hath kept with thy remembrance. And executing th' outward face of royalty, Mira.'Tis far off; With all prerogative:-hence his ambition And rather like a dream, than an assurance Growing Dost thou hear? That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Four or five women once, that tended me? Pro. To have no screen between this part he played, Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it, And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 1 cheek: in f. e. 2 creature: in f. e. 3 mantle: in f. e. 4 provision: in f. e. 5 Not in f. e. 6 and: in f. e. 7 Trouble. 8 A hunting term, signifying to beat back. See Othello, II., 1. 9 lorded: in f. e. 10 unto truth: in f. e. SCENIE I. THE TEMPEST. 3 Absolute Milan. Me, poor man!-my library I prize above my dukedom. Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties Mlira. Would I might He thinks me now incapable; confederates But ever see that man! (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, Pro. Now I arise:- [Puts on his robe again.4 To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend Here in this island we arriv'd and here The dukedom, yet unbowd, (alas, poor Milan!) Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit To most ignoble stooping. Than other princes5 can, that have more time Mira. O the heavens! For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. Pro. Mark his condition, and th' event; then tell me, Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray If this might be a brother. you, sir; Mira. I should sin For still'tis beating in my mind, your reason To think but nobly of my grandmother: For raising this sea-storm? Good wombs have borne bad sons. Pro. Know thus far forth.Pro. Now the condition. By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, This king of Naples, being an enemy Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Brought to this shore; and by my prescience Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises,- I find my zenith doth depend upon Of homage, and I know not how much tribute,- A most auspicious star whose influence Should presently extirpate me and mine If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions. With all the honours, on my brother: whereon Thou art inclined to sleep;'tis a good dulness, A treacherous army levied, one midnight And give it way:-I know thou canst not choose.Fated to the practise,1 did Antonio open [MIRANDA sleeps. The gates of Milan and, i' the dead of darkness, Come away, servant, come! I am ready now. The ministers for the purpose hurried thence Approach, my Ariel: come! Me, and thy crying self. Enter ARIEL. Mira. ~ Alack, for pity! Ari. All hail, great master; grave sir, hail. I come I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint To swim, to dive into the fire to ride That wrings mine eyes to't. On the curl'd clouds: to thy strong bidding task Pro. Hear a little farther, Ariel, and all his quality. And then I'll bring thee to the present business Pro. Hast thou, spirit, Which now's upon's; without the which this story Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? Were most impertinent. Ari. To every article. Mira. Wherefore did they not I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, That hour destroy us? Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, Pro. Well demanded, wench: I flam'd amazement: sometimes, I'd divide, My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, And burn in many places; on the topmast, So dear the love my people bore me, nor set The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, A mark so bloody on the business; but Then meet, and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 0O the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, And sight-outrunning were not: the fire, and cracks Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepard Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune A rotten carcass of a boat,2 not rigg'd, Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Yea, his dread trident shake. Instinctively had3 quit it: there they hoist us, Pro. My brave spirit! To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Would not infect his reason? Did us but loving wrong. ri. Not a soul Mira. Alack! what trouble But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Was I then to you! Some tricks of desperation. All, but mariners, Pro. O! a cherubim Plunged in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Thou wast, that did preserve me. Thou didst smile, Then all a-fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, Infused with a fortitude from heaven, With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair) When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, Was the first man that leap'd; cried, " Hell is empty, Under my burden groaned; which rais'd in me And all the devils are here." An undergoing stomach, to bear up Pro. Why, that's my spirit! Against what should ensue. But was not this nigh shore? Mira. How came we ashore? Ari. Close by, my master. Pro. By Providence divine. Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe? Some food we had, and some fresh water, that Ari. Not a hair perish'd; A noble Neapolitan. Gonzalo On their sustaining garments not a blemish, Out of his charity, (who being then appointed But fresher than before: and, as thou bad'st me, Master of this design) did give us; with In troops I have dispers'd them'bout the isle. Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, The king's son have I landed by himself, Which since have steaded much: so, of his gentleness, Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnished me In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, From my own library, with volumes that His arms in this sad knot. 1 purpose: in f. e. 2 butt: in f. e. 3 have: in f. e. 4 This direction is not in f. e. 6 princess: in f. e. 4 THE TEMPEST. ACT I. Pro. Of the kingas ship And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans The mariners, say, how thou hast disposd, As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island And all the rest o' the fleet? (Save for a' son that she did litter here, Ari. Safely in harbour A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with Is the king's ship: in the deep nook, where once A human shape. Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew Ari. Yes; Caliban, her son. From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid: Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, The mariners all under hatches stow'd; Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st Whom, with a charm joined to their suffer'd labour, What torment I did find thee in: thy groans I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, Of ever-angry bears. It was a torment And all' upon the Mediterranean float,2 To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Bound sadly home for Naples, Could not again undo: It was mine art, Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreckd, When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape And his great person perish. The pine, and let thee out. Pro. Ariel, thy charge Ari. I thank thee, master. Exactly is performed; but there's more work. Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, What is the time o' the day? And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Ari. Past the mid season. Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Pro. At least two glasses. The time'twixt six and now Ari. Pardon, master: Must by us both be spent most preciously. I will be correspondent to command, Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, And do my spriting gently. Let me remember thee what thou hast promised, Pro. Do so, and after two days Which is not yet perform'd me. I will discharge thee. Pro. How now! moody? Ari. That's my noble master! What is't thou canst demand? What shall I do? say what? what shall I do? Ari. My liberty. Pro. Go, make thyself a like nymph4 o' the sea: be Pro. Before the time be out? no more. subject: Ari. I prithee To no sight but thine and mine; invisible Remember, I have done thee worthy service; To every eyeball, else. Go, take this shape, Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, servd And hither come in't; go; hence, with diligence. Without or grudge, or grumblings. Thou didst promise [Exit ARIEL. To bate me a full year. Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Pro. Dost thou forget Awake! From what a torment I did free thee? Mira. The strangeness of your story put [Waking. Ari. No. Heaviness in me. Pro. Thou dost; and think'st it much, to tread the ooze Pro. Shake it off. Come on: Of the salt deep, We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never To run upon the sharp wind of the north, Yields us kind answer. To do me business in the veins o' th' earth Mira.'Tis a villain, sir, When it is baked with frost. I do not love to look on. Ari. I do not, sir. Pro. But, as'tis, Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot We cannot miss him: he does make our fire, The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? That profit us.-What ho! slave! Caliban! Ari. No, sir. Thou earth, thou! speak. Pro. Thou hast. Where was she born? Cal. [T;Within] There's wood enough within. speak; tell me. Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee. Ari. Sir, in Argier. Come, thou tortoise! when? Pro. 0! was she so? I must, Re-enter ARIEL, like a water-nymph. Once in a month, recount what thou hast been Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, Hark in thine ear. For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. To enter human hearing, from Argier Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Thou know'st was banish'd: for one thing she did, Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! They would not take her life. Is not this true? Enter CALIBAN. Ari. Ay, sir. Cal. As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brushed Pro. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, child Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye, And here was left by the sailors: thou, my slave And blister you all o'er! As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant: Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd By help of her more potent ministers,As thick as honey-combs,6 each pinch more stinging And in her most unmitigable rage, Than bees that made'em. Into a cloven pine; within which rift Cal. I must eat my dinner. Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, A dozen years; within which space she died Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st here first I are: in f. e. flote: inf. e. 3the: inf. e. like a: inf. e. sNotinf. e. honey-comb: in f. e. SCENE H. THE TEMPEST. 5 Thou strokldst me, and mad'st much of me; would'st Weeping again the king my father's wreck, give me This music crept by me upon the waters, Water with berries in't; and teach me how Allaying both their fury, and my passion. To name the bigger light, and how the less, With its sweet air: thence I have followed it, That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee, Or it hath drawn me rather:-but'tis gone.And showed thee all the qualities o' th' isle, No, it begins again. The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile. ARIEL sings. Cursed be I that did so!-All the charms Full fathom five thy father lies; Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you; Of his bones are coral made; For I am all the subjects that you have, Those are pearls that were his eyes: Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me, Nothing of him that doth fade, In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me But doth suffer a sea-change The rest o' th' island. Into something rich and strange. Pro. Thou most lying slave, Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Whom stripes may move, not kindness, I have usd thee, [Burden: ding-dong. Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg'd thee Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell. In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.The honour of my child. This is no mortal business, nor no sound Cal. 0 ho! 0 ho!-would it had been done! That the earth owes3 - hear it now above me. Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else [1Music above.4 This isle with Calibans. Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance Pro. Abhorred slave, And say, what thou seest yond'. Which any print of goodness will not take, Mfira. What is t? a spirit? Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour It carries a brave form:-but'tis a spirit. One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Pro. No, wench: it eats, and sleeps, and hath such Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like senses A thing most brutish, I endowed thy purposes As we have; such. This gallant, which thou seest With words that made them known: but thy vile race, Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him Could not abide to be with: therefore wast thou A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, Deservedly colfin'd into this rock, And strays about to find'em. Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. MIira. I might call him Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't A thing divine, for nothing natural Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you, I ever saw so noble. For learning me your language! Pro. It goes on, I see, [Aside. Pro. Hag-seed, hence! As my soul prompts it:-Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, Within two days for this. To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? Fer. Most sure, the goddess [Seeing her.5 If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly On whom these airs attend!-Vouchsafe, my prayer What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; May know if you remain upon this island, [Kneels.6 Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar, And that you will some good instruction give, That beasts shall tremble at thy din. How I may bear me here: my prime request Cal. No, pray thee!- Which I do last pronounce, is, 0 you wonder! I must obey; his art is of such power, [Aside. If you be maid, or no? It would control my dam's god, Setebos, MIira. No wonder, sir; And make a vassal of him. But, certainly a maid. Pro. So, slave; hence! [Exit CALIBAN. Fer. My language! heavens!Rises.7 Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing; FERDI- I am the best of them that speak this speech, NAND following.l Were I but where'tis spoken. ARIEL's Song. Pro. How! the best? Come unto these yellow sands, What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee? And then take hands: Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me The wild waves whist And that he does I weep; myself am Naples; Foot it featly here and there;2 Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. The king, my father, wreck'd. Hark, hark M ira. Alack, for mercy! Burden. Bow, wow. [Dispersedly. Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of Milan, The watch dogs bark: And his brave son, being twain. Burden. Bow, wow. Pro. The duke of Milan, Hark, hark! I hear And his more braver daughter, could control thee, The strain of strutting chanticlere If now'twere fit to do't.-[Aside.] At the first sight Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo. [earth?- They have changed eyes:-delicate Ariel, Fer. Where should this music be? i' th, air, or th I'll set thee free for this!-[To him.] A word, good sir; It sounds no more;-and sure, it waits upon I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word. Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This f. e. have "him." 2 The old copies read: " Foot it featly here and there, and sweet sprites bear the burden." The MS. annotator of the folio of 1632, anticipated later critics in altering the passage as it stands in the text. 3 Owns. ~ Not in f. e. 5 Not in f. e. 6Notinf.e. 7Notinf.e. 6 THE TEMPEST. ACT In. Is the third man that e'er I saw: the first Mira. Beseech you, father! That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father Pro. Hence! hang not on my garments. To be inclin'd my way! Mira. Sir, have pity: Fer. 0! if a virgin, Ill be his surety. And your affection not gone forth, I'11 make you Pro. Silence! one word more The queen of Naples. Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! Pro. Soft, sir: one word more.- An advocate for an impostor? hush! [Aside.] They are both in either's powers: but this Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, swift business Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench! I must uneasy make, lest too light winning To the most of men this is a Caliban, Make the prize light.-[To him.] One word more: I And they to him are angels. charge thee, Aira. My affections That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp Are then most humble: I have no ambition The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself To see a goodlier man. Upon this island as a spy, to win it Pro. Come on; obey: [To FERD. From me the lord on't. Thy nerves are in their infancy again, Fer. No, as I am a man. And have no vigour in them. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: Fer. So they are: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. Good things will strive to dwell with't. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, Pro. Follow me.- [To FERD. The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.-Come. To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, I'll manacle thy neck and feet together Might I but through my prison once a day Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be Behold this maid: all corners else o' th' earth The fresh-brook muscles, witherld roots, and husks Let liberty make use of; space enough Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. Have I in such a prison. Pro. No; Pro. It works.-Come on.I will resist such entertainment, till Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!-Follow me.Mine enemy has more power. [To FERD. and MI. [He draws, and is charmed from moving. Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To ARIEL. Mira. 0, dear father! Mira. Be of comfort. Make not too rash a trial of him, for My father's of a better nature, sir, He's gentle, and not fearful. Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted, Pro. What! I say: Which now came from him. My foot my tutor?-Put thy sword up, traitor; Pro. Thou shalt be as free Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience As mountain winds: but then, exactly do Is so possess'd with guilt: Come from thy ward, All points of my command. For I can here disarm thee with this stick, Ari. To the syllable. And make thy weapon drop. Pro. Come, follow.-Speak not for him. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-Another part of the Island. Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you Enter ALONSo, SEBASTIANp ANTONIO, GONZALO, should. ADRIAN, FRANCISCO and Others. Gon. Therefore, my lord, Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! (So have we all) of joy, for our escape Alon. I pr'ythee, spare. Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Gon. Well, I have done. But yetIs common: every day, some sailor's wife. Seb. He will be talking. The master' of some merchant, and the merchant, Ant. Which, or2 he or Adrian, for a good wager, Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, first begins to crow? I mean our preservation, few-in millions Seb. The old cock. Can speak like us: then, wisely, good sir. weigh Ant. The cockrel. Our sorrow with our comfort. Seb. Done. The wager? Alon. Pr'ythee, peace Ant. A laughter. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Seb. A match. Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,Seb. Look; he's winding up the watch of his wit: Seb. Ha ha, ha! by and by it will strike. Ant. So, you're paid. Gon. Sir,- Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,Seb. One:-tell. Seb. YetGon. When every grief is entertain'd! that's offer'd, Adr. YetComes to the entertainer- Ant. He could not miss it. Seb. A dollar. Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed: youhave spoken temperance. truer than you purposed. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. 1 masters: in f. e. 2 of them: in f. e. Knight's edition reads, "of them." SCENE I. THE TEMPEST. 7 Seb. Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly delivered. Fran. Sir, he may live. Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. I saw him beat the surges under him, Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. And ride upon their backs: he trod the water, Ant. Or as'twere perfumed by a fen. Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head Ant. True; save means to live.'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke Gon. How lushl and lustythe grass looks! how green! To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd. Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt, Seb. With an eye2 of green in't. He came alive to land. Ant. He misses not much. Alon. No, no; he's gone. Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, beyond credit- But rather lose her to an African; Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their fresh- Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. ness, and glosses; being rather new dyed, than stain'd Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importuned otherwise with salt water. By all of us; and the fair soul herself Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it Weighed between lothness and obedience, as3 not say, he lies? Which end o' the beam should4 bow. We have lost Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. your son, Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of More widows in them, of this business' making, the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Seb.'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well Your own. in our return. Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a Gon. My lord Sebastian, paragon to their queen. The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! How came that widow When you should bring the plaster. in? Widow Dido! Seb. Very well. Seb. What if he had said, widower jEneas too? good Ant. And most chirurgeonly. lord, how you take it! Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, Adr. Widow Dido, said you! you make me study of When you are cloudy. that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Seb. Foul weather? Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Ant. Very foul. Adr. Carthage? Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,Gon. I assure you, Carthage. Ant. He'd sow't with neddle-seed. Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do? Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next? Seb. Scape being drunk, for want of wine. Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Execute all things, for no kind of traffic Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring Would I admit;5 no name of magistrate; forth more islands. Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, Gon. Ay? And use of service, none; contract; succession, Ant. Why, in good time. Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the mar- No occupation, all men idle, all; riage of your daughter, who is now queen. And women, too, but innocent and pure. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. No sovereignty:Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Seb. Yet he would be king on't. Ant. O! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido. Ant. The latter end of this commonwealth forgets Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day the beginning. I wore it? I mean, in a sort. Gon. All things in common nature should produce, Ant. That sort was well fished for. Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Alon. You cram these words into mine ears, against Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Of its own kind, all foisson,; all abundance, Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, To feed my innocent people. My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, Seb. No marrying'mong his subjects? Who is so far from Italy removed, Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves. I ne'er again shall see her. O thou. mine heir Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, Of Naples and of Milan! what strange fish To excel the golden age. Hath made his meal on thee? Seb.'Save his majesty! 1 Juicy. 2 Slight shade of color. 3 at: in f e. 4 She'd: in f. e. 5 It is a nation, would I answer Plato, that hath no kinde of traffike, no knowledge of Letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of magistrate, nor of politike superioritie; no use of service, of riches. or of povertie; no contracts, no successions, no dividences, no occupation but idle; no respect of kinred, but common, no apparel b't naturall, no manuring of lands, no use of wine. corne, or mettle. The very that import lying, falshood, treason, dissimulations, covetousnes, envie, detraction, and pardon, were never heard of amongst them.-lMontaignee, Florio's translation. 1603. 6 Pisity. 8 TIHE TEIMPEST. ACT II. Ant. Long live Gonzalo! Ant. 0! Gon. And, do you mark me, sir?- If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, me. You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed, Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to Most often do so near the bottom run minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such By their own fear, or sloth. sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to Seb. Prythee, say on. laugh at nothing. The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim Ant.'Twas you we laughed at. A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing Which throes thee much to yield. to you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing Ant. Thus, sir, still. Although this lord of weak remembrance this Ant. What a blow was there given (Who shall be of as little memory, Seb. An it had not fallen fiat-long. When he is earth'd) hath here almost persuaded Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you would (For he's a spirit of persuasion, only lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue Professes to persuade) the king, his son's alive, in it five weeks without changing. Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd, Enter ARIEL above,l invisible, playing solemn music. As he that sleeps here, swims. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Seb. I have no hope Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. That he's undrown'd. Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my Ant. O! out of that no hope, discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is i I am very heavy? Another way so high a hope, that even Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, [All sleep but ALON. SEB. and ANT. But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me, Alon. What! all so soon asleep? I wish mine eyes That Ferdinand is drown'd? Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find, Seb. He's gone. They are inclined to do so. Ant. Then, tell me, Seb. Please you, sir, Who's the next heir of Naples? Do not omit the heavy offer of it Seb. Claribel. It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells It is a comforter. Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples Ant. We two, my lord, Can have no note, unless the sun were post, Will guard your person while you take your rest, (The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins And watch your safety. Be rough and razorable; she, for' whom Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy.-[ALON. sleeps.' We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast againj Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! And by that destiny to perform an act Ant. It is the quality of the climate. Whereof what's past is prologue, what's4 to come, Seb. Why In yours and my discharge. Doth it not, then, our eye-lids sink? I find not Seb. What stuff is this!-How say you? Myself disposed to sleep.'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis; Ant. Nor I: my spirits are nimble. So is she heir of Naples;'twixt which regions They fell together all, as by consent; There is some space. They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Ant. A space whose every cubit Worthy Sebastian?-0! what might?-No more: — Seems to cry out, " How shall that Claribel And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, Measure us back to Naples?"7-Keep in Tunis, What thou should'st be. Th' occasion speaks thee, and And let Sebastian wake!-Say, this were death My strong imagination sees a crown That now hath seized them; why, they were no worse Dropping upon thy head. Than now they are. There be, that can rule Naples Seb. What! art thou waking? As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate Ant. Do you not hear me speak? As amply, and unnecessarily, Seb. I do; and, surely, As this Gonzalo; I myself could make It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st A chough of as deep chat. 0, that you bore Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? The mind that I do! what a sleep were this This is a strange repose, to be asleep For your advancement! Do you understand me? With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, Seb. Methinks, I do. And yet so fast asleep. Ant. And how does your content Ant. Noble Sebastian, Tender your own good fortune? Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st Seb. I remember, Whiles thou art waking. You did supplant your brother Prospero. Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly: Ant. True: There's meaning in thy snores. And look how well my gariments sit upon me; 11-Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you 1\-Much feater than before. My brother's servants diust be so too, if heed me; which to do, Were then my fellows, now they are my men. irebles thee o'er. Seb. But, for your conscienceSeb. Well; I am standing water. Ant. Ay, sir: where lies that? if it were a kybe, t} Ant. IT11 teach you how to flow.'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not, Seb. Do so: to ebb This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences, \iereditary sloth instructs me. That stand'twixt me and Milan, candied be they,' %ot in f.0.?ztft'nIEL: in f. e. from: in f.. 4what in f. e. i f. SCENE II. THE TEMPEST. 9 And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother, And yet I needs must cunrse but they ll not" pinch, No better than the earth he lies upon, Fright me with urchin shows, pitchl me ic the mire, If he were that which now he's like that's dead; Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, Out of my wsay, unless he bid'em; but Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, For every trifle are they set upon me: To the perpetual wink for aye might put Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me, This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who And after, bite mei then like hedge-logs, which Should not upbraid our course: for all the rest, Lie tunmbling in my bare-foot way, and mount They;ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk; Their pricks at my foot-fall: sometime am I They7ll tell the clock to any business that All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues We say befits the hour. Do hiss me into madness.-Lo, now! lo! Seb. Thy case, dear friend, Enter TRINCULO. Shall be my precedent: as thou got'st Milan, Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat; Shall free thee from the tribute which thou paygst, Perchance, he will not mind me. And I, the king, shall love thee. Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any Ant. Draw together; weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it And when I rear my hand, do you the like, sing i' the wind: yonda same black cloud, yond' hlug To fall it on Gonzalo. one, looks like a foul bombard5 that would shed his Seb. 0! but one word. [They converse apart. liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know kMusic. ARIEL descernds invisible.1 not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger choose but fall by pailfuls.-What have we here? That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth [Seeing Caliban.6] a man or a fish? Dead or alive? (For else his project dies) to keep them living. A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish[Sings in GONzaLo's ear. like smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. While you here do snoring lie, A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I Open-eyed conspiracy was) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday His time doth/ take. fool there but would give a piece of silver: there If of life you keep a care, would this monster make a man: any strange beast Sha/ce off slumber, and beware: there makes a man. When they will not give a doit Atuake! Azake! to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see Ant. Then, let us both be sudden. a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king! arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose my [Theey wake. opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you islander, that hath lately suffered by a thuncderbolt. drawn? [Thrunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best Wherefore thus2 ghastly looking? way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other Gon?. What's the matter? shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the drench' of the Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing, storm be past. Like bulls, or rather lions: did it not wake you? Enter STEPI-ANO, singing; a bottle in his hand. It struck mine ear most terribly. Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Alon. I heard nothing. Here shall I die a-shore.An1t. 0!'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a mans funeral. To make an earthquake: sure it was the roar Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. Of a whole herd of lions. The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? Tihe guntner, and his mate, Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a hummingr Lov'd Malll, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, And that a strange one too, which did awake me. But none of us car d for Kate; I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd: as mine eyes open'cd For she had a tongue wuith a tang, I saw their weapons drawn.-There was a noise, Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang: That's verity:3 tis best we stand upon our guard, She lov'd not the savour of tar, nor of pitch, Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons. Yet a tailor might scratch her cwhere-e'er she did itch; Alon. Lead off this ground, and let's make farther Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang. search This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my conmfort. [Drinks. For my poor son. Cal. Do not torment me: 0! Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts, Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? For he is, sure, i' the island. Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Alon. Lead away. [Exeutnt. Inde? Ha! I have not'scap'd drowning, to be afeard Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done: now of your four legs; for it hath been said, as proper So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exit. a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground, and it shall be said so again, while Stephano SCENE II.-Another part of the Island. I n I breathes at nostrils. Enter CALIBlAN, ith a burden of wood. a. Thie spirit torments me: 0 A noise of thunder heard. Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with fourl legs, Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him should he learn our language? I will give him some By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, relief, if it be but for that: if I can recover him, and keep 1 ius.ic. Re-enter ARIEL) invisible: in f. e. 2 this: in f. e. 3 Collier's ed., 1S44, reads, " verily "-most of the other editions, "verity," as in the text.' nor: in f. e. 5 The name of a large vessel to contain drink, as well as of a piece of artillery. 6 Not in f e. 7 dregs in f. e. 10 THE TEMPEST. ACT Im. him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present Ste. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather. like a duck, thou art made like a goose. Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee: I'll bring my Trin. O Stephano! hast any more of this? wood home faster. Ste. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by Ste. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moonwisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never calf! how does thine ague? drunk wine afore it will go near to remove his fit. If Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven? I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the too much for him: he shall pay for him that hath him, man in the moon, when time was. and that soundly. Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee: my Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works Ste. Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furupon thee. nish it anon with new contents. Swear. Ste. Come on your ways: open your mouth; here is Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow monthat which will give language to you, cat. Open your ster:-I afeard of him?-a very weak monster.-The mouth: this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, man i' the moon!-a most poor credulous monster.and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend; Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. open your chaps again. [CALIBAN drinks.' Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island; Trin. I should know that voice. It should be-but and I will kiss thy foot. I pr'ythee, be my god. he is drowned, and these are devils. 0, defend me!- Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken Ste. Four legs, and two voices! a most delicate monster: when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. monster. His forward voice, now, is to speak well of Cal. I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy subject. his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, Ste. Come on, then; down and swear. and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will re- [CALIBAN lies down.4 cover him, I will help his ague. Come,-Amen! I Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppywill pour some in thy other mouth. headed monster. A most scurvy monster: I could find Trin. Stephano! in my heart to beat him,Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! Ste. Come, kiss. mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave Trin. -But that the poor monster's in drink. An him; I have no long spoon. abominable monster! Trin. Stephano!-if thou beest Stephano, touch me, Cal. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee and speak to me, for I am Trinculo:-be not afeard- berries; thy good friend Trinculo. I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I'll pull A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, these I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed! How Thou wondrous man. cam'st thou to be the siege2 of this moon-calf? Can he Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder vent Trinculos? of a poor drunkard! Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; -But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now. And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear To snare the nimble marmozet: I'll bring thee of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O To clustering filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee Stephano! two Neapolitans 7scaped? Young scamels from the rock: Wilt thou go with me? Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about: my stomach is Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any more not constant. talking.-Trinculo, the king and all our company else Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. being drowned, we will inherit here. —Here; bear my That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: bottle.-Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. I will kneel to him. Cal. Farewell, master; farewell, farewell. Ste. How didst thou'scape? I-low cam'st thou [Sings drunkenly. hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. Trin. A howling monster; a drunken monster. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved Cal. No more dams'll make for fish; over-board, by this bottle! which I made of the bark Nor fetch in firing. of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast At requiring, a-shore. Nor scrape trencher.5 nor wash dish; Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true'Ban'Ban, Ca-Caliban, subject, for the liquor is not earthly. [Kneels.3 Has a new master-Get a new man. Ste. Here: swear, then, how thou escap'dst. Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom! heyTrin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck. I can swim day, freedom! like a duck, I'11 be sworn. Ste. 0 brave monster! lead the way. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-Before PROSPERO's Cell. Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log. Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters Fer. There be some sports are painful, and their Point to rich ends. This my mean task labour Would be as heavy to me, as odious; but ot in f. e. 2seat. 3 Not in f. e 4 Not in f. e. trenchering: in f. e. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ __ ——.. -_-.:: __ ____~//' 4< ~7~ M Mr~~~~~~~~~'L,~,-', M,., X/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ STE'HANO, T/{INCULO, C \ILIBAN AND ARIEL. Tempest, Act lII. Scene!. SCENE II. THE TEMPEST. 11 The mistress which I serve quickens what 7s dead, The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak: And makes my labours pleasures: 0! she is The very instant that I saw you, did Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; My heart fly to your service; there resides, And he's composed of harshness. I must remove To make me slave to it; and for your sake, Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, Am I this patient log-man. Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress Mira. Do you love me? Weeps when she sees me work; and says. such baseness Fer. 0 heaven! 0 earth! bear witness to this sound, Had never like executor. I forget: And crown what I profess with kind event, But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours; If I speak true; if hollowly, invert Most busy, blest' when I do it. What best is boded me to mischief! I, Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO behind.2 Beyond all limit of aught5 else in the world, ]lira. Alas! now, pray you, Do love, prize, honour you. Work not so hard: I would, the lightning had Mira. I am a fool, Burnt up those logs that you are enjoined to pile. To weep at what I am glad of. Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns, Pro. Fair encounter'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace Is hard at study; pray now rest yourself: On that which breeds between them! [Aside.6 He Is safe for these three hours. Fer. Wherefore weep you? Fer. O, most dear mistress! Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer The sun will set, before I shall. discharge What I desire to give; and much less take, What I must strive to do. What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; Mira. If you'll sit down, And all the more it seeks to hide itself, I'll bear your logs the while. Pray, give me that: The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, I'll carry it to the pile. And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! Fer. No, precious creature: I am your wife, if you will marry me; I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow Than you should such dishonour undergo, You may deny me; but Ill be your servant, While I sit lazy by. Whether you will or no. Mira. It would become me Fer. My mistress, dearest, As well as it does you; and I should do it And I thus humble ever. [Kneels.7 With much more ease, for my good will is to it, Mira. My husband then? And yours it is against. Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing [Rises.8 Pro. Poor worm! thou art infected; As bondage eler of freedom: here Is my hand. This visitation shows it. [Aside.3 Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: and now Mira. You look wearily. farewell, Fer. No, noble mistress; 7t is fresh morning with me, Till half an hour hence. When you are by at night. I do beseech you, Fer. A thousand thousand! [Exeunt FER. and MIR. Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, What is your name? Who are surprised with all; but my rejoicing Mira. Miranda.-O my father! At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; I have broke your hest to say so. [To herself.4 For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Fer. Admir'd Miranda! Much business appertaining. [Exit. Indeed, the top of admiration; worth I..' a 1. SCENE II.-Another part of the Island. What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady SE Iln I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time Enter STEPHANO and TRINCULO; CALIBAN following The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage a bot Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Ste. Tell not me:-when the butt is out, we will Have I lik'd several women; never any drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and With so full soul, but some defect in her board'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, Trin. Servant-monster? the folly of this island! And put it to the foil: but you, 0 you! They say, there's but five upon this isle: we are three So perfect, and so peerless, are created of them; if the other two be brained like us, the state Of every creature's best. totters. Mira. I do not know Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy One of my sex; no woman's face remember, eyes are almost set in thy head. Save, from my glass, mine owvn; nor have I seen Trin. Where should they be set else? he were a More that I may call men, than you, good friend, brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. And my dear father. How features are abroad, Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me: I swam, (The jewel in my dower) I would not wish ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, Any companion in the world but you; off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, Nor can imagination form a shape, monster, or my standard. / Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. Something too wildly, and my father's precepts Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. I therein do forget. Trin. Nor go neither; but you'll lie, like dogs, and Fer. I am, in my condition, yet say nothing neither. A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest (I would, not so!) and would no more endure a good moon-calf. This wooden slavery, than to suffer Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. 1 least: in f. e2 at a distance: in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. 4 Not in f. e. 5 what else: in f. e.67 8 Not in f. e. 12 THE TEMPEST. ACT m. I'll not serve him) he is not valiant..Having first seiz'd his books: or with a log Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in Battei' his skull, or paunch him with a stake, case to justle a constable. Why, thou debauched fish Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember, thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath drunk First to possess his books; for without them so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous He Is but a sot, as I am, nor hath not lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster? One spirit to command: they all do hate him, Cal. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my As rootedly as I. Burn but his books; lord? He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them) Trin. Lord, quoth he!-that a monster should be Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal: such a natural! And that most deeply to consider is Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. The beauty of his daughter; he himself Ste. Trinculo, keep a good'tongue in your head: if Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman, you prove a mutineer, the next tree-The poor mon- But only Sycorax my dam, and she; ster Is my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity. But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd As great'st does least. to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? Ste. Is it so brave a lass? Ste. Marry will I; kneel and repeat it: I will stand, Cal. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant, and so shall Trinculo. [CALIBAN kneels.1 And bring thee forth brave brood. Enter ARIEL, invisible. Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant; I will be king and queen; (save our graces!) and a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou island. like the plot, Trinculo? Ari. Thou liest. Trin. Excellent. Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: Ste. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee;but, I would, my valiant master would destroy thee: while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. I do not lie. Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep; Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his Wilt thou destroy him then.? tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. Ste. Ay, on mine honour. Trin. Why, I said nothing. [ceed. Ari. This will I tell my master. Ste. Mum then, and no more.-[To CALIBAN.] Pro- Cal. Thou mak'st me merry: I am full of pleasure. Cal. I say by sorcery he got this isle; Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch From me he got it: if thy greatness will, You taught me but while-ere? Revenge it on him-for, I know, thou darlst; Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any But this thing dare not. reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. Ste. That Is most certain. Flout'em, and scout'em; and scout'em, and Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. flout'em; Ste. How, now, shall this be compassed? Canst Thought is free. thou bring me to the party? Cal. That Is not the tune. Cal. Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee asleep, [ARIEL plays a tune on a Tabor and Pipe. Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. Ste. What is this same? Ari. Thou liest; thou canst not. Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by the Cal. What a pied2 ninny Is this! Thou scurvy patch! picture of No-body. I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeAnd take his bottle from him: when that Is gone, ness: if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him Trin. 0, forgive me my sins! Where the quick freshes are. Ste. He that dies, pays all debts: I defy thee.Ste. Trinculo, run into no farther danger interrupt Mercy upon us! the monster one word farther, and, by this hand, I'll Cal. Art thou afeard? turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock-fish of Ste. No, monster, not I. thee. Cal. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt farther off. not. Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied? Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Ari. Thou liest. Will hum about mine ears and sometimes3 voices, Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Strikes him.] As That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, you like this, give me the lie another time. Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, Trin. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits, and The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! this can sack, and Ready to drop upon me, that when I wak'd drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the I cry'd to dream again. devil take your fingers! Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where Cal. Ha, ha, ha! I shall have my music for nothing. Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee stand Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. farther off. Ste. That shall be by and by: I remember the story. Cal. Beat him enough: after a little time, Trin. The sound is going away: let's follow it, and I'll beat him too. after do our work. Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed. Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow.-I would, I could Cal. Why, as I told thee.'tis a custom with him see this taborer: he lays it on. I' the afternoon to sleep: then thou may'st brain him, Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt. Not in f. e. Dressed in notley,-this expression and "patch" were epithets often applied to fools. Trinculo, as " a jester," would be thus attired. 3 sometime: in f. e. SCENE III. THE TEMPEST. 13 SCENE III.-Another part of the Island. Who would believe that there were mountaineers Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, them ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and Others. Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men, Gon. By'r larkin, I can go no farther, sir; Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now, we find, My old bones ake: here's a maze trod, indeed, Each putter-out of five for one4 will bring us Through forth-rights, and meanders! by your patience, Good warrant of. I needs must rest me. Alon. I will stand to, and feed, Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Although my last: no matter, since I feel Who am myself attached with weariness, The best is past.-Brother, my lord the duke, To the dulling of-my spirits: sit down, and rest. Stand to, and do as we. Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a harpy, No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'ed claps his wings upon the table) aed, with a quaint Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks device, the banquet vanishes. Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny Ant. I am right glad that he s so out of hope. (That hath to instrument this lower world, [Aside to SEBASTIAN, And what is in't) the never-surfeited sea Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose Hath caused to belch up, and on this island That you resolved to effect. Where man doth not inhabit; you Imongst men Seb. The next advantage Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad: Will we take thoroughly. And even with such like valour men hang and drown Ant. Let it be to-night; Their proper selves. You fools! I and my fellows For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they Are ministers of fate: the elements, Will not nor cannot, use such vigilance, [ALON., SEnB., TC., draw their Swords. As when they are fresh. Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Seb. I say. to-night: no more. Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs [Solemn and strange music; and PROSPERO above, invis- Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish ible. Enter several strange Shapes, bringing in a One dowle7 that's in my plume: my fellow-ministers banquet: they dance about it with gentle actions of Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, salhtations; and, inviting the King), 3c. to eat, they Your swords are now too massy for your strengths,. depart.] And will not be uplifted. But, remember, Alon. What harmony is this? my good friends, hark! (For that's my business to you) that you three Gon. Marvellous sweet music! From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were Expos'd unto the sea (which hath requit it) these? Him, and his innocent child: for which foul deed Seb. A living drollery. Now I will believe The powers, delaying not forgetting, have That there are unicorns; that in Arabia Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, There is one tree, the phenix7 throne; one phoenix Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, At this hour reigning there. They have bereft; and do pronounce by me, Ant. I'll believe both; Lingering perdition (worse than any death And what does else want credit, come to me Can be at once) shall step by step attend And I'll be sworn Otis true: travellers never did lie, You, and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from Though fools at home condemn them. (Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls Gon. If in Naples Upon your heads) is nothing, but hearts sorrow, I should report this now, would they believe me? And a clear life ensuing. If I should say, I saw such islanders, He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music) enter the (For, certes, these are people of the island) Shapes again, and dance with mocks and mowes, and Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, carry out the table. Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Pro. [Above.8] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast Our human generation you shall find thou Many, nay, almost any. Performnd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring. Pro. [Aside.] Honest lord, Of my instruction hast thou nothing'bated, Thou hast said well; for some of you there present, In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life Are worse than devils. And observation strange, my meaner ministers Alon. I cannot too much muse, [ing Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, Such shapes, such gestures,2 and such sounds,3 express- And these, mine enemies, are all knit up (Although they want the use of tongue) a kind In.their distractions: they now are in my power; Of excellent dumb discourse. And in these fits I leave them, while I visit Pro. [Aside.] Praise in departing. Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd) Fran. They vanished strangely. And his and my lov'd darling. [Exit PROSPERO. Seb. No matter, since Gon. I) the name of something holy, sir, why stand you They have left their viands behind, for we have sto- In this strange stare? machs.- Alon. 0, it is monstrous! monstrous! Will't please you taste of what is here? Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it; Alon. Not I. The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced boys, The name of Prosper: it did base my trespass. 1 By our lady-kin. 2 gesture: in f. e. 3 sound: in f. e. 4 A custom of old travellers to put out a sum of money at interest, at the outset of a journey, for which they received at the rate of five to one, if they returned. 5 f. e. insert here this direction: Seeing ALON.) SEB.,'c., draw their Swords. 6 Omitted in f. e., 7 A feather or particle of down. 8 Aside: in f. e. 14 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV. Therefore my son i7 the ooze is bedded; and Like poison given to work a great time after, I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, Now'gins to bite the spirits.-I do beseech you, And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, Seb. But one fiend at a time, And hinder them from what this ecstasy Ill fight their legions o'er. May now provoke them to. Ant. I'll be thy second. [Exeunt SEB. and ANT. Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt. Gon. All three of them are desperate: their great guilt, ACT IV. SCENE I.-Before PROSPEROUS Cell. Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach, Till thou dost hear me call. Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA, Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, Pro. Look, thou be true. Do not give dalliance Your compensation makes amends; for I Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw Have given you here a thread' of mine own life, To the fire i' the blood. Be more abstemious, Or that for which I live: whom once again Or else, good night, your vow. I tender to thy hand. All thy vexations Fer. I warrant you, sir; Were but my trials of thy love, and thou The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, Abates the ardour of my liver. I ratify this my rich gift! 0 Ferdinand! Pro. Well.Do not smile at me that I boast her off Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,2 For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.3And make it halt behind her. No tongue all eyes; be silent. [Soft music. Fer. I do believe it, A Masque. Enter IRIS. Against an oracle. Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas; Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: but Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, If thou dost break her virgin knot before And flat meads thatch'd with stover,4 them to keep; All sanctimonious ceremonies may, Thy banks with pioned5 and tilled6 brims, With full and holy rite, be ministerd, Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy brown' To make this contract grow; but barren hate, groves, Sour-eyed disdain, and discord, shall bestrew Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; That you shall hate it both: therefore, take heed, And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, As Hymen's lamps shall light you. Where thou thyself dost air; the queen o' the sky, Fer. As I hope Whose watery arch and messenger am I, For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace, With such love as'tis now, the murkiest den, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion [Juno descends slowly.8 Our worser genius can, shall never melt To come and sport. Her peacocks fly amain: Mine honour into lust, to take away Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. The edge of that day's celebration, Enter CERES. When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founderd, Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Or night kept chained below. Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Pro. Fairly spoke. Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own.- Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers; What, Ariel! my industrious servant Ariel! And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown Enter ARIEL. My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down, Ari. What would my potent master? here I am. Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service Summon'd me hither, to this short-graz'd green? Did worthily perform, and I must use you Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate, In such another trick. Go, bring the rabble, And some donation freely to estate O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: On the blessed lovers. Incite them to quick motion; for I must Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise, Do now attend the queen? since they did plot And they expect it from me. The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, Ari. Presently? Her and her blind boy's scandald company Pro. Ay, with a twink. I have forsworn. Ari. Before you can say, "Come," and go," Iris. Of her society And breathe twice; and cry, "so so; Be not afraid: I met her deity Each one, tripping on his toe, Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son Will be here with mop and mow. Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done Do you love me, master? no? Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, 1 third: in f. e. 2 Surplusage. 3 pertly —quickly, slkilfully. 4 Coarse grass, used sometimes for covering farm-buildings. 5 pionto dig. 6 twilled: in f. e. 7 broom: in f. e. 8 This direction is omitted in most modern editions; "slowly" is added in the MS., 1632. SCENE I. THE TEMPEST. 15 Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Till Hymen's torch be lighted but in vain: Are melted into air, into thin air: Mars' hot minion is return'd again; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, And be a boy right out. Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, Cer. Highest queen of state, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Great Juno comes: I know her by her gait. Leave not a rack5 behind. We are such stuff Enter JUNO. As dreams are made on, and our little life Jun. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me, Is rounded with a sleep.-Sir, I am vex'd: To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled: And honour'd in their issue. Be not disturb'd with my infirmity. SONG. If you be pleas'd retire into my cell, Juno. Honour, riches, marriage, blessing, And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk, Long continuance, and increasing, To still my beating mind. Hourly joys be still upon you! Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exeunt. Juno sings her blessings on you.' Pro. Come with a thought!-I thank thee.-Ariel, Earth's increase, foison plenty, come! Barns, and garners never empty; Enter ARIEL. Vines, with clust'ring bunches growing; Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure? Plants, with goodly burden bowing; Pro. Spirit, Rain' come to you, at the farthest, We must prepare to meet with Caliban. In the very end of harvest! Ari. Ay, my commander: when I presented Ceres, Scarcity and want shall shun you; I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd Ceres' blessing so is on you. Lest I might- anger thee. Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking: To think these spirits? So full of valour, that they smote the air Pro. Spirits, which by mine art For breathing in their faces; beat the ground I have from their confines call'd to enact For kissing of their feet, yet always bending My present fancies. Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor, Fer. Let me live here ever: At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, So rare a wondered father, and a wife,3 Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, Makes this place Paradise. As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears, [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment. That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through Pro. Sweet now, silence Toothed briers, sharp furzes, pricking gorse, and thorns, Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; Which entered their frail skins:6 at last I left them There's something else to do. Hush, and be mute, I the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, Or else our spell is marred. There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the winding O'erstunk their feet. brooks, Pro. This was well done, my bird, With your sedge4 crowns, and ever harmless looks, Thy shape invisible retain thou still: Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, Answer your summons: Juno does command. For stale7 to catch these thieves. Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. A contract of true love: be not too late. Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Enter certain Nymphs. Nurture never can stick; on whom my pains, You sun-burned sicklemen, of August weary, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; Come hither from the furrow, and be merry. And as with age his body uglier grows, Make holy-day: your rye-straw hats put on, So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, bc. In country footing. Even to roaring. —Come, hang them on this line. Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with ARIEL hangs them on the line, and with PROSPERO the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end where- remains unseen.8 of PRos. starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet. strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may Pro. [Aside.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy not Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. Against my life; the minute of their plot Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a harmIs almost come.-[To the Spirits.] Well done.- less fairy, has done little better than played the Jack' Avoid:-no more. with us. Fer. This is strange: your father' in some passion Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at which That works him strongly. my nose is in great indignation. Mira. Never till this day,. Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should Saw I him touched with anger so distemperd. take a displeasure against you; look you,Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. As if you were dismayed: be cheerful, sir. Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 1 In f. e. the remainder of the song is given to Ceres. 2 Spring: in f. e. 3 wise: in f. e. 4 sedg'd: in f. e. 5 A vapor, from reek. 6 shiln: in f. e. 7 A decoy. 8 f. e. have only the direction, PROSPERO and ARIEL remain unseen. 9 Jack o' lantern. 16 THE TEMPEST. ACT V. Shall hood-winkthis mischance: therefore, speak softly; Trin. Do, do: we steal by line and level, and't like All's hushed as midnight yet. your grace. Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,- Ste. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in for't: wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king of that, monster, but an infinite loss. this country. " Steal by line and level," is an excelTrin. That's more to me than my wetting: yet this lent pass of pate; there's another garment for't. is your harmless fairy, monster. Trin. Monster, come; put some lime upon your Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears fingers, and away with the rest. for my labour. Cal. I will have none on't: we shall lose our time7 Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here? And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter: With foreheads villainous low. Do that good mischief, which may make this island Ste. Monster, lay to your fingers: help to bear this Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, away where my hogshead of wine is. or IPll turn you For aye thy foot-licker. out of my kingdom. Go to; carry this. Ste. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody Trin. And this. thoughts. Ste. Ay, and this. Trin. 0 king Stephano! 0 peer! 0 worthy Ste- [A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in phano! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee! shape of hounds, and hunt them about; PROSPERO [Seeing the apparel.l and ARIEL setting them on.] Cal. Let it alone, thou fool: it is but trash. Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey! Trin. 0, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a Ari. Silver! there it goes, Silver! frippery.2-0 king Stephano Pro. Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark, hark! Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo: by this hand, I'1 [CAL., STE., and TaIN. are driven out. have that gown. Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints Trin. Thy grace shall have it. With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews Cal. The dropsy drown this fool.! what do you mean, With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them, To doat thus on such luggage? Let't alone, Than pard, or cat o' mountain. [Cries and roaring.3 And do the murder first: if he awake, Ari. Hark! they roar. From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; Pro. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Make us strange stuff. Lie at my mercy all mine enemies: Ste. Be you quiet, monster.-Mistress line, is not Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line: Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little, now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt a bald jerkin. ACT V. SCENE I.-Before the Cell of PROSPERO. One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes; and ARIEL. Tho' with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Pro. Now does my project gather to a head: Yet, with my nobler reason, Igainst my fury My charms crack not, my spirits obey, and time Do I take part. The rarer action is Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? In virtue, than in vengeance: they being penitent, Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend You said our work should cease. Not a frown farther. Go; release them, Ariel. Pro. I did say so, My charms I'll break, their senses I 11 restore, When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, And they shall be themselves. How fares the king and's followers? A'. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit. Ari. Confined together Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes; and In the same fashion as you gave in charge groves; Just as you left them: all prisoners, sir, And ye, that on the sands with printless foot In the line4-grove which weather-fends your cell; Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, They cannot budge till your release. The king, When he comes back; you demy-puppets, that His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, B moonshine do the green-sward5 ringlets make, And the remainder mourning over them, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime Brim-full of sorrow, and dismay; but chiefly Is to make midnight mushrooms; that rejoice Him that you term'd, sir, the good old lord, Gonzalo: To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops (Weak masters though ye be) I have be-dimm'd From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works The noontide sun, calld forth the mutinous winds, them, And'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault That if you now beheld them, your affections Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Would become tender. Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit? With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. Have I made shake; and by the spurs plucked up Pro. And mine shall. The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Have waked their sleepers; oped, and let them forth Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, By my so potent art. But this rough magic I Not in f. e. -2 An old clo' shop. 3 Not in f. e. 4 The old word for lime. 6 green-sour: in f. e. SCENE I. THE TEMPEST. 17 I here abjure; and, when I have requird Alon. Wher thou beest he, or no, Some heavenly music, (which even now I do) Or some enchanted devil6 to abuse me, To work mine end upon their senses, that As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Beats as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which, And, deeper than-did ever plummet sound, I fear, a madness held me. This must crave I'11 drown my book. [Solemn music. (An if this be at all) a most strange story. Re-enter ARIEL: after him ALONSO, with a frantic Thy dukedom I resign; and do entreat gesture, attended by GONZALO; SEBASTIAN and AN- Thou pardon me thy wrongs.-But how should Prospero TONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN and Be living and be here? FRANCISCO: they all enter the circle which PRosPEto Pro. First, noble friend, had made, and there stand charmed; which PRosPERo Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot observing, speaks. Be measur'd, or confined. A solemn air, and the best comforter Gon. Whether this be, To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Or be not, I 11 not swear. Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand, Pro. You do yet taste For you are spell-stopp'd.- Some subtleties o' the isle, that will not let you Noble1 Gonzalo, honourable man, Believe things certain.-Welcome, my friends all.Mine eyes, even sociable to the flow2 of thine, But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, Fall fellowly drops.-The charm dissolves apace; [Aside to SEB. and ANT. And as the morning steals upon the night, I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses And justify you traitors: at this time Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle I will tell no tales. Their clearer reason.-O good Gonzalo! Seb. [Aside.] The devil speaks in him. My true preserver, and a loyal servants Pro..No.To him thou follow'st, I will pay thy graces For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother Home, both in word and deed.-Most cruelly Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: Thy rankest faults7; all of them; and require Thy brother was a furtherer in the act;- My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian.-Flesh and blood, Thou must restore. You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Alon. If thou beest Prospero, Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian Give us particulars of thy preservation: (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong) How thou hast met us here, who three hours since Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee, Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost, Unnatural though thou art.-Their understanding (How sharp the point of this remembrance is!) Begins to swell, and the approaching tide My dear son Ferdinand. Will shortly fill the reasonable shores, Pro. I am woe for't, sir. That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them, Alon. Irreparable is the loss, and patience That yet looks on me, eer4 would know me.-Ariel, Says it is past her cure. Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell [Exit ARIEL. Pro. I rather think, I will dis-case me, and myself present You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace, As I was sometime Milan.-Quickly, spirit; For the like loss I have her sovereign aid, Thou shalt ere long be free. And rest myself content. ARIEL re-enters singing, and helps to attire PROSPERO. Alon. You the like loss? Ari. Where the bee sucks there suck I; Pro. As great to me, as late; and, supportable In a cowslip s bell I lie: To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker There I couch. When owls do cry, Than you may call to comfort you, for I On the bat's back I do fly, Have lost my daughter. After sumner, merrily Alon. A daughter? Mlerrily, merrily. shall I live now, 0 heavens! that they were living both in Naples, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. The king and queen there! that they were, I wish Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; Myself were mudded in that oozy bed But yet thou shalt have freedom:-so so, so.- Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter? To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords There shalt thou find the mariners asleep At this encounter do so much admire, Under the hatches; the master, and the boatswain, That they devour their reason, and scarce think Being awake, enforce them to this place Their eyes do offices of truth, their words And presently, I pr'ythee. Are natural breath; but, howsoe'er you have Ari. I drink the air before me, and return Been justled from your senses, know for certain, Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit ARIEL. That I am Prospero, and that very duke Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely Inhabit here: some heavenly power guide us Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed, Out of this fearful country! To be the lord on't. No more yet of this; Pro. [Attired as Duke.5] Behold, sir king, For'tis a chronicle of day by day, The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero. Not a relation for a breakfast, nor For more assurance that a living prince Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; This cell's my court: here have I few attendants, And to thee, and thy company, I bid And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. A hearty welcome. My dukedom since you have given me again, Holy: in f. e. 2 sho: in fe. 3 sir: in f.e. or: in f. e.'Not in f. e. 6trifle: in f., 7 fault:. a.e. 2' 18 THE TEMPEST. ACT V. I will requite you with as good a thing; That swear'st grace o'erboard; not an oath on shore? At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? As much as me my dukedom. Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found PROSPERO draws a curtainl and discovers FERDINAND Our king, and company: the next, our ship, and MIRANDA playing at chess. Which but three glasses since we gave out split, Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when Fer. No, my dearest love, We first put out to sea. I would not for the world. Ari. Sir, all this service [Aside. Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should Have I done since I went. wrangle, Pro. My tricksy spirit! [Aside. And I would call it fair play. Alon. These are not natural events; they strengthen Alon. If this prove From strange to stranger.-Say, how came you hither? A vision of the island, one dear son Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, Shall I twice lose. I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, Seb. A most high miracle! And (how we know not) all clapp'd under hatches, Fer. Though the seas threaten they are merciful: Where, but even now, with strange and several noises I have curs'd them without cause. [Kneels to ALON. Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, Alon. Now, all the blessings And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, Of a glad father compass thee about! We were awak'd; straightway; at liberty: Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 2Mira. 0, wonder! Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master How many goodly creatures are there here! Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you, How beauteous mankind is! 0, brave new world, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, That has such people in t! And were brought moping hither. Pro. IT is new to thee. Ari. Was't well done? Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at Pro. Bravely, my diligence! Thou shalt Aside. play? be free. Your eldest acquaintance cannot be three hours: Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, And there is in this business more than nature And brought us thus together? Was ever conduct of: some oracle Fer.' Sir, she is mortal; Must rectify our knowledge. But, by immortal providence she's mine: Pro. Sir, my liege, I chose her when I could not ask my father Do not infest your mind with beating on For his advice, nor thought I had one. She The strangeness of this business: at pickd leisure, Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan Which shall be shortly, single I'11 resolve you Of whom so often I have heard renown, (Which to you shall seem probable) of every But never saw before; of whom I have These happened accidents; till when, be cheerful, Received a second life and second father And think of each thing well.-Come hither, spirit: This lady makes him to me. [Aside. Alon. I am hers. Set Caliban and his companions free; But O! how oddly will it sound, that I Untie the spell. [Ex. ARIEL.] How fares my gracious sir? Must ask my child forgiveness. There are yet missing of your company Pro. There, sir, stop: Some few odd lads, that you remember not. Let us not burden our remembrances Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and With a heaviness that 7s gone. TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel. Gon. I have inly wept, Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods take care for himself, for all is but fortune.-Coragio! And on this couple drop a blessed crown, bully-monster, coragio! For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way, Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my Which brought us hither! head, here's a goodly sight. Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo. Cal. 0 Setebos! these be brave spirits, indeed. Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue How fine my master is! I am afraid Should become kings of Naples? 0! rejoice He will chastise me. Beyond a common joy, and set it down Seb. Ha, ha! With gold on lasting pillars. In one voyage What things are these, my lord Antonio? Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; Will money buy them? And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, Ant. Very like: one of them Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom, Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. In a poor isle; and all of us, ourselves, Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, When no man was his own. Then say, if they be true.-This mis-shapen knave, Alon. Give me your hands: [To FER. and MIR. His mother was a witch; and one so strong Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, That doth not wish you joy! And deal in her command with all2 her power. Gon. Be it so: Amen. These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil Re-enter ARIEL, with the Master and Boatswain (For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them amazedly following. To take my life: two of these fellows you 0 look, sir! look, sir! here are more of us Must know, and own; this thing of darkness I I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, Acknowledge mine. This fellow could not drown.-Now, blasphemy, Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 1 The entrance of the cell opens, and: in f. e. 2 without: in f. e. SCENE I. THE TEMPEST. 19 Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you Seb. He is drunk now: where had he wine? found it. Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they Seb. Or stole it, rather. [Ex. CAL., STE., and TRIN. Find this grand liquor that hath gilded'em?- Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, How canmst thou in this pickle? To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it not fear fly-blowing. Go quick away; the story of my life, Seb. Why, how now, Stephano And the particular accidents gone by, Ste. 0! touch me not: I am not Stephano, but a Since I came to this isle: and in the morn, cramp.I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah? Where I have hope to see the nuptial Ste. I should have been a sore one then. Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd; Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. And thence retire me to my Milan, where [Pointing to CALIBAN. Every third thought shall be my grave. Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners. Alon. I long As in his shape.-Go, sirrah, to my cell; To hear the story of your life, which must Take with you your companions: as you look Take the ear strangely. To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Pro. I'11 deliver all; Cal. Ay, that I will; and I 11 be wise hereafter, And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass And sail, so expeditious, that shall catch Was I. to take this drunkard for a god, Your royal fleet far off.-My Ariel;-chick,And worship this dull fool? That is thy charge: then, to the elements; Pro. Go to; away! Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you draw near.' EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. Now my charms are all oerthrown, Gentle breath of yours my sails And what strength I have's mine own; Must fill, or else my project fails, Which is most faint: now,'t is true, Which was to please. Now I want I must be here confin'd by you, Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; Or sent to Naples. Let me not, And my ending is despair, Since I have my dukedom got, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer; And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell Which pierces so, that it assaults In this bare island, by your spell; Mercy itself, and frees all faults. But release me from my bands, As you from crimes would pardon'd be, With the help of your good hands. Let your indulgence set me free. [Exeunt Omnes. f. e. Exeunt. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. DRAMATIS PERSONLE. DUKE OF MILAN, Father to Silvia. PANTHINO, Servant to Antonio. VALENTINE, ) The two Gentlemen. Host, where Julia lodges. PRoTEUS, Outlaws with Valentine. ANTONIO Father to Proteus. JULIA% beloved of Proteus. THuRIO, a foolish rival to Valentine.JULIA beloved of Proteus EGLAMOUR, agent of Silvia in her escape. SILVIA, beloved of Valentine. SPEED, a clownish Servant to Valentine. LUCETTA, Waiting-woman to Jlia. LAUNCE, the like to Proteus. Servants, Musicians. SCENE: sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan, and on the frontiers of Mantua. ACT I. SCENE I.-An open place in Verona. However, but a folly bought with wit, Enter VALENTINE ad P. Or else a wit by folly vanquished. Val. Enter VALENTINE and PtROTEUS. Pro. So, by your circumstance you call me fool. Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. Pro.'T is love you cavil at: I am not love. Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days Val. Love is your master, for he masters you; To the sweet glances of thy honoured love, And he that is so yoked by a fool, I rather would entreat thy company Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. To see the wonders of the world abroad, Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home The eating canker dwells, so eating love Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. Inhabits in the finest wits of all. But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud Even as I would, when I to love begin. Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Pro. Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu. Even so by love the young and tender wit Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud, Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel: Losing his verdure even in the prime, Wish me partaker in thy happiness, And all the fair effects of future hopes. When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger, But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, If ever danger do environ thee, That art a votary to fond desire? Commend thy.grievance to my holy prayers, Once more adieu. My father at the road For I will be thy bead's-man 2 Valentine. Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. Pro. Uponsome book I love I'll pray for thee. Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love, To Milan let me hear from thee by letters, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. Of thy success in love, and what news else Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love, Betideth here in absence of thy friend, For he was more than over shoes in love. And I likewise will visit thee with mine. Val.'T is true; but3 you are over boots in love, Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan. And yet you never swam the Hellespont. Val. As much to you at home; and so, farewell. [Exit. Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love: Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. He leaves his friends to dignify them more; Pro. What? I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. TVal. To be in love where scorn is bought with groans; Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorplos'd me; Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, mirth, War with good counsel, set the world at nought, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain; Enter SPEED. If lost, why then a grievous labour won: Speed. Sir Proteus, save you. Saw you my master? 1 for: in f. e. 2 One wzho prays for another: the word is derived from the dropping of a bead in a rosary, at each prayer recited. 3 for: in f. e. 4 Supposed by Knight to refer to the instrument of torture, the boot, by which the sufferer's leg was crushed by wedges driven between it and the boot in which it was placed. Collier says it is a proverbial expression, signifying "don't make a laughingstock of me." SCENE II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 21 Pro. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. Give her no token but stones, for she's as hard as steel.7 Speed. Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already, Pro. What! said she nothing? And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. Speed. No, not so much as — Take this for thy Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, pains." To testify your bounty, I thank you, you An if the shepherd be awhile away. have testern'd8 me; in requital whereof, henceforth Speed. You conclude, that my master is a shepherd, carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I'll commend then, and I a sheep? you to my master. [Exit.9 Pro. I do. Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, I wake or sleep. Being destin'd to a drier death on shore.Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. I must go send some better messenger: Speed. This proves me still a sheep. I fear my Julia would not deign my lines Pro. True, and thy master a shepherd. Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exit." Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It shall go hard, but I 11 prove it by another. Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the Enter JULIA and LUCETTA. sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, master seeks not me: therefore, I am no sheep. Wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love? Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the Luc. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully. shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, wages followest thy master, thy master for wages That every day with parle encounter me, follows not thee: therefore, thou art a sheep. In thy opinion which is worthiest love? Speed. Such another proof will make me cry " baa.7 Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I 711 show my Pro. But, dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to mind, Julia? According to my shallow simple skill. Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? her, a laced mutton'; and she, a laced mutton, gave Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. But. were I you, he never should be mine. Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such store of Jul. What thinklst thou of the rich Mercutio?1 muttons. Luc. Well, of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. Speed. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? stick her. Luc. Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us! Pro. Nay, in that you are a stray, It were best pound Jul. How now? what means this passion at his name? you. Luc. Pardon, dear madam: It is a passing shame, Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me That I, unworthy body as I am, for carrying your letter. Should censure thus a loving"l gentleman. Pro. You mistake: I mean the pound, the pinfold. Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? Speed. From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over, Luc. Then thus,-of many good I think him best. 7T is threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. Jul. Your reason? Pro. But what said she? did she nod? Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason: Speed. I. [SPEED nods. I think him so, because I think him so. Pro. Nod, I? why that's noddy.2 Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? Speed. You mistook, sir: I say she did nod, and you Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. ask me if she did nod? and I say I. Jul. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. Pro. And that set together is noddy. Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. together, take it for your pains. Luc. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. Pro. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Luc. O! they love least, that let men know their love. Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? Jul. I would I knew his mind. Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having Luc. Peruse this paper,'madam. nothing but the word noddy for my pains. Jul. "To Julia." Say, from whom. [Gives a letter.13 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. Luc. That the contents will show. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee? Pro. Come) come; open the matter in brief: what Luc. Sir Valentine7s page; and sent, I think, from said she? Proteus. Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, matter, may be both at once deliver'd. Did in your name receive it: pardon the fault, I pray. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! she? [Giving him money.3 Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? Speed. Truly, sir, I think you 711 hardly win her. To whisper and conspire against my youth? Pro. Why? Couldst thou perceive so much from her? Now, trust me,'t is an office of great worth, Speed. Sir. I could perceive nothing at all from her And you an officer fit for the place. better': There, take the paper: see it be return'd, [Gives it back.14 No not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter; Or else return no more into my sight. And being so hard to me that brought to her5 your mind, Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. I fear she 11 prove as hard to you in telling you her6 mind. Jul. Will you be gone? 1 Most commentators make this mean, a dressed-up courtesan. Knight suggests that, (lace being used in its primitive meahing of any thing that catches or secures) it means catght sheep. 2 The old name for the knave or fool of a pack of cards. 3 4 Not in f. e. 5 to her: not in f. e. 6 telling your mind: in f.e. 7 This speech is printed as prose in f. e. 8 A testern is a sixpence. 9 Not in f. e. 10 Exeunt: in f. e. 11 Mercatio: in f. e. 12 on lovely: in f. e. 13 14 Not in f. e. 22 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. ACT I. Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit. And kill the bees that yield it with your stings! Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. I'll kiss each several paper for amends. It were a shame to call her back again, Look, here is writ-" kind Julia;"-unkind Julia! And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. As in revenge of thy ingratitude, What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, I throw thy name against the bruising stones, And would not force the letter to my view, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. Since maids, in modesty, say " No," to that And here is writ-" love-wounded Proteus."Which they would have the profferer construe, " Ay." Poor wounded name! my bosom, as a bed, Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love, Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd; That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, And thus I search8 it with a sovereign kiss. And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod. But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down: How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, When willingly I would have had her here: Till I have found each letter in the letter, How angerly I taught my brow to frown, Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile. Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, My penance is to call Lucetta back, And throw it thence into the raging sea. And ask remission for my folly past.- Lo! here in one line is his name twice writ,What ho! Lucetta! " Poor forlorn Proteus; passionate Proteus Re-enter LUCETTA. To the sweet Julia:"-that I'11 tear away; Luc. What would your ladyship? And yet I will not, sith so prettily Jul. Is it near dinner-time? He couples it to his complaining name.9 Luc. I would, it were; Thus will I fold them one upon another: That you might kill your stomach on your meat, Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. And not upon your maid. Re-enter LUCETTA. [Drops the letter, and takes it up again.l Luc. Madam, Jul. What is't that you took up so gingerly? Dinner is ready, and your father stays. Luc. Nothing. Jul. Well, let us go. Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then? Luc. What! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? Luc. To take a paper up Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. That I let fall. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down; Jul. And is that paper nothing? Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. Luc. Nothing concerning me. Jul. I see, you have a month's mind10 unto1 them. Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Luc. Ay, madam, you may see what sights you Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, think;1 Unless it have a false interpreter. I see things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. Jul. Come, come; will t please you go? [Exeunt. Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune, A oom in AN Give me a note: your ladyship can set.ENE I The same. Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible.ouse Best sing it to the tune of " Light o' love." Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO. Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sadl3 talk was that, Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burden then. Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. Pant.'T was of his nephew Proteus, your son. Jul. And why not you? Ant. Why, what of him? Luc. I cannot reach so high. Pant. He wondered. that your lordship Jul. Let's see your song.-[Snatching the letter.2] Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, How now, minion! While other men, of slender reputation, Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: Put forth their sons to seek preferment out: And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. Some to the wars, to try their fortune there; Jul. You do not? Some, to discover islands far away; Luc. No, madam; it is too sharp. Some, to the studious universities. Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. For any, or for all these exercises, Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet, And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:3 And did request me to importune you There wanteth but a means to fill your song. To let him spend his time no more at home, Jul. The mean is drowned with your unruly base. Which would be great impeachment to his age, Luc. Indeed I bid the base5 for Proteus. In having known no travel in his youth. Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that Here is a coil with protestation!- Whereon this month I have been hammering. [Tears the letter,6 and throws it down. I have consider7d well his loss of time, Go; get you gone; and let the papers lie: And how he cannot be a perfect man, You would be fingering them to anger me. [better7 Not being tried and tutor'd in the world: SLuc. She makes it strange, but she would be pleas'd Experience is by industry achieved, To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. And perfected by the swift course of time. Jul. Nay, would I were so angered with the same! Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him? 0 hateful hands! to tear such loving words: Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey, How his companion, youthful Valentine, This direction is not in f. e. 2 Not in f.e. 3 What we now call in music, a variation. 4 A tenor. 5 An allusion to the game of base or prison base, in which one runs and challenges his opponent to pursue. 6 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 7 best pleased: in I. e. 8 probe. 9 names: in f. e. 10 This proverbial expression is derived from the remembrance or commemoration of the dead by masses, for a stated period,-they were hence called month's memories. 11 to: in f. e. 12 may say what sights you see:. in f. e. 13 grave: in f. e SCENE i. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 23 Attends the emperor in his royal court. Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant. I know it well. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? Pant.'T were good, I think, your lordship sent him Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, thither. And not depending on his friendly wish. There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish. Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed, And be in eye of every exercise, For what I will, I will, and there an end. Worthy his youth, and nobleness of birth. I am resolved, that thou shalt spend some time Ant. I like thy counsel: well hast thou advised;'With Valentineo in the emperor's court: And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, What maintenance he from his friends receives, The execution of it shall make known. Like exhibition4 thou shalt have from me. Even with the speediest expedition To-morrow be in readiness to go: I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided: With other gentlemen of good esteem, Please you, deliberate a day or two. Are journeying to salute the emperor, Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee: And to commend their service to his will. No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: Come on, Panthino: you shall be employ'd And, in good time,-now will we break with him. To hasten on his expedition. Enter PROTEUS,' not seeing his Father. [Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO. Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! Pro. Thus have I shunned the fire for fear of burning, Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. [Kissing a letter. I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. Lest he should take exceptions to my love; O! that our fathers would applaud our loves, And, with the vantage of mine own excuse, And seal our happiness with their consents! Hath he excepted most against my love. O heavenly Julia! O! how this spring of love resembleth Ant. How now! what letter are you reading there? The uncertain glory of an April day, Pro. May't please your lordship,'t is a word of two Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, Of commendations sent from Valentine, [Putting it up.2 And by and by a cloud takes all away. Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. Re-enter PANTHINO. Ant. Lend me the letter: let me see what news. Ant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you: Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. How happily he lives, how well belov'd, Pro. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto, And daily graced by the emperor; And yet a thousand times it answers no. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-M-lilan. A Room in the DuKE's Palace. tthat fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laugh'd, to Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to walk like one Speed. Sir, your glove. of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after Val. Not mine; my gloves are on. dinner; when you loolkd sadly, it was for want of Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but money; and now you are so6 metamorphosed with a one. mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think Val. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it Is mine.- you my master. Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! Val. Are all these things perceived in me? Ah Silvia! Silvia! Speed. They are all perceived without ye. Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia! Val. Without me? they cannot. Val. How now, sirrah? Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain; for, withSpeed. She is not within hearing, sir. out you were so simple, none else would be': but you Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her? are so without these follies, that these follies are within Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal, Val. Well, you'11 still be too forward. that not an eye that sees you, but is a physician to Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. comment on your malady. Val. Go to, sir. Tell me, do you know madam Silvia? Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? Speed. She that your worship loves? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at suppejr? Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. have learn'd, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and a mal-content; to relish a love song, like a robin-red- yet knowvst her not? breast; to walk alone, like one that hath5 the pestilence; Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? to sigh, like a schoolboy that hath lost his A B C; to Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd. weep, like a young wench that hath buried her grandam; Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one Val. What dost thou know? 1 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. 3 Valentinus: in f. e. 4 nmaintenazce, still in use in this sense in English Universities. 5had: in f. e. 6 7 Not in f. e. 24 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT T. Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well- Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it? favour'd. Sil. Yes, yes: the lines are very quaintly writ, Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her But since unwillingly, take them again. favour -infinite. Nay, take them. [Giving it back.6 - Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the Val. Madam, they are for you. other out of all count. Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request Val. How painted? and how out of count? But I will none of them: they are for you. Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that I would have had them writ more movingly. no man'counts of her beauty. Val. Please you, I'11 write your ladyship another. Val. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her Sil. And, when it Is writ, for my sake read it over beauty. And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd. Val. If it please me, madam; what then? Val. How long hath she been deform'd? Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour; Speed. Ever since you loved her. And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit. Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her. and still Speed. 0 jest! unseen, inscrutable, invisible, I see her beautiful. As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. steeple. Val. Why? My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, Speed. Because love is blind. O! that you had He being her pupil to become her tutor. mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights they were 0 excellent device! was there ever heard a better, wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going That my master, being scribe, to himself should write ungartered - -the letter? Val. What should I see then? Val. How now, sir! what, are you reasoning with Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing de- yourself? formity; for he, being in love, could not see to garter Speed. Nay, I was rhyming:'t is you that have the his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on reason. your hose. Val. To do what? Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Val. To whom? Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I Speed. To yourself. Why, she woos you by a figure. thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes Val. What figure? me the bolder to chide you for yours. Speed. By a letter, I should say. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would Speed. What need she, when she hath made you cease. write to yourself?. Why, do you not perceive the jest? Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines Val. No, believe me. to one she loves. Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: but did you Speed. And have you? perceive her earnest? Val. I have. Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speed. Are they not lamely writ? Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.- Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Peace! here she comes. Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there Enter SILVIA. an end. Speed. 0 excellent motion!1 0 exceeding puppet! Val. I would it were no worse! Now will he interpret to her. Speed. I 711 warrant you,'t is as well: Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows' For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty, Speed. 0!'give ye good even: here's a million of Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; manners. [Aside.2 Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind Sil. Sir Valentine and servant,3 to you two thousand. discover, Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it Her self hath taught her love himself to write unto her him. lover.Val. As you enjoined me, I have writ your letter All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;Why muse you. sir?'t is dinner time. Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, Val. I have dined. But for my duty to your ladyship. [Giving a paper.4 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the cameleon Sil. I thank you, gentle servant.'T is very clerkly love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd done. - by my victuals, and would fain have meat. 0! be not Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;, like your mistress: be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. For, being ignorant to whom it goes, SCENE II.-Verona. A Room in JULIA's House. I writ at random, very doubtfully.. Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. Val. No, madam: so it stead you, I will write, Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. Please you command, a thousand times as mulch. Jul. I must, where is no remedy. And yet- Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Sil. A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel: Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. And yet I will not name it;-and yet I care not; Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.7 And yet take this again;-and yet I thank you, Pro. Why then, we'11 make exchange: here, take Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. you this. [Exchange rings.8 Speed. And yet you will; and yet, another yet. [Aside.5 Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. A puppet show. 2 Not in f. e. 3 An old term for lover. 4 5 6 Not in f. e. 7 giving a ring is added in f. e. 8 Not in f. e. SCENE r'. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 25 Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; master, and the service, and the tide. Why, man, if And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my The next ensuing hour some foul mischance sighs. Torment me for my love's forgetfulness. Pant. Come; come, away, man: I was sent to call My father stays my coming; answer not. thee. The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears; Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. That tide will stay me longer than I should. [Exit JULIA. Pant. Wilt thou go? Julia, farewell.-What! gone without a word? Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; -Milan A oom in te DU Palace. For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. Enter PANTHINO. Enter VALENTINE) SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stayed for. Sil. Servant.Pro. Go; I come, I come.- Val. Mistress. Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt. Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you, SCENE III.-The Same. A Street. Val. Ay, boy, it Is for love. Speed. Not of you. Enter LAUNCE, leading his1 Dog. Val. Of my mistress, then. Launce. Nay, It will be this hour ere I have done Speed.'T were good you knocked him. weeping: all the kind of the.Launces have this very Sil. Servant, you are sad. fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodi- Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. gious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the impe- Thu. Seem you that you are not? rial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest- Val. Haply, I do. natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father Thu. So do counterfeits. wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat Val. So do you. wringing her hands, and all our house in a great per- Thu. What seem 1 that I am not? plexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one Val. Wise. tear. He is a stone, a very pebble-stone, and has no Thu. What instance of the contrary? more pity in him than a dog; a Jew would have wept Val. Your folly. to have seen our parting: why, my grandam having no Thu. And how quote3 you my folly? eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, Val. I quote it in your jerkin. I'1l show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. -no; this left shoe is my father;-no, no, this left shoe Val. Well, then, It will4 double your folly. is my mother;-nay, that cannot be so, neither:-yes Thu. How? it is so, it is so; it hath the worser sole. This shoe, Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change colour? with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father. Val. Give him leave, madam: he is a kind of cameA vengeance on t! there't is: now, sir, this staff is my leon. sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I am the than live in your air. dog;-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog,-O! Val. You have said, sir. the dog is me, and I am myself: ay, so, so. Now come Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. I to my father; "Father, your blessing:" now should Val. I know it well, sir: you always end ere you not the shoe speak a word for weeping: now should I begin. kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly my mother, (0, that she could speak now!) like a wild2 shot off. woman:-well, I kiss her; why there't is; here's my Val.'T is indeed, madam; we thank the giver. mother's breath, up and down. Now come I to my Sil. Who is that, servant? sister; mark the moan she makes: now, the dog all Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you-gave the fire. this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word, but see Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, how I lay the dust with my tears. and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. Enter PANTHINO. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard: thy master is shall make your wit bankrupt. shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your folyou'11 lose the tide, if you tarry any longer, lowers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it live by your bare words. is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my Pant. What's the unkindest tide? father. Launce. Why, he that Is tied here; Crab, my dog. Enter the DUKE. Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'It lose the flood; and, Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy Sir Valentine, your father Is in good health: voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose What say you to a letter from your friends thy service; and, in losing thy service -Why dost thou Of much good news? stop my mouth? Val. My lord, I will bq thankful Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. To any happy messenger from thence. Pant. Where should I lose my tongue? Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? Launce. In thy tale. Val. Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman Pant. In thy tail? To be of wealth5 and worthy estimation, Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the And not without desert so well reputed. a Dog: in f. e. in f. e: wood (i. e. mad). 3 Note or observe. 4 I'1: in f. e. worth: in f. e. 26 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT I. Duke. Hath he not a son? Pro. We'11 both attend upon your ladyship. Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves [Exeunt SILVIA. THURIO, and SPEED. The honour and regard of such a father. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? Duke. You know him well? Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy commended. We have conversed, and spent our hours together: Val. And how do yours? And though myself have been an idle truant, Pro. I left them all in health. Omitting the sweet benefit of time Val. How does your lady, and how thrives your love? To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you: Yet hath sir Proteus, for that Is his name, I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. Made use and fair advantage of his days: Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now: His years but young, but his experience old; I have done penance for contemning love; His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; Whose high imperious thoughts have punished me And in a word, (for far behind his worth With bitter fasts, and penitential groans, Come all the praises that I now bestow) With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; He is complete in feature, and in mind, For, in revenge of my contempt of love, With all good grace to grace a gentleman. Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good And. made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. He is as worthy for an empress' love, 0, gentle Proteus! love's a mighty lord, As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me There is no woe to his correction, With commendation from great potentates Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth! And here he means to spend his time a-while. Now, no discourse, except it be of love; I think,'t is no unwelcome news to you. Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, Val. Should I have vwish'd a thing. it had been he. Upon the very naked name of love. Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. Silvia, I speak to you; and you, sir Thurio:- Was this the idol that you worship so? For Valentine. I need not'cite him to it. Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? I l11 send him hither to you presently. [Exit DUKE. Pro. No. but she is an earthly paragon. Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Val. Call her divine. Had come along with me, but that his mistress Pro. I will not flatter her. Did hold his eyes locked in her crystal looks. Val. 0! flatter me, for love delights in praises. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchised them, Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, Upon some 6ther pawn for fealty. And I must minister the like to you. Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still. Val. Then speak the truth by her: if not divine, Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and: being blind, Yet let her be a principality, How could he see his way to seek you out? Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Pro. Except my mistress. Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. Val. Sweet, except not any, Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: Except thou wilt except against my love. Upon a homely object love can wink. Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? Enter PROTEUs. Vol. And 1 will help thee to prefer her, too: Sil. Have done, have done. Here comes the gen- She shall be dignified with this high honour,tleman. [Exit THURIO. To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth Val. Welcome dear Proteus!-Mistress, I beseech Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, you And, of so great a favour growing proud, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Disdain to root the summer-smelling2 flower, Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, And make rough winter everlastingly. If this be he you oft have wished to hear from. Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? Val. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing. Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. She is alone. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant Pro. Then, let her alone. To have a look of such a worthy mistress. Val. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine own; Val. Leave off discourse of disability.- And I as rich in having such a jewel, Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold Sil. And duty yet did never want his meed. Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. Because thou seest me dote upon my love. Pro. I'11 die on him that says so, but yourself. My foolish rival, that her father likes Sil. That you are welcome? Only for his possessions are so huge, Pro. That you are worthless. Is gone with her along, and I must after, 1Re-enter THRIO. For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. Thu. Madam, my lord, your father, would speak Pro. But she loves you? with you. Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: come, sir Thurio, marriage hour, Go with me.-Once more, new servant welcome: With all the cunning manner of our flight I'11 leave you to confer of home-affairs; Determined of: how I must climb her window, When you have done, we look to hear from you. The ladder made of cords, and all the means 1 Enter: in f. e. 2 swelling: in f. e. SCENE TI. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 27 Plotted, and'greed on for my happiness. Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. me, but by a parable. Pro. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth. Speed. T is well that I get it so. But, Launce, how I must unto the road, to disembark say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover? Some necessaries that I needs must use, Launce. I never knew him otherwise. And then I 11 presently attend on' you. Speed. Than how? Val. Will you make haste? Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him Pro. I will.- [Exit VALENTINE. to be. Even as one heat another heat expels, Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. Or as one nail by strength drives out another, Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy So the remembrance of my former love master. Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Is it mine own,2 or Valentino's3 praise, Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn Her true perfection, or my false transgression, himself in love, if thou wilt go with me to the aleThat makes me, reasonless, to reason thus? house: if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not She's fair, and so is Julia that I love;- worth the name of a Christian. That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd, Speed. Why? VWhich, like a waxen image'gainst a fire, Launce. Because thou hast not so much charity in Bears no impression of the thing it was. thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go? Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold, Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. And that I love him not, as I was wont SCENE he Same. An Apartment i the O! but I love his lady too too much; And that's the reason I love him so little. Palace. How shall I dote on her with more advice, Enter PROTEUS. That thus without advice begin to love her? Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; IT is but her picture I have yet beheld, To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; And that hath dazzled so: my reason's light; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; But when I look on her perfections, And even that power, which gave me first my oath, There is no reason but I shall be blind. Provokes me to this threefold perjury: If I can check my erring love, I will; Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear. If not, to compass her I'11 use my skill. [Exit. 0 sweet-suggesting love! if I have5 sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. SCENE V.-The Same. A Street. At first I did adore a twinkling star At first I did adore a twinkling star, Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. But now I worship a celestial sun. Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am And he wants wit, that wants resolved will' not welcome. I reckon this always-that a man is To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. never undone, till he be hang'd; nor never welcome to Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad, a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess Whose sovereignty so oft thou has preferr'd say, welcome. With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'11 to the alehouse I cannot leave to love, and yet I do; with you presently; where for one shot of five pence But there I leave to love, where I should love. thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose: I how did thy master part with madam Julia? If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they If I lose them, thus find I, by their loss, parted very fairly in jest. For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. Speed. But shall she marry him? I to myself am dearer than a friend, Launce. No. For love is still most precious to6 itself; Speed. How then? Shall he marry her? And Silvia, (witness heaven that made her fair!) Latunce. No, neither. Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. Speed. What, are they broken? I will forget that Julia is alive Launmce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Remembering that my love to her is dead; Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them? And Valentine I'11 hold an enemy, Lamnce. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him Aiming at Silvia, as a sweeter friend. it stands well with her. I cannot now prove constant to myself Speed. What an ass art thou? I understand thee not. Without some treachery used to Valentine. Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not. This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder My staff understands me. To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window; Speed. What thou sayvst? Myself in counsel, his competitor. Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee; I l11 but Now, presently I'11 give her father notice lean, and my staff understands me. Of their disguising, and pretended' flight; Speed. It stands under thee indeed. Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: Speed. But tell me true, will It be a match? But, Valentine being gone, I 11 quickly cross Launce. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, it will. As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit. 1 Not in f. e. 2 eye: in f. e. Knight reads, "her mien." 3 Valentinus': in f. e. 4 Not in f. e. 5 thou hast: in f. e. 6 in: inf. e. 7 Intended. 28 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT Im. SCENE VII.-Verona. A'Room in JULIA'S House. With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots: To be fantastic, may become a youth Enter JULIA and LUCETTA. Of greater time than I shall show to be. Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me: Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your And, e'en in kind love, I do conjure thee, breeches? Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Jul. That fits as well, as-" tell me, good my lord, Are visibly character'd and engravd, What compass will you wear your farthingale?" To lesson me; and tell me some good mean, Why, even what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. How, with my honour, I may undertake Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, A journey to my loving Proteus. madam. Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly; Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me let me have And when the flight is made to one so dear, What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. For undertaking so unstaid a journey? Jul. O! know'st thou not, his looks are my souls I fear me, it will make me scandalizMd. food? Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. Pity the dearth that I have pined in, Jul. Nay, that I will not. By longing for that food so long a time. Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, If Proteus like your journey, when you come, Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, No matter who's displeased, when you are gone. As seek to quench the fire of love with words. I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear. But qualify the fire's extreme rage, A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. And instances as infinite of love Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns. Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect; But, when his fair course is not hindered, But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; And so by many winding nooks he strays His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. With willing sport to the wide1 ocean. Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to Then. let me go, and hinder not my course. him! I'11 be as patient as a gentle stream, Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, And make a pastime of each weary step, To bear a hard opinion of his truth: Till the last step have brought me to my love; Only deserve my love by loving him. And there I'11 rest, as, after much turmoil, And presently go with me to my chamber, A blessed soul doth in Elysium. To take a note of what I stand in need of, Luc. But in what habit will you go along? To furnish me upon my loving2 journey. Jul. Not like a woman, for I would prevent All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, The loose encounters of lascivious men. My goods, my lands, my reputation; Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. As may beseem some well-reputed page. Come; answer not, but to it presently: Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, ACT III. SCENE I.-Milan. An Ante-chamber in the DUKEs Myself am one made privy to the plot. Palace. I know you have determined to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEIS. And should she thus be stol'n away from you, Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile: It would be much vexation to your age. We have some secrets to confer about.-Exit THURIo. Thus, for my duty's sake. I rather chose Now, tell me, Proteus, what s your will with me? To cross my friend in his intended drift, Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head The law of friendship bids me to conceal; A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. Done to me, undeserving as I am, Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care. My duty pricks me on to utter that, Which to requite, command me while I live. Which else no worldly good should draw from me. This love of theirs myself have often seen Know, worthy Prince, sir Valentine, my friend, Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep, This night intends to steal away your daughter: And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 1 wild: in f. e. 2 longing: in f. e. SCENE I. THE TWO GENTLEENEEN OF VERONA. 29 Sir Valentine her company, and my court; Send her another; never'give her o'er, But, fearing lest my jealous aimr might err, For scorn at first makes after-love the more. And so unworthily disgrace the man, If she do frown, It is not in hate of you, (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd) But rather to beget more love in you: I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find If she do chide,'t is not to have you gone, That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, For " get you gone," she doth not mean, "away.7 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces; The key whereof myself have ever kept; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. And thence she cannot be convey'd away. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. How he her chamber-window will ascend, Duke. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends And with a corded ladder fetch her down Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, For which the youthful lover now is gone, And kept severely from resort of men, And this way comes he with it presently, That no man hath access by day to her. Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. Val. Why, then I would resort to her by night. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe, That my discovery be not aimed at; That no man hath recourse to her by night. For love of you, not hate unto my friend Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? Hath made me publisher of this pretence. Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it That I had any light from thee of this. Without apparent hazard of his life. Pji. Adieu, my lord: sir Valentine is coming.[Exit. Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords, Enter VALENTINE, in his cloak. To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger So bold Leander would adventure it. That stays to bear my letters to my friends, Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, And I am going to deliver them. Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Duke. Be they of much import? Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. Val. The tenor of them doth but signify Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, My health, and happy being at your court. That longs for every thing that he can come by. Duke. Nay, then no matter: stay with me awhile. Val. By seven o'clock I I11 get you such a ladder. I am to break with thee of some affairs Duke. But hark thee; I will go to her alone. That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. How shall I best convey the ladder thither?'T is not unknown to thee, that I have sought Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. Under a cloak that is of any length. Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? Were rich and honourable: besides, the gentleman Val. Ay, my good lord. Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Duke. Then, let me see thy cloak: Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. I'11 get me one of such another length. Cannot your grace win her fancy to him? Val. Why any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. Duke. No, trust me: she is peevish, sullen, froward, Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.Neither regarding that she is my child What letter is this same? What's here?-! To Silvia." Nor fearing me as if I were her father: And here an engine fit for my proceeding! And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers [Ladder and letter fall out.' Upon advice hath drawn my love from her; I'11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. And, where I thought the remnant of mine age My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: I now am full resolved to take a wife, 0! could their master come and go as lightly, And turn her out to who will take her in: Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying. Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower; lMy herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them; For me and my possessions she esteems not. While I, their king, that thither them importune, Val. What would your grace have me to do in this? Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blessed them, Duke. There is a lady in Milano2 here, Because myself do want my servant's fortune. Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, I curse myself, for they are sent by me, And nought esteems my aged eloquence: That they should harbour where their lord should be." Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, What's here? (For long agone I have forgot to court;" Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee: Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd) T is so: and here's the ladder for the purpose.How, and which way, I may bestow myself, Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son) To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words. And with thy daring folly burn the world? Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? More than quick words do move a woman's mind. Go, base intruder; over-weening slave: Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, Val. A woman sometime scorns what best contents And think my patience, more than thy desert her. Is privilege for thy departure hence. in his cloak: not m f. e. 2 a lady, sir, in Milan here: in f. e.3 This direction is not in f. e. 30 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT m. Thank me for this, more than for all the favours Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee: As if but now they waxed pale for woe: But if thou linger in my territories But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Longer than swiftest expedition Sad sighs, deep groans; nor silver-shedding tears, Will give thee time to leave our royal court, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire, By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. Besides, her intercession chafd him so, Begone: I will not hear thy vain excuse; When she for thy repeal was suppliant, But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. That to close prison he commanded her, [Exit DUKE. With many bitter threats of'biding there. Val. And why not death, rather than living torment? Yal. No more; unless the next word that thou To die is to be banished from myself, speak'st And Silvia is myself: banished from her Have some malignant power upon my life: Is self from self; a deadly banishment. If so, I pray thee, breathe it in my ear, What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? As ending anthem of my endless dolour. What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, Unless it be to think that she is by, And study help for that which thou lamentest. And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Except I be by Silvia in the night, Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; There is no music in the nightingale; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Unless I look on Silvia in the day, Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, There is no day for me to look upon. And manage it against despairing thoughts. She is my essence; and I leave to be, Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence; If I be not by her fair influence Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver:d Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: The time now serves not to expostulate: Tarry I here, I but attend on death; Come, I 11 convey thee through the city-gate, But fly I hence, I fly away from life. And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. Of all that may concern thy love affairs. Pro. Run, boy; run, run, and seek him out. As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Launce. So-ho! so-ho! Regard thy danger, and along with me. Pro. What seest thou? Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Launce. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on s Bid him make haste and meet me at the north-gate. head, but't is a Valentine. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. 0 my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! Val. No. [Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS. Pro. Who then? his spirit? Launce. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have Val. Neither. the wit to think, my master is a kind of a knave; but Pro. What then? that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not Val. Nothing. now, that knows me to be in love: yet I am in love; Launce. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me nor Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike? who't is I love; and yet it is a woman: but what Launce. Nothing. woman, I will not tell myself; and yet't is a milkPro. Villain, forbear. maid; yet't is not a maid, for she hath had gossips: Launce. Why, sir, I 11 strike nothing: I pray you,- yet't is a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear.-Friend Valentine, a for wages. She hath more qualities than a waterword. spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Here is Val. My ears are stopped, and cannot hear good news, the cat-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions. So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Imprimis, "She can fetch and carry." Why, a horse Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. carry; therefore, is she better than a jade. Item, Val. Is Silvia dead? "She can milk;" look you, a sweet virtue in a maid Pro. No, Valentine. with clean hands. Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia!- Enter SPEED. Hath she forsworn me? Speed. How now, signior Launce? what news with Pro. No, Valentine. your mastership? Val. No Valentine if Silvia have forsworn me!- Launce. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea. What is your news? Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the word. Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are What news, then, in your paper? vanish'd. Launce. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. Pro. That thou art banishd: 0! that is the news, Speed. Why, man, how black? From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend. Launce. Why, as black as ink. Val. 0! I have fed upon this woe already, Speed. Let me read them. And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head! thou canst not read. Doth Silvia know that I am banished? Speed. Thou liest, I can. Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) thee? A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, Launce. 0, illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy With them, upon her knees, her humble self; grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read. SCENE II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 31 Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper. Well, I 11 have her; and if it be a match, as nothing Launce. There, and saint Nicholas be thy speed! is impossible,Speed. Imprimis, " She can milk." Speed. What then? Launce. Ay. that she can. Launce. Why, then will I tell thee,-that thy master Speed. Item, " She brews good ale." stays for thee at the north-gate. Launce. And thereof comes the proverb,-Blessing Speed. For me? of your heart, you brew good ale. Launce. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath Speed. Item, d" She can sew." stayed for a better man than thee. Launce. That Is as much as to say, Can she so? Speed. And must I go to him? Speed. Item, " She can knit." Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd Launce. What need a man care for a stock with a so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. wench, when she can knit him a stock? Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your Speed. Item, " She can wash and scour." love-letters! [Exit, running. Launce. A special virtue; for then she need not be Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading my wash'd and scour'd. letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself Speed. Item, " She can spin." into secrets.-I'11 after, to rejoice in the boy's corLaunce. Then may I set the world on wheels, when rection. [Exit. she can spin for her living. Speed. Item "She hath many nameless virtues." SCENE II.-The Same. An Apartment in the Launce. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues:' aace that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore Enter DUIE and THURIO. have no names. Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you, Speed. Here follow her vices. Now Valentine is banished from her sight. Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. Thu. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most; Speed. Item, "She is not to be kissed fasting, in Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, respect of her breath." That I am desperate of obtaining her. Launce. Well, that fault may be mended with a Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure breakfast. Read on. Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat Speed. Item, " She hath a sweet mouth." Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. Launce. That makes amends for her sour breath. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, Speed. Item, " She doth talk in her sleep." And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.Launce. It 7s no matter for that, so she slip not in Enter PROTEUS. her talk. How now, sir Proteus! Is your countryman, Speed. Item, "She is slow in words." According to our proclamation, gone? Launce. 0 villain! that set this down among her Pro. Gone, my good lord. vices? To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue: Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. I pray thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue. Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. Speed. Item, "She is proud." Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. Launce. Out with that too: it was Eve's legacy, Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee and cannot be ta'en from her. (For thou hast shown sure2 sign of good desert) Speed. Item, "She hath no teeth." Makes me the better to confer with thee. Launce. I care not for that neither, because I love Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, crusts. Let me not live to look upon your grace. Speed. Item, " She is curst." Duke. Thou know;st how willingly I would effect Launce. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. Speed. Item, " She will often praise her liquor." Pro. I do. my lord. Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant not. I will; for good things should be praised. How she opposes her against my will. Speed. Item, "She is too liberal." Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. Launce. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not, for What might we do to make the girl forget that I'11 keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio? that cannot I help. Well, proceed. Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine Speed. Item, "She hath more hair than wit, and With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; more faults than hairs, and more wealth than Three things that women highly hold in hate. faults." Duke. Ay, but she'11 think that it is spoke in hate. Launce. Stop there; I 1I have her: she was mine, Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it: and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Therefore, it must, with circumstance, be spoken Rehearse that once more. By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. Speed. Item, "She hath more hair than wit,"- Duke. Then, you must undertake to slander him. Launce. More hair than wit,-it may be; I'11 prove Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do: it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore'T is an ill office for a gentleman, it is more than the salt: the hair, that covers the wit, Especially, against his very friend. is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, What's next? Your slander never can- endamage him: Speed. -" And more faults than hairs."- Therefore, the office is indifferent, Launce. That's monstrous: 0, that that were out! Being entreated to it by your friend. Speed. -- And more wealth than faults." Pro. You have prevailed, my lord. If I can do it, Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 1 running: not in f. e. 2 some: in f. e. 32 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV. She shall not long continue love to him. You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart. But say, this wean1 her love from Valentine, Write, till your ink be dry, and with your tears It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. Moist it again; and frame some feeling line, Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, That may discover strict integrity: Lest it should ravel and be good to none, For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, You must provide to bottom it on me; WVhose golden touch could soften steel and stones, Which must be done, by praising me as much Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind After your dire-lamenting elegies, Because we know, on Valentine's report, Visit by night your lady;s chamber window You are already love's firm votary, With some sweet consort: to their instruments And cannot soon revolt, and change your mind. Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence Upon this warrant shall you have access Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. Where you with Silvia may confer at large; This, or else nothing, will inherit her. For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. And for your friend's sake will be glad of you, Thu. And thy advice this night I'11 put in practice. When you may temper her, by your persuasion, Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. Let us into the city presently, Pro. As much as I can do I will effect. To sort some gentlemen well-skill'd in music. But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; I have a sonnet that will serve the turn You must lay lime to tangle her desires To give the onset to thy good advice. By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Duke. About it, gentlemen. Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. Pro. We'11 wait upon your grace till after supper, Duke. Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. And afterward determine our proceedings. Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty Duke. Even now about it: I will pardon you. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.-A Forest, between Milan and Verona. 1 Ot. Have you the tonues Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy, Enter certain Outlaws. Or else I had been often miserable. 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast: I see a passenger. 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with'em. This fellow were a king for our wild faction. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. 1 Out. We 11 have him. Sirs, a word. 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about [They talk apart.2 you; Speed. Master, be one of them: If not, we'11 make you sit, and rifle you. It is an honourable kind of thievery. Speed. Sir, we are undone. These are the villains Val. Peace, villain! That all the travellers do fear so much. 2 Out. Tell us this: have you any thing to take to? Val. My friends,- Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 1 Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies. 3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 2 Out. Peace! we 11 hear him. Such as the fury of ungoyern'd youth 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper Thrust from the company of awful men: man. Myself was from Verona banished, Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. For practising to steal away a lady, A man I am crossed with adversity: An heir, and near allied unto the duke. My riches are these poor habiliments, 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. You take the sum and substance that I have. 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 2 Out. Whither travel you? But to the purpose; for we cite our faults, Val. To Verona. That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives: 1 Out. Whence came you? And, partly, seeing you are beautify'd Val. From Milan. With goodly shape; and by your own report 3 Out. Have you long sojourned there? A linguist, and a man of such perfection, Val. Some sixteen months; and longer might have As we do in our quality much wantstay'd, 3 Out. Indeed, because you are a banished man, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. 2 Out. What! were you banished thence? Are you content to be our general? Val. I was. To make a virtue of necessity, 2 Out. For what offence? And live, as we do, in this wilderness? [consort? Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse. 3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; Say, ay, and be the captain of us all. But yet I slew him manfully, in fight, We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, Without false vantage, or base treachery. Love thee as our commander, and our king. 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. But were you banish'd for so small a fault? 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. offer'd. 1 weed: in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. SCENE II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 33 Val. I take your offer, and will live with you; fLost. How now! are you sadder than you were Provided that you do no outrages before? How do you, man? the music likes you not. On silly women, or poor passengers. Jul. You mistake: the musician likes me not. 3 Out. No: we detest such vile, base practices. Host. Why, my pretty youth? Come, go with us: we'11 bring thee to our cave, Jul. He plays false, father. And show thee all the treasure we have got, Host. How? out of tune on the strings? Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Jul. Not so; but yet so false, that he grieves my [Exeunt. very heart-strings. Host. You have a quick ear. SCENE II.-Milan. The Court of the Palace. l. Ay I would I were deaf! it maes me have a Enter PROTEUS. slow heart. Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, Host. I perceive, you delight not in music. And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. [Music plays again.3 Under the colour of commending him, Host. Hark! what fine change is in the music. I have access my own love to prefer; Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, Host. You would not have them always play but To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. one thing? When I protest true loyalty to her, Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; But, Host, doth this sir Proteus. that we talk on, When to her beauty I commend my vows, Often resort unto this gentlewoman? She bids me think how I have been forsworn, Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd: lov'd her out of all nick. And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips Jul Where is Launce? The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, his master's command, he must carry for a present to The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. his lady. But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her Jul. Peace! stand aside: the company parts. window, Pro. Sir Thurio, fear you not: I will so plead, And give some evening music to her ear. That you shall say my cunning drift excels. Enter THURIO, and Musicians. Thu. Where meet we? Thu. How now, sir Proteus! are you crept before us? Pro. At St. Gregory's well. Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt THURIO and Musicians. Will creep in service where it cannot go. Enter SILVIA above, at her window. Thu. Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here. Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Tha. Whom? Silvia? Who is that, that spake? Pro. Ay, Silvia,-for your sake. Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. Let Is tune, and to it lustily awhile. Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. Enter Host and JULIA (in boy's clothes), behind. Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. Host. Now, my young guest; methinks you're ally- Sil. What is your will? cholly: I pray you, why is it? Pro. That I may compass yours. Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. Sil. You have your wish: my will is even this, Host. Come, we 11 have you merry. I 711 bring you That presently you hie you home to bed. where you shall hear music, and see the gentlemen Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man! that you ask'd for. Think'st thou, I am so shall s o conceitless, Jul. But shall I hear him speak? To be seduced by thy flattery, Host. Ay, that you shall. That hast deceived so many with thy vows? Jul. That will be music. [Music plays. Return, return, and make thy love amends. Host. Hark! Hark! For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, Jul. Is he among these? I am so far from granting thy request, Host. Ay; but peace! let Is hear'em. That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, SONG. And by and by intend to chide myself. Who is Silvia? what is she, Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. That all our swains commend her? Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; Holy, fair, and wise as free; But she is dead. The heaven such grace did lend her, Jul. [Aside.]'T were false, if I should speak it; That she mighlt admired be. For, I am sure she is not buried. Sil. Say, that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, Is she kind, as she is far, Survives, to whom thyself art witness For beauty lives with kindness? I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd Love doth to her eyes repair, To wrong him with thy importunacy? To help him of hzs bldness; Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. And, being helped, inhabits there. Sil. And so, suppose, am I for in his grave, Then to Silvia let us sing, Assure thyself, my love is buried. That Silvia is excelling; Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. She excels each mortal thing, Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence; Upon the dull earth dwelling: Or at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. To her let us garlands bring. Jul. [Aside.] He heard not that. 1 crews: in f. e. a is she: in f. e. 3 This direction is not in f. e. 3 34 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV. Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, I give consent to go along with you; The picture that is hanging in your chamber: Recking as little what betidetb me, To that I'l speak,.to that I ll sigh and weep; As much I wish all good befortune you. For, since the substance of your perfect self When will you go? Is else devoted, I am but a shadow, Sil. This evening coming. And to your shadow will I make true love. Egl. Where shall I meet you? Jul. [Aside.] If't were a substance, you would, sure, Sil. At friar Patrick's cell, deceive it, Where I intend holy confession. And make it but a shadow, as I am. Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir; Gentle lady. But, since your falsehood, It shall become you well Sil. Good morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, Send to me in the morning, and I'11 send it. IV. he ame And so, good rest. Enter LAUNCE with his dog. Pro. As wretches have o'er night, Launce. When a man's servant shall play the cur That wait for execution in the morn. with him, look you, it goes hard: one that I brought [Exeunt PROTEIS and SILVIA. up of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when Jul. Host, will you go? three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to Host. By my halidoml I was fast asleep. it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus? thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think, It is as a present to mistress Silvia from my master, and I almost day. came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps Jul. Not so; but it hath been the longest night me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. 0!'tis That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt. a foul thing, when a cur cannot keep himself in all SCENE III.-The Same. companies. I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a Enter EGLAMOUR. dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia to take a fault upon-me that he did, I think verily, he Entreated me to call, and know her mind. had been hang'd for't: sure as I live, he had suffer'd There's some great matter she'd employ me in.- for't. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the Madam,madam! company of three or four gentlemen-like dogs under Enter SILVIA above, at her window. the duke's table: he had not been there (bless the Sil. Who calls? mark) a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. Egl. Your servant, and your friend; "Out with the dog!" says one; " what cur is that?" One that attends your ladyship's command. says another; "whip him out," says the third; "hang Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow. him up," says the duke. I, having been acquainted Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. with the smell before knew it was Crab, and goes me According to your ladyship's impose,2 to the fellow that whips the dogs: " Friend," quoth I; I am thus early come, to know what service" do you mean to whip the dog?" Ay, marry, do I," It is your pleasure to command me in. quoth he. "You do him the more wrong," quoth I; Sil. 0 Eglamour, thou art a gentleman "'t was I did the thing you wot of." He makes me no Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not, more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How Valiant, wise, remorseful,3 well accomplish'd. many masters would do this for his servant? Nay I'll Thou art not ignorant what dear good will be sworn I have sat in the stocks for puddings lie hath I bear unto the banish'd Valentine; stolen, otherwise he had been executed: I have stood Nor how my father would enforce me marry on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise lie had Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. suffer'd for't: thou think'st not of this now.-Nay, I Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say, remember the trick you served me, when I took my No grief did ever come so near thy heart, leave of madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark As when thy lady and thy true love died me, and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick? To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode; Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, I do desire thy worthy company, And will employ thee in some service presently. Upon whose faith and honour I repose. Jul. In what you please: I will do what I can. Urge not my father's anger. Eglamour, Pro. I hope thou wilt.-How, now, you whoreson But think upon my grief, a lady's grief; peasant! And on the justice of my flying hence, Where have you been these two days loitering: To keep me from a most unholy match, Launce. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. you bade me. I do desire thee, even from a heart Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, Launce. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; and To bear me company, and go with me: tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a If not, to hide what I have said to thee, present. That I may venture to depart alone. Pro. But she receiv'd my dog? Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances, Launce. No, indeed, did she not. Here have I And the most true affections that you bear; brought him back again. 1 From the Saxon haligdome, holy place or kingdom. 2 Injunction. 3 Compassionate. 4 This line is not in f. e. -~-~ —~ —-~ — —: -: —: =- -- ~~ — ~~ —- ~~~~:~.-~:. ~.l~l —--— l`~:~i~:~ _~-~ _~L~~-Mt:_ MORMOK-11~~~~~~~~~~~~~~: \? lit r~~~~~~~~~~~f~~~ E 1 11 Initial1! I 1 1 -~~~029 71~bZ LAPNC 11,TU- N JLA a ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~ —-— ~~~~~\,, etlmnOfeo,At W cn SCENE IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 35 Pro. What! didst thou offer her this cur1 from me? One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Launce. Ay, sir: the other squirrel was stolen from Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow. me by a hangman boy2 in the market-place; and then Jul. Madam, so4 please you to5 peruse this letter.I offered her my own, who is a dog as big as ten of Pardon me, madam, I have unadvis'd [Giving a letter. yours, and therefore the gift the greater. Deliverd you a paper that I should not: Pro. Go; get thee hence, and find my dog again This is the letter to your ladyship. [Giving another letter. Or ne'er return again into my sight. Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. Away, I say! Stayest thou to vex me here? Jul. It may not be: good madam, pardon me. A slave that still an end' turns me to shame. Sil. There, hold. [Giving it back. [Exit LAUNCE. I will not look upon your master's lines: Sebastian, I have entertained thee, I know, they are stuffd with protestations, Partly, that I have need of such a youth, And full of new-found oaths, which he will break, That can with some discretion do my business, As easily as I do tear his paper. For't is no trusting to yond foolish lowt; Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour, Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me; Which (if my augury deceive me not) For, I have heard him say, a thousand times, Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth: His Julia gave it him at his departure. Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, Go presently, and take this ring with thee: Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. Deliver it to madam Silvia. Jul. She thanks you. She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. Sil. What say'st thou? Jul. It seems, you lov'd not her, to leave her token. Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. She's dead, belike? Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much. Pro. Not so: I think, she lives. Sil. Dost thou know her? Jul. Alas! Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself: Pro. Why dost thou cry alas? To think upon her woes, I do protest, Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. That I have wept a hundred several times. Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? Sil. Belike, she thinks, that Proteus hath forsook her. Jul. Because methinks, that she lov'd you as well Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. As you do love your lady Silvia. Sil. Is she not passing fair? She dreams on him, that has forgot her love; Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. You dote on her, that cares not for your love. When she did think my master lov'd her well,'T is pity, love should be so contrary, She, in my judgment, was as fair as you; And thinking on it makes me cry alas! But since she did neglect her looking-glass, Pro. Well, give to her that ring; and therewithal And threw her sun-expelling mask away, This letter:-that's her chamber.-Tell my lady The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, Your message done, hie home unto my chamber That now she is become as black as I. Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. [Exit. Sil. How tall was she? Jul. How many women would do such a message? Jul. About my stature; for, at pentecost, Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain'd When all our pageants of delight were play'd, A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. Our youth got me to play the woman's part, Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him, And I was trimmed in madam Julia's gown, That with his very heart despiseth me? Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, Because he loves her, he despiseth me; As if the garment had been made for me: Because I love him, I must pity him. Therefore I know she is about my height. This ring I gave him when he parted from me, And at that time I made her weep a-good,6 To bind him to remember my good will, For I did play a lamentable part. And now am I (unhappy messenger!) Madam,'twas Ariadne, passioning To plead for that which I would not obtain; For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; To carry that which I would have refusd; Which I so lively acted with my tears, To praise his faith which I would have disprais'd. That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, I am my master's true confirmed love, Wept bitterly; and, would I might be dead, But cannot be true servant to my master, If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. Unless I prove false traitor to myself. Sil. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.Yet will I woo for him; but yet so coldly, Alas, poor lady! desolate and left!As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. I weep myself, to think upon thy words. Enter SILVIA, attended. Here, youth; there is my purse: I give thee this Gentlewoman, good day. I pray you, be my mean For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. Farewell. [Exit SILVIA. Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she? Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience her.To hear me speak the message I am sent on. A- virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful! Sil. From whom? I hope my master's suit will be but cold, Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. Since she respects my mistress' love so much. Sil. 0! he sends you for a picture. Alas, how love can trifle with itself! Jul. Ay, madam. Here is her picture. Let me see: I think, Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there.[A Picture brought. If I had such a tire, this face of mine Go, give your master this: tell him from me, Were full as lovely as is this of hers; 1 Not in f. e. 2 the hangman's boys: in f. e. 3 Continually. 5 Not in f. e. 6 In good earnest. 36 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. AOT V. And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, Come, shadow come, and take this shadow up, Unless I flatter with myself too much. For't is thy rival. O thou senseless form! Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow: Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kissed, lov'd, and ador'd; If that be all the difference in his love, And, were there sense in his idolatry, I'11 get me such a coloured periwig. My substance should be statue in thy stead. Her eyes are green as grass,1 and so are mine: I'11 use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. That us'd me so or else, by Jove I vow, What should it be, that he respects in her, I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, But I can make respective in myself, To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit. If this fond love were not a blinded god? ACT V. SCENE I.-The Same. An Abbey. Enter DUKE, angrily.2 Duke. How now, sir Proteus! how now, Thurio Enter EGLAMOUR. Which of you saw sir3 Eglamour of late? Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky, Thu. Not I. And now it is about the very hour, Pro. Nor I. That Silvia at friar Patrick's cell should meet me. Duke. Saw you my daughter? She will not fail; for lovers break not hours, Pro. Neither. Unless it be to come before their time, Duke. Why, then So much they spur their expedition. She's fled unto that peasant Valentine, Enter SILVIA. And Eglamour is in her company. Se, where she comes.-Lady, a happy evening.'T is true; for friar Lawrence met them both, Sil. Amen, amen. Go on, good Eglamour, As he in penance wander'd through the forest: Out at the postern by the abbey-wall. Him he knew well; and guess'd that it was she, I fear, I am attended by some spies. But, being mask'd, he was not sure of her: Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off; Besides, she did intend confession If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt. At Patrick's cell this even, and there she was not. I-* the These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence: SCENE II.-The Same. A Room in the DuxEs Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, Etr IPalace, an UI. But mount you presently; and meet with me Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA. Upon the rising of the mountain-foot, Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. Pro. 0, sir! I find her milder than she was; Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. And yet she takes exceptions at your person. [Exit in haste. Thu. What! that my leg is too long? Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, Pro. No, that it is too little. That flies her fortune when it follows her. Thu. I'11 wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. I'11 after, more to be revenged on Eglamour, Jul. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. [Aside. Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love, Thu. What says she to my face? Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit. Pro. She says it is a fair one. Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies: my face is black. Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love. [Exit. Pro. But pearls are fair, and the old saying is, SCENE III.-The Forest. Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies7 eyes. Jul.'T is true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes; Enter SILVIA, and Outlaws. For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. 1 Out. Come, come; be patient, we must bring you Thu. How likes she my discourse? to our captain. [Drawing her in. Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. peace? 2 Out. Come, bring her away. Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her? [Aside. 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us; Thu. What says she to my valour? But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him. Pro. 0, sir! she makes no doubt of that. Go thou with her to the west end of the wood; Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. There is our captain. We'11 follow him that's fled: [Aside. The thicket is beset; he cannot'scape. Thu. What says she to my birth? 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave. Pro. That you are well deriv'd. Fear not; he bears an honourable mind, Jul. True; from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside. And will not use a woman lawlessly. Thu. Considers she my large possessions? Sil. 0 Valentine! this I endure for thee. [Exeunt. Pro. 0 T ay, and pities them. SCENE IV.-Another Part of the Forest. Thu. Wherefore? Jul. That such an ass should owe them. [Aside. Enter VALENTINE. Pro. That they are out by lease Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man! Jul. Here comes the duke. These shadowy, desert,5 unfrequented woods, 1 grey as glass: in f. e. 2 3 Not in f. e. 4 ini haste: not in f. e. 5 This shado-wy, desert: in f. e. SCENE IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 37 r better brook than flourishing peopled towns. (For such is a friend now) treacherous man! Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, Thou hast beguil'd my hopes: nought but mine eye And to the nightingale's complaining notes Could have persuaded me. Now dared I to say, Tune my distresses, and record' my woes. I have one friend alive, thou would'st disprove me. 0! thou that dost inhabit in my breast, Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand Leave not the mansion too long tenantless, Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, And leave no memory of what it was! But count the world a stranger for thy sake. Repair me with thy presence, Silvia! The private wound is deep'st. O time accurst! Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain!-'Mongst all my9 foes10 a friend should be the worst! What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day? [Shouts.2 Pro. My shame and desperate guilt at once"l conThese my rude mates,3 that make their wills their law, found me.Have some unhappy passenger in chase. Forgive me, Valentine. If hearty sorrow They love me well; yet I have much to do, Be a sufficient ransom for offence, To keep them from uncivil outrages. I tender't here: I do as truly suffer, Withdraw thee, Valentine: who's this comes here? As e'er I did commit. [Withdraws.4 Val. Then, I am paid; Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA. And once again I do receive thee honest. Pro. Madam, this service having5 done for you, Who by repentance is not satisfied, (Though you respect not aught your servant doth) Is nor of heaven, nor earth; for these are pleased: To hazard life, and rescue you from him, By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd. That would have forc'd your honour and your love6 And, that my love may appear plain and free, Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look.7 All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, Jul. 0 me unhappy! And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. Pro. Look to the boy. Val. How like a dream is this, I see and hear! Val. Why, boy! why, wag! how now! what's the Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [Aside. matter! look up; speak. Sil. 0, miserable! unhappy that I am! Jul. 0 good sir! my master charg'd me to deliver a Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; ring to madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was But by my coming I have made you happy. never done. Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. Pro. Where is that ring, boy? Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your presence. Jul. Here't is: this is it. [Gives a ring. [Aside. Pro. How! let me see. Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, This is the ring I gave to Julia. I would have been a breakfast to the beast, Jul. 0! cry you mercy, sir; I have mistook: Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Shows another ring. 0, heaven! be judge, how I love Valentine, Pro. But, how cam'st thou by this ring? Whose life's as tender to me as my soul; At my depart I gave this unto Julia. And full as much (for more there cannot be) Jul. And Julia herself did give it me; I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus: And Julia herself hath brought it hither. Therefore be gone: solicit me no more. Pro. How? Julia! [Discovering herself. Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, Would I not undergo for one caln look. And entertained them deeply in her heart: 0!'t is the curse in love, and still approved,s How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! When women cannot love where they're belov'd. 0 Proteus! let this habit make thee blush: Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd. Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, Such an immodest raiment; if shame live For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith In a disguise of love. Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, Descended into perjury to love me. Women to change their shapes, than men their minds. Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, Pro. Than men their minds:'t is true. 0 heaven! And that's far worse than none: better have none were man Than plural faith, which is too much by one. But constant, he were perfect: that one error [sins: Thou counterfeit to thy true fiiend! Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the Pro. In love Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins. Who respects friend? What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy Sil. All men but Proteus. More fresh in Julia's, with a constant eye? Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words Val. Come come, a hand from either. Can no way change you to a milder form, Let me be blest to make this happy close: I'11 woo you like a soldier, at arm's end,'T were pity two such friends should be long foes. And love you'gainst the nature of love: force you. Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. Sil. 0 heaven! Jul. And I mine. Pro. I'11 force thee yield to my desire. Enter Outlaws, with DUKE and THURIO. Val. [Coming forward.] Ruffian, let go that rude Out. A prize! a prize! a prize! uncivil touch; Val. Forbear: forbear, I say: it is my lord the Thou friend of an ill fashion! duke.Pro. Valentine! [love; Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or Banished Valentine. sing. 2 Not in f. e. 3 are my mates: in f. e. 4 Steps aside: in f. e. 5 I have: in f. e. 6 f. e. have a period.. f. e have a semi, colon. 8 proved. 9 Not in f. e. o1 that: in f. e. 11 My shame and guilt confound in f. e. 38 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT v. Duke. Sir Valentine! I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death. Duke. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. Come not within the measure of my wrath: Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, Are men endued with worthy qualities: Milano' shall not hold thee. Here she stands: Forgive them what they have committed here, Take but possession of her with a touch. And let them be recall'd from their exile. I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. They are reformed, civil, full of good, Thu. Sir Valentine I care not for her, I. And fit for great employment, worthy lord. I hold him but a fool, that will endanger Duke. Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them, and thee His body for a girl that loves him not: Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. Come; let us go: we will conclude2 all jars Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. To make such means for her as thou hast done, Val. And as we walk along, I dare be bold And leave her on such slight conditions. With our discourse to make your grace to smile. Now, by the honour of my ancestry, What think you of this stripling3 page, my lord? I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him: he blushes. And think thee worthy of an empress' love. Val. I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy. Know then, I here forget all former griefs, Duke. What mean you by that saying, Valentine?4 Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, Val. Please you, I'11 tell you as we pass along, Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, That you will wonder what hath fortuned.To which I thus subscribe.-Sir Valentine, Come, Proteus;'t is your penance, but to hear Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd: The story of your love's discoverer: Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. Our day of marriage shall be yours no less;5 Val. I thank your grace; the gift hath made me One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. happy. [Exeunt. I Verona: in f. e. 2 include: in f. e. 3 4 Not in f. e. 5 That done, our day of marriage shall be yours: in f. e. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. DRAMATIS PERSO0NLE. Sir JOHN FALSTAFF. BARDOLPH, FENTON. PISTOL, Followers of Falstaff. SHALLOW, a Country Justice. NYM, SLENDER, Cousin to Shallow. ROBIN, Page to Falstaff. FORD ) SIMPLE, Servant to Slender. FORD, G Two Gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. SIMPLE, Servant to Slender. PAGE) JOHN RUGBY. Servant to Dr. Caius. WILLIAM PAGE, a Boy, Son to Mr. Page. Mrs. FORD. Sir HUGH EVANS, a Welsh Parson. Mrs. PAGE. Dr. CAIUS, a French Physician. ANNE PAGE, her Daughter, in love with Fenton. Host of the Garter Inn. Mrs. QUICKLY, Servant to Dr. Caius. Servants to Page, Ford, &c. SCENE, Windsor; and the Parts adjacent. ACT I. SCENE I.-Windsor. Before PAGE'S House. Shal. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again the Enter Justice SHALLOW, SLENDER, and Sir HUGH sword should end it. EVANS. Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end Shal. Sir' Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a it: and there is also another device in my prain, which, Star-chamber matter of it: if he were twenty sir John peradventure, prings goot discretions with it. There Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire. is Anne Page, which is daughter to master George Page, Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, and which is pretty virginity. coram. Slen. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair and Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-alorum. speaks small, like a woman. Slen. Ay, and ratolorum too; and a gentleman born, Eva. It is that fery person for all the orld; as just as master parson; who writes himself armigero; in any you will desire, and seven hundred pounds of monies, bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero. and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, upon his deathsShal. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these bed (Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!) give, when three hundred years. she is able to overtake seventeen years old. It were a Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have done't; goot motion, if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they desire a marriage between master Abraham, and mismay give the dozen white luces' in their coat, tress Anne Page. Shal. It is an old coat. Slen. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat pound? well; it'agrees well, passant: it is a familiar beast to Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter man, and signifies love. penny. Shal. The luce is the fresh fish: the salt fish is an Slen. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good old coat. gifts. Slen. I may quarter, coz? Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is Shal. You may, by marrying. good gifts. Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it. Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page. Is FalShal. Not a whit. staff there? Eva. Yes, per-lady: if he has a quarter of your coat, Eva. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar, as there is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple con- I do despise one that is false; or, as I despise one that jectures. But that is all one: if sir John Falstaff have is not true. The knight, sir John, is there; and, I committed disparagements unto you, I am of the church, beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will and will be glad to do my benevolence, to make atone- peat the door for master Page. [Knocks.] What, hoa ments and compromises between you. Got pless your house here! Shal. The council shall hear it: it is a riot. Page. Who's there? [Above, at the windowu. Eva. It is not meet the council hear a riot; there is Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and no fear of Got in a riot. The council, look you, shall justice Shallow; and here young master Slender, that, desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot: peradventures, shall tell you another tale, if matters take your vizaments in that. grow to your likings. 1 A title by which the clergy were ordinarily addressed. 2 The old name for a pike-an allusion to the coat of arms of the Lucys' three luces. 3 Enter Page: in f. e. 40 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I. Enter PAGE.1 Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between Page. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank them. you for my venison, master Shallow. Eva. Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my Shal. Master Page, I-am glad to see you: much note-book; and we will afterwards lork upon the good do it your good heart. I wished your venison cause, with as great discreetly as we can. better; it was ill kill'd.-How doth good mistress Fal. Pistol! Page?-and I thank you always with my heart, la; Pist. He hears with ears. with my heart. Eva. The tevil and his tam! what phrase is this? Page. Sir, I thank you. He hears with ear? Why, it is affectations. Shal. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse? Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I Slin. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I might never come in mine own great chamber again heard say, he was outrun on Cotsold.2 else) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward Page. It could not be judgnd, sir. shovel-boards,5 that cost me two shilling and two pence Slen. You 11 not confess, you'11 not confess. a-piece of Yed Miller, by these gloves. Shal. That he will not;-'t is your fault,'t is your Fal. Is this true, Pistol? fault.-'T is a good dog. Eva. No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. Page. A cur, sir. Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner!-Sir John and Shal. Sir, he ns a good dog, and a fair dog; can master mine, there be more said? he is good, and fair. Is sir John I combat challenge of this latten bilbo:6 Falstaff here? Word of denial in thy labras7 here; Page. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a Word of denial; froth and scum, thou liest. good office between you. Slen. By these gloves, then't was he. Eva. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours. I will Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. say, " marry trap,I with you, if you run the nuthook's8 Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. humour on me; that is the very note of it. Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd: is not Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it; for that so, master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed, though I cannot remember what I did when you made he hath;-at a word, he hath;-believe me:-Robert me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. Shallow, esquire, saith he is wronged. Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John?9 Page. Here comes sir John. Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and had drunk himself out of his five sentences. PISTOL. Eva. It is his five senses: fie, what the ignorance is! Fal. Now, master Shallow; you 11 complain of me Bard. And being fap,l sir, was, as they say, cashiered; to the king? and so conclusions pass'd the carieres.l Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but't is no deer, and broke open my lodge. matter. I'11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick: if I be Shal. Tut, a pin! this shall be answered. drunk, I 11 be drunk with those that have the fear of Fal. I will answer it straight:-I have done all God, and not with drunken knaves. this.-That is now answered. Eva. So Got'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. Shal. The council shall know this. Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen; Fal.'T were better for you, if it were knowne in you hear it. counsel: you 711 be laughed at. Enter ANNE PAGE with wine; and Miistress FORD and Eva. Pauca verba, sir John; good worts. Mistress PAGE. Fal. Good worts? good cabbage.-Slender, I broke Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'11 drink your head; what matter have you against me? within. [Exit ANNE PAGE. Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against Slen. Oh heaven! this is mistress Anne Page. you; and against your coney-catching rascals, Bar- [Following and looking after her." dolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to the Page. How now, mistress Ford! tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well my pocket. met: by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her. Bard. You Banbury cheese.4 Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome.-Come, Slen. Ay, it is no matter. we have a hot venison pasty to dinner: come, gentlePist. How now, Mephostophilus? men, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness. Slen. Ay, it is no matter. [Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS. ]Nym. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! that's my Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my humour. book of songs and sonnets here.Slen. Where Is Simple, my man? — can you tell, Enter SIMPLE. cousin? How now, Simple! Where have you been? I must Eva. Peace! I pray you. Now let us understand: wait on myself, must I? You have not the book of there is three umpires in this matter, as I understand; riddles about you, have you? that is —master Page, fidelicet, master Page; and there Sim. Book of riddles! why, did you not lend it to is myself, fidelicet, myself; and the three party is, Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. afore Michaelmas? 1 Not in f. e. 2 Cotsall: in f. e. Cotswold-downs, in Gloucestershire, a famous place for rural sports. 3 The old name for cabbage. 4 This cheese was extremely thin. 5 Shilling pieces, used in playing shuffle-board, and probably better fitted for the game by being heavier than the common coin, and so commanding a premium. s latten, a composition of copper and calamine, made into thin plates; bilho, is a Bilboa blade or sword. 7 lips. 8 Instrument used by a thief to hook things from a window; he means, " if you say I'm a thief." 9 Two of Robin Hood's merry men. 10 Fuddled. 11 A term in horsemanship, for galloping a horse backwards and forwards 12 This direction is not in f. e. SCENE m. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 41 Shal. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A Anne. I may not go in without your worship: they word with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is. as will not sit, till you come. It were, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by sir Slen. In faith, I 11 eat nothing; I thank you as much Hugh here: do you understand me? as though I did. Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable: if it be Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. so, I shall do that that is reason. Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruised Shal. Nay, but understand me. my shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger Slen. So I do, sir. with a master of fence, (three veneys for a dish of Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender. I will stewed prunes) and, by my troth, I cannot abide the description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. smell of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark so? Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says. I be there bears iv the town? [Dogs bark.2 pray you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his Anne. I think, there are, sir; I heard them talked of. country, simple though I stand here. Slen. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon Eva. But that is not the question: the question is quarrel at it as any man in England. You are afraid, concerning your marriage. if you see the bear loose are you not? Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. Eva. Marry, is it, the very point of it; to mistress Slen. That Is meat and drink to me, now: I have seen Anne Page. Sackerson3 loose, twenty times, and have taken him Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any by the chain; but, I warrant you, the women have so reasonable demands. cried and shrieked at it, that it pass'd4: but women, Eva. But can you affection the'oman? Let us de- indeed, cannot abide rem; they are very ill-favoured mand' to know that of your mouth, or of your lips; for rough things. divers philosophers hold, that the lips is parcel of the Re-enter PAGE. mouth: therefore, precisely, can you carry your good Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come; we stay will to the maid? for you. Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love Slen. I 711 eat nothing, I thank you, sir. her? Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir. Slen. I hope, sir I will do, as it shall become one Come, come. that would do reason. Slen. Nay; pray you, lead the way. Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must Page. Come on, sir. speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. towards her. Anne. Not I, sir; pray you, keep on. Shal. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, Slen. Truly, I will not go first: truly, la, I will not marry her? do you that wrong. Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your Anne. I pray you, sir. request, cousin, in any reason. Slen. I 11 rather be unmannerly, than troublesome. Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz: You do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt. what I do, is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid? SCENE II.-The Same. Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if Enter Sir HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE. there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven Eva. Go your ways and a of doctor Ca hous may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are which is the way and there dwells one mistress married, and have more occasion to know one another. Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse or his I-hope upon familiarity will grow more contempt.. I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt: dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and but if you say, "marry her, I will marry her; that his wringer. I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. We sir. Eva. It is a fery discretion answer; save, the fault Eva Nay it is petter yet.-Give her thisletter for is in the'ort dissolutely: the'ort is according to our it is a Noman that altogether s acquaintance with mismeaning, resolutely.-His meaning is good. meaning, resolutely-His meaning is good. tress Anne Page: and the letter is, to desire and require Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. I Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant wel. her to solicit your master's desires to mistress Anne Slen, Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. n. Ay, or else I would I t be hanged, la. Page: I pray you, be gone. I will make an end of my Re-enter ANNE PAGE. Shat. Here comes fair mistress Anne-Would I dinner: there's pippins and cheese to come. [Exeunt. Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne. —Would I were young, for your sake, mistress Anne! SCENE II.-A Room in the Garter Inn. Anne. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your worship's company. Enter FALSTAFF, Host, BARDOLPH. NYM, PISTOL, and Shial. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. ROBIN. Eva. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the Fal. Mine host of the Garter! grace. [Exeunt SHALLOW and EvANS. Host. What says my bully-rook5? Speak scholarly, Anne. Will It please your worship to come in, sir? and wisely. Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my well. followers. Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth.-Go, wag; trot, trot. sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon my cousin Fal. I sit at ten pounds a-week. Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE.] A justice of peace sometime Host. Thou rt an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and may be beholding to his friend for a man.-I keep but Pheazar. I will entertain Bardolph: he shall draw, three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead; but he shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? what though? yet I live like a poor gentleman born. Fal. Do so, good mine host. 1 command: in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. 3 A famous bear, often baited at Paris Garden. 4 expression. 5 A sharper. 42 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I. Host. I have spoke; let him follow. —Let me see thee Fal. Hold, sirrah, [to ROBIN,] bear you these letters froth, and lime': I am at a word; follow. [Exit lost. tightly: Fal. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good Sail like my pinnace' to these golden shores.trade: an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered Rogues; hence! avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go; servingman, a fresh tapster. Go; adieu. Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack! Bard. It is a life that I have desired. I will thrive. Falstaff will learn the humouri0 of the age, [Exit BARDOLPH. French thrift, you rogues: myself, and skirted page. Pist. 0 base Gongarian2 wight! wilt thou the spigot [Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN. wield? Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd, and Nyrn. He was gotten in drink: is not the humour fullam holds, conceited? His mind is not heroic, and there's the And high and low"' beguile the rich and poor. humour of it. Tester12 I'11 have in pouch, when thou shalt lack, Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: Base Phrygian Turk. [venge. his thefts were too open; his filching was like an un- Nym. I have operations, which be humours of reskilful singer, he kept not time. Pist. Wilt thou revenge? Nym. The good humour is to steal at a mrinims3 rest. Nym. By welkin, and her stars.13 Pist. Convey the wise it call. Steal? foh! a fico Pist. With wit; or steel? for the phrase! Nym. With both the humours, I: Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.14 Pist. Why then, let kibes ensue. Pist. And I to Ford"4 shall eke unfold, Fal. There is no remedy; I must coney-catch, I How Falstaff, varlet vile, must shift. His dove will prove, his gold will hold, Pist. Young ravens must have food. And his soft couch defile. Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town? Nym. My humour shall not cool: I will incense Pist. I ken the wight: he is of substance good. Page to deal with poison; I will possess him with Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous: that Pist. Two yards, and more. is my true humour. Fal. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed I am in the waist Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents: I second two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am thee; troop on. [Exeunt. about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife: I spy entertainment in her; she discourses; she SCENE Room Dr CA H se craves,4 she gives the leer of invitation: I can construe Enter Mrs. QUICKLY, SIMPLE; and JOHN RUGBY. the action of her familiar style; and the hardest voice Quick. What, John Rugby!-I pray thee, go to the of her behaviour, to be Englished rightly, is, " I am sir casement, and see if you can see my master, master John Falstaff s." doctor Caius, coming: if he do, i' faith, and find any Pist. He hath studied her will, and translated her body in the house, here will be an old abusing of God's well5; out of honesty into English. patience, and the king's English. Nym. The anchor is deep: will that humour pass? Rug. I 711 go watch. [Exit RUGBY. Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of her Quick. Go; and we 1'l have a posset for t soon at husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels. night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire.-An Pist. As many devils entertain, and " To her, boy," honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come say I. in house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale, nor Nym. The humour rises; it is good: humour me the no breed-bate5: his worst fault is, that he is given to angels. prayer; he is something peevish" that way, but noFal. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here body but has his fault; but let that pass. Peter Simanother to Page's wife, who even now gave me good ple, you say your name is? eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. ceiliads: sometimes the beam of her view gilded my Quick. And master Slender Is your master? foot, sometimes my portly belly. Sim. Ay, forsooth. Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a Nym. I thank thee for that humour. glover's paring-knife? Fal. 0! she did so course o'er my exteriors with such Sim. No, forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did with a little yellow beard; a Cain-coloured beard.7 seem to scorch me up like a burning glass. Here's Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? another letter to her: she bears the purse too; she is a Sim. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall'8 a man of his region in Guiana, all gold and beauty.7 I will be hands, as any is between this and his head: he hath cheater8 to them both. and they shall be exchequers to fought with a warrener. me: they shall be my East and West Indies. and I Quick. How say you?-O! I should remember him: will trade to them both. Go. bear thou this letter to does he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in mistress Page; and thou this to mistress Ford. We his gait? will thrive, lads, we will thrive. Sim. Yes, iideed, does he. Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become, Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse forAnd by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer take all! tune! Tell master parson Evans, I will do what I can Nym. I will run no base humour: here, take the for your master: Anne is a good girl, and I wishhumour-letter. I will keep the'haviour of repu- Re-enter RUGBY, running. tation. Rug. Out, alas! here comes my master. X Froth beer by putting in soap, adding lime to sack to make it foam. 2 Some read: Hungarian, i. e., Bohemian or gipsy. 3 minute's: in f. e. 4 carves: in f. e. 5 will: in f, e. 6 An old coin. 7 bounty: in f. e. 8 Escheator, an office of the Exchequer. 9 A small vessel; the word is often used for a go-between. 10 The folios and some of the f. e: honour. 11 Cant terms for dice. 12 Sixpence. 13 star: in f. e. 1I Knight, following the folio of 1623, transposes these names. 15 Debate. 16 Silly. 17The quartos have cane-colored-Cain was painted in old tapestries with a yellow beard. 18 Fine. SCENE IV. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 43 Quick. We shall all be shent.1 Run in here, good great charge: and to be up early and down late -but young man; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the notwithstanding, to tell you in your ear, (I would have closet.] He will not stay long.-What, John Rugby! no words of it) my master himself is in love with misJohn, what, John, I say!-Go, John, go inquire for my2 tress Anne Page: but notwithstanding that, I know master; [Exit RUGBY.'] I doubt, he be not well, that Anne's mind; that Is neither here nor there. he comes not. home:-" and down, down, adown-a" Caius. You jack'nape, give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh. &c. [Sings. By gar, it is a shallenge: I vill cut his troat in de park; Enter Doctor CAIUS. and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle Caius. Vat is you sing? I do not like dese toys. or make.-You may be gone; it is not good you tarry Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitier here:-by gar, I vill cut all his two stones; by gar, he verd; a box, a green-a box do intend vat I speak? a shall not have a stone to trow at his dog. green-a box. [Exit SIMPLE. Quick. Ay, forsooth; I'11 fetch it you. [Aside.] I am Quick. Alas! he speaks but for his friend. glad he went not in himself: if he had found the young Caius. It is no matter-a for dat:-do not you tell-a man, he would have been horn-mad. me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself?-By gar, I Caizus. Fe, fe, fe, fe! ma foi, il fait ford chaud. Je vill kill de Jack priest; and I have appointed mine m'en vais a la cour —la grande affaire. Host of de Jarretiere to measure our weapon.-By gar, Quick. Is it this, sir? I vill myself have Anne Page. Caius. Oui; mette le au mon pocket; depeche, quickly. Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be -Vere is dat knave Rugby? well. We must give folks leave to prate: what, the Quick. What, John Rugby! John! good year! Rug. Here, sir. [Enter RUGBY.4 Caius. Rugby, come to the court vit me.-By gar, if Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of Rugby: come, take-a your rapier, and come after my my door.-Follow my heels, Rugby. heel to de court. [Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY. Rug.'T is ready, sir, here in the porch. Quick. You shall have An fool's-head of your,own. Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long.-Od's me! NoI know Anne's mind for that: never a woman in Qu'ai j'oublie? dere is some simples in my closet, dat I rWindsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do, nor can vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. [Going to it.5 do more than I do with her, I thank heaven. Quick. [Aside.] Ah me! he'll find the young man Fent. [ Within.] Who's within there, ho? there, and be mad. Quick. Who Is there, I trow? Come near the house, Caius. 0 diable, diable! vat is in my closet?-Vil- I pray you. lainy! larron! [Dragging' SIMPLE, out.] Rugby, my Enter FENTON. rapier! Fent. How now, good woman! how dost thou? Quick. Good master, be content. Quick. The better, that it pleases your good worship Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a? to ask. Quick. The young man is an honest man. Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne? Caius. Vat shall the honest man do in my closet? Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. and gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. Hear that by the way; I praise heaven for it. the truth of it: he came of an errand to me from parson Fent. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? Shall I Hugh. not lose my suit? Caius. Veil. Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above; but notSim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to- withstanding, master Fenton, I 11 be sworn on a book, Quick. Peace, I pray you. she loves you.-Have not your worship a wart above Caius. Peace-a your tongue!-Speak-a your tale. your eye? Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page for my Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale.-Good faith, it master, in the way of marriage. is such another Nan;-but, I detest, an honest maid as Quick. This is all, indeed, la; but I'11 ne'er put my ever broke bread:-we had an hour's talk of that wart. finger in the fire, and need not. -I shall never laugh but in that maid's company;Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you? —Rugby, baillez me but, indeed, she is given too much to allicholly and some paper: tarry you a littel-a while. [TYrites. musing. But for you-well, go to. Quick. I am glad he is so quiet: if he had been tho- Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's roughly moved, you should have heard him so lold-, and money for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf: so melancholy.-But notwithstanding, man, I'11 do you if thou seest her before me commend meyour master what good I can: and the very y a and Quick. Will I! i' faith, that It will; and I will tell the no is, the French doctor, my master,-I nmy call your worship more of the wart the next time we have him my master, look you, for I keep his house/; and I confidence, and of other wooers. wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat alyd drink, Fent. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.[Exit. make the beds, and do all myself.- Quick. Farewell to your worship.-Truly, an honest Sim.'T is a great charge, to come under oie body's gentleman; but Anne loves him not, for I know Anne's hand. mind as well as another does.-Out upon't! what have Quick. Are you avis'd o' that? you shall find it a I forgot? [Exit. 1 Scolded. 2 Knight's ed.: thy 3 4 5 Not in f. e. 6 Pulling: in f. e. 7 we: in f. e. 44: THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT II. ACT II. SCENE I.-Before PAGE's House. tune of "Green Sleeves3." What tempest, I trow, Enter Mistress PAGE, with a Letter. threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, Enter Mistress PAGE with a Letter. ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? Mrs. Page. What! have I'scaped love-letters in I think, the best way were to entertain him with hope, the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a subthe holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a s.b- till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own ject for them? Let me see. [Reads. grease.-Did you ever hear the like? "Ask me no reason why I love you; for though love Mrs. Page. Letter for letter, but that the name of use reason for his physician,- he admits him not for his Page and Ford differs!-To thy great comfort in this counsellor. You are not youlng no more am I go to mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy then, there's sympathy. You are merry, so amr I ha! letter: but let thine inherit first; for, I protest, mine ha! then, there's more sympathy: you love sack, and never shall. I arrant, he hath a, thousand of these so do I; would you desire better sympathy? Let it letters writ with blank space for different names, (sure suffice thee, mistress Pge, (at the least, if the love of more) and these are of the second edition. He will soldier can suffice) that I love thee. I will not say, print them, out of doubt; for he cares not what he puts pity me,'t is not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, love into the press when he old pt us two: I had me. By me, the press, when he would put us two: I had ~me. By~~ ~~me;~, rather be a giantess, and lie under mount Pelion. Thine own true knight, Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles, ere one By day or night, chaste man. Or any kind of light, Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same; the very With all his might, hand, the very words. What doth he think of us? For thee to fight. JOHN FALSTAFF." Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not: it makes me almost What a Herod of Jewry is this!-O wicked, wicked, ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'11 entertain world!-one that is well nigh worn to pieces with age. myself like one that I am not acquainted withal; for, to show himself a young gallant! What an unweighed sure, unless he know some stain in me, that I know not behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked (with the myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury. devil's name) out of my conversation, that he dares in Mrs. Ford. Boarding call you it? I l11 be sure to this, manner assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice keep him above deck. in my company-What should I say to him?-I was Mrs. Page. So will I: if he come under my hatches, then frugal of my mirth:-heaven forgive me!-Why, I'11 never to sea again. Let's be revenged on him: I 11 exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting let's appoint him a meeting; give him a show of comdown of fat men. How shall I be revenged on him! fort in his suit and lead him on with a fine-baited for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are made of delay, till he hath pawned his horses to mine Host of puddings. the Garter. Enter Mistress FORD. Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to against him, that may not sully the chariness of our your house. honesty.' 0, that my husband saw this letter! it would iMrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. give eternal food to his jealousy. You look very ill. Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes; and my Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'11 ne'er believe that: I have to good man too; he's as far from jealousy, as I am from show to the contrary. giving him cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable Mrs. Page. Faith, but you do, in my mind. distance. Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then; yet, I say, I could show Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. you to the contrary. 0, mistress Page! give me some Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this counsel. greasy knight. Come hither. [They retire. Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman? Enter FORD, PISTOL, PAGE, and NYM. Mrs. Ford. 0 woman! if it were not for one trifling Ford. Well, I hope, it be not so. respect, I could come to such honour. Pist. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs; AMrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. Sir John affects thy wife. What is it?-dispense with trifles; —what is it? Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal Pist. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, moment or so, I could be knighted. Both young and old, one with another. Ford, Mrs. Page. What?-thou liest.-Sir Alice Ford!- He loves the gally-mawfry: Ford, perpend. These knights will hack'; and so, thou shouldst not Ford. Love my wife? alter the article of thy gentry. Pist. With liver burning hot: prevent, or go thou, Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light:-here, read, read; Like sir Actseon he, with Ring-wood at thy heels. [giving a letter]-perceive how I might be knighted.! odious is the name. [Mrfs. Page reads]-I shall think the worse of fat Ford. What name, sir? men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of Pist. The horn, I say. Farewell: men's liking: and yet he would not swear, praised Take heed; have open eye, for thieves do foot by night: women's modesty, and gave such orderly and well- Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing.behaved reproof to all uncomeliness, that I would Away, sir corporal Nym. have sworn his disposition would have gone to the Nym. Believe it, Page; he speaks sense.4 [ExitPisT. truth of his words but they do no more adhere and Ford. I will be patient: I will find out this. keep place together, than the hundredth psalm to the Nym. And this is true; [to PAGE.] I like not the 1 precision: in f. e. 2 Become hackneyed or common-an allusion to the commonness with which James I. conferred the distinction. 3 A very popular air to which many ballads were written. 4 f. e. give this speech to PISTOL, SCENE II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 45 humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some Host. Tell him, cavaliero-justice; tell him, bullyhumours: I should have borne the humoured letter to rook. her, but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between sir necessity. He loves your wife, there Is the short and Hugh, the Welsh priest, and Caius, the French doctor. the long. My name is corporal Nym: I speak, and I Ford. Good mine Host o' the Garter, a word with you. avouch't is true:-my name is Nym, and Falstaff Host. What say'st thou, my bully-rook? loves your wife.-Adieu. I love not the humour of [They go aside. bread and cheese. Adieu. [Exit NYM. Shal. Will you [to PAGE] go with us to behold it? Page. The humour of it, quoth'a! here's a fellow My merry host hath had the measuring of theirweapons, frights English out of his wits. and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. believe me, I hear, the parson is no jester. Hark, I Page. I never heard such a drawling-affecting rogue. will tell you what our sport shall be. Ford. If I do find it well. Host. THast thou no suit against my knight, my Page. I will not believe such a Cataian,' though the guest-cavalier? priest o' the town commended him for a true man. Ford. None, I protest: but I 11 give you a pottle of Ford. )T was a good sensible fellow: well. burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him, Page. How now, Meg! my name is Brook; only for a jest. IMrs. Page. Whither go you, George?-Hark you. Host. My hand, bully: thou shalt have egress and Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank! why art thou regress; said I well? and thy name shall be Brook. melancholy? It is a merry knight.-Will you go on here?3 Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy.-Get Shlal. Have with you, mine host. you home, go. Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill Mrs. Ford.'Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy in his rapier. head now.-Will you go, mistress Page? Shal. Tut, sir! I could have told you more: in these Mrs. Page. Have with you.-You?11 come to dinner, times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, George?-[Aside to Mrs. FoRD.] Look, who comes and I know not what:'t is the heart, master Page: yonder: she shall be our messenger to this paltry It is here, t is here. I have seen the time, with my knight. long sword, I would have made you four tall fellows Enter Mrs. QUICKLY. skip like rats. iMrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her: she ll fit it. Host. Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag? Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne? Page. Have with you.-I had rather hear them Quick. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good scold than see them fight. mistress Anne? [Exeunt Host, SHALLOW, and PAGE. Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see: we have an Ford. Though' Page be a secure fool, and stands so hour's talk with you. firmly on his wife's fidelity, yet I cannot put off my [Exeunt Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD,'and Mrs. QUICKLY. opinion so easily: she was in his company at Page's Page. How now, master Ford? house, and what they made there, I know not. Well, Ford. You heard what this knave told me, did you I will look farther into It; and I have a disguise to not? sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, I lose not my Page. Yes, and you heard what the other told me. labour; if she be otherwise,'t is labour well bestowed. Ford. Do you think there is truth in them? [Exit. Page. Hang'em, slaves; I do not think the knight would offer it: but these that accuse him, in his intent SCENE I.-A Room m the Garter Inn. towards our wives; are a yoke of his discarded men; Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL. very rogues, now they be out of service. Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. Ford. Were they his men? Pist. Why, then the world's mine oyster, Page. Marry, were they. Which I with sword will open.Ford. I like it never the better for that.-Does he Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you lie at the Garter? should lay my countenance to pawn: I have grated Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose to your couch4-fellow, Nym; or else you had looked him; and what he gets more of her than sharp words, through the grate, like a gemini of baboons. I am let it lie on my head. damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen, my friends, Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife, but I would be you were good soldiers, and tall fellows: and when loath to turn them together. A man may be too con- mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't fident; I would have nothing lie on my head. I cannot upon mine honour thou hadst it not. be thus satisfied. Pist. Didst thou not share? hadst thou not fifteen Page. Look, where my ranting Host of the Garter pence? comes. There is either liquor in his pate, or money Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason: think'st thou, I 11 in his purse, when he looks so merrily.-How, now, endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more mine host! about me, I am no gibbet for you:-go.-A short knife Enter Host.2 and a throng:-to your manor of Pickt-hatch,5 go.Host. How now, bully-rook! thou rt a gentleman. You'11 not bear a letter for me, you rogue!-you stand Cavaliero-justice, I say. upon your honour!-Why, thou unconfinable baseness, Enter SHALLOW. it is as much as I can do, to keep the terms of my Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow.-Good even, and honour precise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the twenty, good master Page. Master Page, will you go fear of heaven on the left hand, and hiding mine honour with us? we have sport in hand. in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to 1 Cataia, Cathay, or China. 2 f. e. have Enter Host and SHALaLOW. 3 An-heires: in f. e. 4 coach. 5 A London locality of bad fame. 46 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT II. lurch; and yet you, you rogue, will ensconce your rags, Quick. Why, you say well. But I have another your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice' phrases, messenger to your worship: mistress Page hath her and your bold-beating2 oaths, under the shelter of your hearty commendations to you too; —and let me tell honour! You will not do it, you? you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, Pist. I do relent: what wouldst thou more of man? and one (I tell you) that will not miss you morning nor Enter ROBIN. evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the Rob. Sir. here's a woman would speak with you. other: and she bade me tell your worship, that her Fal. Let her approach. husband is seldom. from home, but she hopes there Enter Mistress QUICKLY. will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. upon a man: surely, I think you have charms, la; yes, Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. in truth. Quick. Not so, an It please your worship. Fal. Not I, I assure thee: setting the attraction of Fal. Good maid, then. my good parts aside, I have no other charms. Quick. I 711 be sworn; as my mother was, the first Quick. Blessing on your heart for t! hour I was born. Fal. But I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife, Fal. I do believe the swearer. What with me? and Page's wife, acquainted each other how they love me? Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two? Quick. That were a jest, indeed!-tley have not so Fal. Two thousand, fair woman; and I 11 vouchsafe little grace, I hope:-that were a trick, indeed! But thee the hearing. mistress Page would desire you to send her your little Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir:-I pray, page of all loves:6 her husband has a marvellous income a little nearer this ways.-I myself dwell with fection to the little page; and, truly, master Page is an master doctor Caius. honest man. Never a wife in Windsor leads a better Fal. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say,- life than she does: do what she will, say what she will, Quick. Your worship says very true; —I pray your take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, rise when worship, come a little nearer this ways. she list, all is as she will; and truly, she deserves it, Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears:-mine own for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. people, mine own people. You must send her your page; no remedy. Quick. Are they so? Heaven bless them, and make Fal. Why, I will. them his servants! Quick. Nay, but do so, then: and, look you, he may Fal. Well: Mistress Ford;-what of her? come and go between you both; and, in any case, have Quick. Why sir, she's a good creature. Lord, lord! a nayword,7 that you may know one another's mind, your worship's a wanton: well, heaven forgive you, and the boy never need to understand any thing: for and all of us, I pray!'t is not good that children should know any wickedFal. Mistress Ford;-come, mistress Ford,- ness; old folks, you know, have discretion, as they say, Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it. and know the world. You have brought her into such a canaries, as It is won- Fal. Fare thee well: commend me to them both. derful: the best courtier of them all, when the court There's my purse: I am yet thy debtor.-Boy, go lay at Windsor, could never have brought her to such along with this woman.-This news distracts me. a canary; yet there has been knights, and lords, and [Exeunt Mrs. QUICKLY and ROBIN. gentlemen, with their coaches; I warrant you, coach Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers.after coach,. letter after letter, gift after gift; smelling Clap on more sails; pursue, up with your fights.8 so sweetly, all musk, and so rushling, I warrant you, Give fire! She is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! in silk and gold; and in such alligant terms; and in [Exit PISTOL. such wine and sugar of the best, and the fairest, that Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I'11 would have won any woman's heart, and, I warrantyou, make more of thy old body than 1 have done. Will they could never get an eye-wink of her-I had myself they yet look after thee? Wilt thou. after the expense twenty angels given me of a morning3; but I defy all of so much money, be now a gainer? Good body, I angels, (in any such sort, as they say,) but in the way thank thee: let them say,'t is grossly done; so it be of honesty:-and, I warrant you, they could never get fairly done, no matter. her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them Enter BARDOLPH. all; and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below pensioners4; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with Fal. But What says she to me? be brief, my good you; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught she Mercury. of sack.9 Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter, for the Fal. Brook, is his name? which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives Bard. Ay, sir. you to notify, that her husband will be absence from Fal. Call him in; [Exit BARDOLPH.] Such Brooks his house between ten and eleven. are welcome to me, that overflow such liquor. Ah! Fal. Ten and eleven? ha! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I encomQuick. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and passed you? go to; via! see the picture, she says, what you wot of: master Re-enter BARDOLPH, zvith FonD disguised. Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas! the Ford. Bless you, sir. sweet woman leads an ill life with him; he's a very Fal. And you, sir: would you speak with me? jealousy man; she leads a very frampold5 life with Ford. I make bold, to press with so little preparation him, good heart. upon you. Fal. Ten and eleven.-Woman, commend me to herj Fal. You're welcome. What Is your will?-Give I will not fail her. us leave, drawer. [Exit BARDOLPH. Ale-hoLuse. 2 Mr. Dyce suggests bear-baiting. 3 given me this morning: in f. e. 4 Elizabeth's band of'pensioners wore a splendid uniform, and so perhaps excited Dame Quickly's admiration. They were also men of fortune. 5 Vexatious. 6 By all nzeans. 7 Watchword. 8 Coverts of some kind put up to protect the men in an engagement. 9 It was a common custom to bestow presents of wine in Shakespeare's day. SCENE II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 47 Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much: Ford. Believe it, for you know it.-There is money; my name is Brook. spend it, spend it: spend more; spend all I have, only Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaintance give me so much of your time in exchange of it, as to of you. lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife: Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours: not to charge use your art of wooing, win her to consent to you; if you, for I must let you understand, I think myself in any man may, you may as soon as any. better plight for a lender than you are; the which Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your hath something emboldened me to this unseasoned affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? intrusion, for, they say, if money go before, all ways Methinks, you prescribe to yourself very preposterously. do lie open. Ford. O! understand my drift. She dwells so seFal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. curely on the excellency of her honour, that the folly Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here trou- of my suit2 dares not present itself: she is too bright bles me: if you will help to bear it -sir John, take to be looked against. Now, could I come to her with half, or alll for easing me of the carriage. any detection in my hand, my desires had instance and Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your argument to commend themselves; I could drive her, porter. then, from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which hearing. now are too too strongly embattled against me. What Fal. Speak, good master Brook: I shall be glad to say you to't, sir John? be your servant. Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar,-I will be brief money; next, give me your hand; and last, as I am a with you,-and you have been a man long known to gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife. me, though I had never so good means, as desire, to Ford. 0 good sir! make myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a Fal. I say you shall. thing to you, wherein I must very much lay open mine Ford. Want no money, sir John; you shall want own imperfection; but, good sir John, as you have one none. eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook; you shall another into the register of your own, that I may pass want none. I shall be with her (I may tell you) by her with a reproof the easier, sith you yourself know, how own appointment; even as you came in to me, her easy it is to be such an offender. assistant, or go-between, parted from me: I say, I shall Fhl. Very well, sir; proceed. be with her between ten and eleven; for at that time Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her the jealous rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. husband's name is Ford. Come you to me at night; you shall know how I speed. Fal. Well, sir. Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest to you, know Ford, sir? bestowed much on her; followed her with a doting Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him observance; engrossed opportunities to meet her; feed not. —Yet I wrong him to call him poor: they say, every slight occasion, that could but niggardly give me the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money, for sight of her: not only bought many presents to give the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will her, but have given largely to many, to know what she use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer, and would have given. B iefly, I have pursued her, as there's my harvest-home. love hath pursued me. which hath been on the wing Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might of all occasions: but whatsoever I have merited, either avoid him, if you saw him. in my mind, or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will received none, unless experience be a jewel; that I stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath cudgel: it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's taught me to say this: horns: master Brook, thou shalt know I will predomiLove like a shadow flies, when substance love pursues nate over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues. -Come to me soon at night.-Ford's a knave, and I Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfaction at will aggravate his style; thou, master Brook, shalt know her hands? him for a knave and cuckold.-Come to me soon at Ford. Never. night. [Exit. Fal. Have you importuned her to such a purpose? Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this!Ford. Never. My heart is ready to crack with impatience.-Who Fal. Of what quality was your love then? says, this is improvident jealousy? my wife hath sent Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made. Would ground; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking any man have thought this?-See the hell of having a the place where I erected it. false woman! my bed shall be abused, my coffers ranFal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me? sacked, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not only Ford. When I have told you that, I have told you receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adopall. Some say, that though she appear honest to me, tion of abominable terms, and by him that does me this yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so far, that wrong. Terms! names!-Amaimon sounds well there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, sir Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are devils' John, here is the heart of my purpose: you are a gen- additions, the names of fiends: but cuckold! wittol tieman of excellent breeding, admirable discourse, of cuckold!3 the devil himself hath not such a name. great admittance, authentic in your place and person: Page is an ass, a secure ass; he will trust his wife he generally allowed for your many war-like, court-like, will not be jealous: I will rather trust a Fleming with and learned preparations. my butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese. Fal. 0, sir! an Irishman with my aqua vitse bottle, or a thief to walk 1 take all, or half: in f. e. 2 soul: in f. e. 3 Knowing himself one. 48 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT m. my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself: then Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be old she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises; and and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches what they think in their hearts they may effect, they to make one. Though we are justices, and doctors, will break their hearts but they will effect. Heaven and churchmen, master Page, we have some salt of our be praised for my jealousy!-Eleven o'clock the hour: youth in us: we are the sons of women, master Page. I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on Page.'Tis true, master Shallow. Falstaff and laugh at Page. I will about it: better Shal. It will be found so, master Page.-Master three hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie, fie, doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! [Exit. sworn of the peace: you have showed yourself a wise SCENE III.-Windsor Park, physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You must go with me, masEnter CAIUS and RUGBY. ter doctor. Caius. Jack Rugby! Host. Pardon, guest-justice.-A word, Monsieur Rug. Sir. Mock-water. Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack? Caius. Mock-vater! vat is dat? Rug.'T is past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh promised Host. Mock-water, in our English tongue, is valour, to meet. bully. Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come: Caius. By gar, then, I have as much mock-vater as he has pray his Pible vell, dat he is no come. By gar, de Englishman.-Scurvy jack-dog priest! by gar, me Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be come. vill cut his ears. Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. kill him, if he came. Caius. Clapper-de-claw! vat is dat? Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill kill Host. That is, he will make thee amends. him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I Caius. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de-claw vill kill him. me: for, by gar, me vill have it. Rug. Alas, sir! I cannot fence. [Runs back afraid.1 Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. Caius. Villainy, take your rapier. Caius. Me tank you for dat. Rug. Forbear; here's company. Host. And moreover, bully, —But first, master guest, Enter Host, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE. and master Page, and eke cavaliero Slender, go you Host. Bless thee, bully doctor. through the town to Frogmore. [Aside to them. Shal. Save you, master doctor Caius. Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he? Page. Now, good master doctor. Host. He is there: see what humour he is in, and I Slen. Give you good-morrow, sir. will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for? well? Host. To see thee fight; to see thee foin, to see thee Shal. We will do it. traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there; to see Page. Shal. and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor. thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy dis- [Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. tance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? is he Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest, for he speak dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! What says my Escu- for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. lapius? my Galen? my heart of elder?2 ha! is he dead, Host. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw bully-stale? is he dead? cold water on thy choler. Go about the fields with me Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the through Frogmore; I will bring thee where mistress vorld; he is not show his face. Anne Page is, at a farm-house a feasting, and thou Host. Thou art a Castalian-king-Urinal:3 Hector of shall woo her. Curds and cream, said I well? Greece, my boy. Caius. By gar, me tank you for dat: by gar. I love Caius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay six you; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no come. de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients. Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is a Host. For the which I will be thy adversary toward curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should Anne Page: said I well? fight, you go against the hair of your professions. Is it Caius. By gar,'tis good; vell said. not true, master Page? Host. Let us wag then. Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. great fighter, though now a man of peace. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-A Field near Frogmore. Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way. Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, with a book, and SIMPLE. Si. I will sir. [Retiring. Eva. I pray you now, good master Slenders serving- Eva. Pless my soul, how full of cholers I am, and man, and friend Simple by your name, which way have trempling of mind!-I shall be glad, if he have deyou looked for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor ceived me.-How melancholies I am!-I will knog his of Physic? urinals about his knave's costard, when I have good Sim. Marry, sir, the pit-way, the park-way,5 old opportunities for the'ork:-pless my soul! Windsor way, and every way, but the town way. [Sings. 1 This direction is not in f. e. 2 The elder has a soft pith. 3 Knight reads, Castilian, King-Urinal. The Spaniards were, of course in greatdisfavour with the English when this play was written. 4 cried game: in f. e. 6 the petty-ward, the park-ward, every way: in f. e. _____ LL~~ _________ — == —====1_ _ ______~ — I Ml ~ I SIR ~ ~ ~ - HUHEASVOCOANIS HS ~VFG4IF,} P es I~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~i-1Mrr ie o ido. Ac IT cee1 SCENE II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 49 To shallow rivers, to whose falls.' one way or other make you amends.-I will knog your Melodious birds sing madrigals; urinals about your knave's cogscomb for missing your There will we make our peds of roses, meetings and appointments. And a thousand fragrant posies. Caius. Diable!-Jack Rugby,-mine Host de JarreTo shallow — tiere have I not stay for him, to kill him? have I not, Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings.' at de place I did appoint? Molodious birds sing madrigals;- Eva. As I am a Christian soul, now, look you, this When as I sat in Pabylon,3 is the place appointed. I'11 be judgment by mine Host And a thousand vagram posies. of the Garter. To shallow- Host. Peace, I say! Gallia and Guallia, French and Sim. [Coming forward.] Yonder he is coming, this Welsh; soul-curer and body-curer. way, sir Hugh. Caius. Ay, dat is very good: excellent. Eva. He's welcome. [Sings.4 Host. Peace, I say! hear mine Host of the Garter. To shallow rivers, to whose falls- Am I politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall Heaven prosper the right!-What weapons is he? I lose my doctor? no; he gives me the potions, and Sim. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, the motions. Shall I lose my parson? my priest? my master Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frog- sir Hugh? no; he gives me the proverbs and the nomore, over the stile, this way. verbs.-Give me thy hands, celestial and terrestrial;5 Eva. Pray you, give me my gown; or else keep it so.-Boys of. art, I have deceived you both; I have in your arms. directed you to wrong places: your hearts are mighty, Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. Shal. How now, master parson! Good-morrow, good -Come, lay their swords to pawn.-Follow me, lad of sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good peace; follow, follow, follow. student from his book, and it is wonderful. Shal. Trust me, a mad host. —Follow, gentlemen, Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page! follow. Page. Save you, good sir Hugh. Slen. 0, sweet Anne Page! Eva. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you! [Exeunt SHALLOW, SLENDER, PAGE, and Host. Shal. What! the sword and the word? do you study Caius. Ha! do I perceive dat! have you make-a de them both, master parson? sot of us? ha ha! Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, Eva. This is well, he has made us his vlouting-stog. this raw rheumatic day? -I desire you, that we may be friends, and let us knog Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. our prains together to be revenge on this same scall6, Page. We are come to you to do a good office, master scurvy, cogging companion, the Host of the Garter. parson. Caius. By gar, vit all my heart. He promise to bring Eva. Fery well: what is it? me vere is Anne Page: by gar, he deceive me too. Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles.-Pray you, belike having received wrong by some person, is at follow. [Exeunt. most odds with his own gravity and patience that ever SCENE II.-A Street in Windsor. you saw. Shal. I have lived fourscore years, and upward; I Enter Mistress PAGE and ROBIN. never heard a man of his place gravity, and learning, Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant: you so wide of his own respect. were wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Eva. What is he? Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, or eye your Page. I think you know him; master doctor Caius, masters heels? the renowned French physician. Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I had man, than follow him like a dwarf. as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge. Mrs. Page. 0! you are a flattering boy: now, I see, Page. Why? you'11 be a courtier. Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibbocrates and Enter FORD. Galen, and. he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave, Ford. Well met, mistress Page. Whither go you? as you would desires to be acquainted withal. ~ Iars. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife: is she at Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with home? him. Ford. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, Slen. 0, sweet Anne Page! for want of your company. I thinl, if your husbands Shal. It appears so, by his weapons.-Keep them were dead, you two would marry. asunder:-here comes doctor Caius. Mrs. Page. Be sure of that,-two other husbands. Enter Host, CAIUS, and RUGBY. Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock? Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your weapon. Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his name Shal. So do you, good master doctor, is my husband had him of.-What do you call your Host. Disarm them., and let them question: let them knight's name, sirrah? keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. Rob. Sir John Falstaff. Caizts. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your Ford. Sir John Falstaff! ear: verefore vill you not meet-a me? Mrs. Page. He, he; I can never hit ons'nameEva. Pray you, use your patience: in good time. There is such a league between my good man and him! Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John Is your wife at home indeed? ape. Ford. Indeed, she is. Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to other IMrs. Page. By your leave, sir: I am sick, t1tl I see men's humours; I desire you in friendship, and I will her. [Exeunt Mrs. PAGE and ROBIN. 1 A quotation from Marlow's " Passionate Pilgrim." 2 Not in f. e. 3 A line from the old version of Ps. 137. 4 Not in f. e. 5 The folios have: hands celestial, so. Malone altered it to " Give me thy hand terrestrial, so; give me thy hand celestial, so." 6 Scald-head. 4 50 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT Im. _.. ~. Ford. Hath Page any brains! hath he any eyes? hath Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly. Is the buck-basket- he any thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of Mrs. Ford. I warrant.-What, Robin, I say! them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty miles, Enter Servants with a large Basket. as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve score. 1/Irs. Page. Come, come, come. He pieces-out his wife's inclination; he gives her folly lMrs. Ford. Here, set it down. motion, and advantage: and now she's going to my Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge: we must be wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A man may hear brief. this shower sing in the wind:-and Falstaff's boy with Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, and her!-Good plots!-they are laid; and our revolted Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew-house; and wives share damnation together. Well; I will take when I suddenly call you, come forth, and (without any him, then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of pause, or staggering) take this basket on your shoulders: modesty from the so-seeming mistress Page, divulge that done, trudge with it in all haste, and carry it Page himself for a secure and wilful Actseon; and to among the whitsters5 in Datchet mead, and there empty these violent proceedings all my neighbours shall cry it in the muddy ditch close by the Thames side. aim'. [Clock strikes ten.'] The clock gives me my cue, Mrs. Page. You will do it? and my assurance bids me search; there3 I shall find Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over; they Falstaff. I shall be rather praised for this, than lack no direction. Be gone, and come when you are mocked; for it is as positive as the earth is firm, that called. [Exeunt Servants. Falstaff is there: I will go. Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. Enter PAGE, SIALLOW, SLENDER, Host, Sir HUGH Enter ROBIN. EvANs, CAIUS, and RUGBY. lMrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket6? what news Page, Shal.'c. Well met, master Ford. with you? Ford. Trust me, a good knot. I have good cheer at Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your backhome, and I pray you all go with me. door, mistress Ford, and requests your company. Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent7, have you been Slen. And so must I, sir: we have appointed to dine true to us? with mistress Anne, and I would not break with her Rob. Ay, I'11 be sworn: my master knows not of for more money than I'11 speak of. your being here; and hath threatened to put me into Shal. We have lingered about a match between everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it, for he swears he 11 Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we turn me away. shall have our answer. Mrs. Page. Thou'rt a good boy; this secrecy of Slen. I hope, I have your good will, father Page. thine shall be a tailor to thee and shall make thee a Page. You have, master Slender; I stand wholly for new doublet and hose.I'11 go hide me. you:-but my wife, master doctor, is for you altogether. Mrs. Ford. Do so.-Go tell thy master, I am alone. Caius. Ay, by gar; and de maid is love-a me: my Mistress Page, remember you your cue. [Exit ROBIN. nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. Mrs. Page. I warrant thee: if I do not act it, hiss Host. What say you to young master Fenton? he me. [Exit AMrs. PAGE. capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes 2Irs. Ford. Go to, then: we'll use this unwholesome verses, he speaks holyday, he smells April and May: humidity, this gross watery pumpion;we'11 teach he will carry't, he will carry't;'t is in his buttons; him to know turtles from jays. he will carry't. Enter FALSTAFF. Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gen- Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, tleman is of no having4: he kept company with the wild now let me die, for I have lived long enough: this is Prince and Poins; he is of too high a region; he knows the period of my ambition. 0 this blessed hour! too much. No, he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes Mrs. Ford. 0. sweet sir John! with the finger of my substance: if he take her, let him Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, take her simply: the wealth I have waits on my con- mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I would sent, and my consent goes not that way. thy husband were dead, I'11 speak it before the best Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home lord, I would make thee my lady. with me to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have 3/Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John? alas, I should be sport; I will show you a monster.-Master doctor, you a pitiful lady. shall go:-so shall you, master Page;-and you, sir Fal. Let the court of France show me such another. Hugh. I see how thine eye would emulata the diamond: thou Shal. Well, fare you well.-We shall have the freer hast the right arched beauty of the brow, that becomes wooing at master Page's. the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian [Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER. admittance. Caius. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John: my brows [Exit RUGBY. become nothing else; nor that well neither. Host. Farewell, my hearts. I will to my honest Fal. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so: thou. knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him. [Exit Host. wouldst make an absolute courtier: and the firm fixture Ford. [Aside.] I think, I shall drink in pipe-wine of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait first with him; I'll make him dance. Will you go, in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert gentles? if fortune thy foe were not,9 nature thy friend: come, All. Have with you, to see this monster. [Exeunt. thou canst not hide it.. li. -Mrs. Ford. Believe me there's no such thing in me. SCENE III.-A Room in FORD's House. ^Fal. What made me love thee? let that persuade Enter 2Mrs. FoRD and Mrs. PAGE. thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come; Mrs. Ford. What, John! what, Robert! I cannot cog, and say thou art this and that like a 1 Applaud-a term in archery. 2 Not in f. e. 3 where: in f. e. 4 Property. 5 Washerwomen. 6 An eyas, is a young hawk, a nzmusket from the Italian muschetto, a little hawk. 7 A jack, or puppet thrown at as a mark, in Lent. 8 A line from Sidney's Astrophel and Stella. 9 if fortune were not thy foe. SCENE III. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 51 many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like Mrs. Page. What! sir John Falstaff? Are these wome n imenens apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury your letters, knight? in simple'-time: I cannot; but I love thee, none but Fal. I love thee: help me away; let me creep in thee, and thou deservest it. here; I I11 never-Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear, you love [He gets into the basket, and falls over:2 mistress Page. they cover him with foul linen. Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy. Call the Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek your men, mistress Ford.-You dissembling knight! of a lime-kiln. Mrs. Ford. What, John! Robert! John [Exit Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love you; ROBIN. Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these clothes and you shall one day find it. here, quickly; where Is the cowl-staff?3 look, how you Fal. Keep in that mind; I 1ll deserve it. drumble4: carry them to the laundress in Datchet Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do, or else mead; quickly, come. I could not be in that mind. Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and Sir HUGH EVANS. Rob. [Within.] Mistress Ford! mistress Ford! here's Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect without mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your looking wildly, and would needs speak with you pre- jest; I deserve it.-How now! whither bear you this? sently. Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. Fal. She shall not see me. I will ensconce me be- Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they hind the arras. bear it? you were best meddle with buck-washing. Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so: she Is a very tattling Ford. Buck! I would I could wash myself of the woman.- [FALSTAFF hides himself. buck! Buck, buck, buck? Ay, buck; I warrant you, Enter Mistress PAGE and RoBIN. buck, and of the season too it shall appear. [Exeunt What Is the matter? how now! Servants with the basket.] Gentlemen, I have dreamed Mrs. Page. 0 mistress Ford! what have you done? to-night: I'11 tell you my dream. Here, here, here be You're shamed, you are overthrown, you're undone my keys: ascend my chambers, search, seek, find out: for ever. I'11 warrant, we 11 unkennel the fox.-Let me stop this Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress way first:-so, now uncape. Page? Page. Good master Ford, be contented: you wrong Mrs. Page. 0 well-a-day, mistress Ford! having an yourself too much. honest man to your husband to give him such cause of Ford. True, master Page.- Up, gentlemen; you suspicion! shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion? Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jealousies. Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion?-Out upon Caius. By gar,'t is no de fashion of France: it is not you! how am I mistook in you! jealous in France. Mrs. Ford. Why, alas! what s the matter? Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen: see the issue of Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, woman, his search. [Exeunt PAGE, EVANS, and CAIUS. with all the officers in Windsoi, to search for a gentle- l1rs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this? man, that, he says, is here now in the house, by your Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, that consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence. You my husband is deceived, or sir John. are undone. Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your Mrs. Ford. IT is not so, I hope. husband asked who was in the basket! Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you have Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of such a man here; but It is most certain your husband Is washing; so, throwing him into the water will do him coming, with half Windsor at his heels, to search for a benefit. such a one; I come before to tell you. If you know Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all yourself clear, why I am glad of it; but if you have a of the same strain were in the same distress. friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not amazed; Mrs. Ford. I think, my husband hath some special call all your senses to you: defend your reputation, or suspicion of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him bid farewell to your good life for ever. so gross in his jealousy till now. Mrs. Ford. What shall I do?-There is a gentle- Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that; and we will man, my dear friend: and I fear not mine own shame, yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute disso much as his peril: I had rather than a thousand ease will scarce obey this medicine. pound, he were out of the house. Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, misMrs. Page. For shame! never stand "you had tress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the rather," and " you had rather:" your husband's here water; and give him another hope, to betray him to at hand; bethink you of some conveyance: in the house another punishment? you cannot hide him.-O, how have you deceived Mrs. Page. We Ill do it: let him be sent for to-morme!-Look, here is a basket: if he be of any reason- row eight o'clock, to have amends. able stature, he may creep in here; and throw foul Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS) azl Sir HUGH EVANS. linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking: or, it Ford. I cannot find him: may be, the knave bragged is whiting-time, send him by your two men to Datchet of that he could not compass. mead. Mrs. Page. Heard you that? Mrs. Ford. He Is too big to go in there. What shall Mrs. Ford. You use me well, master Ford, do you? I do? Ford. Ay, I do so. Re-enter FALSTAFF. Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your Fal. Let me see't, let me see t! O, let me see t! thoughts! I ll in, I 11 in.-Follow your friend's counsel.- Ford. Amen. [Ford. I'll in. Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, master 1 Herb. 2Not in f.. A stick for two to carry a basket with two handles by. I Drone, loiter. 52 THE MEtRRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT II. Ford. Ay, ay; I must bear it. Anne. [ come to him.-This is my father's choice. Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in the 0, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! forgive my sins at the day of judgment. Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray Caius. By gar, nor I too: dere is no bodies. you, a word with you. Page. Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not ashamed? Shal. She's coming; to her, coz. 0 boy! thou hadst What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I a father. would not have your distemper in this kind for the Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne: my uncle can wealth of Windsor Castle. tell you good jests of him.-Pray you, uncle, tell misFord. IT is my fault, master Page: I suffer for it. tress Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience: your wife is of a pen, good uncle. as honest a lomans as I will desires among five thou- Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. sand, and five hundred too. Slen. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman Caius. By gar, I see't is an honest woman. in Gloucestershire. Ford. Well; I promised you a dinner.-Come, come, Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. walk in the park: I pray you, pardon me; I will here- Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under after make known to you, why I have done this.- the degree of a;squire. Come, wife;-come, mistress Page: I pray you pardon Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds me; pray heartily, pardon me. jointure. Page. Let Is go in, gentlemen; but trust me, we 11 Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to my himself. house to breakfast; after, we 711 a birding together: I Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for have a fine hawk for the bush. Shall it be so? that good comfort. She calls you, coz: I 11 leave you. Ford. Any thing. [Stands back. Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the company. Anne. Now, master Slender. Caius. If there be one or two I shall make-a de turd. Slen. Now, good mistress Anne. Ford. Pray you go, master Page. Anne. What is your will? Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on Slen. My will? od's heartlings! that ss a pretty jest, the lousy knave, mine Host. indeed. I never made my will yet, I thank heaven; I Caius. Dat is good; by gar, vit all my heart. am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. Eva. A lousy knave! to have his gibes, and his Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with mockeries. [Exeunt. me? House Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or SCENE IV.-A Room in PAnothing with you. Your father, and my uncle, have Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. made motions: if it be my luck, so; if not, happy Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love; man be his dole. They can tell you how things go, Therefore; no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. better than I can: you may ask your father; here he Anne. Alas! how then? comes. Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. Enter PAGE and Mistress PAGE. He doth object, I am too great of birth, Page. Now, master Slender!-Love him, daughter And that my state being gall'd with my expense, Anne.I seek to heal it only by his wealth. Why, how now! what does master Fenton here? Beside these, other bars he lays before me,- You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: My riots past, my wild societies; I told you, sir, my daughter is disposed of. And tells me,'t is a thing impossible Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. I should love thee, but as a property. Mr/s. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my Anne. May be, he tells you true. child. Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come! Page. She is no match for you. Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth Fen. Sir, will you hear me? Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne: Page. No, good master Fenton.Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value Come, master Shallow;-come, son Slender; in.Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags; Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. And't is the very riches of thyself [Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. That now I aim at. Quick. Speak to mistress Page. Anne. Gentle master Fenton, Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir: daughter If opportunity and humblest suit In such a righteous fashion as I do, Cannot attain it, why then,-Harkyou hither. Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, [They talk apart. I must. advance the colours of my love, Enter SIHALLOW, SLENDER, and Mrs. QUICKLY. And not retire: let me have your good will. Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly, my kins- Anne. Good mother, do ihot marry me to yond' fool. man shall speak for himself. Mrs. Page. I mean it not; I seek you a better husSlen.I ll make a shaft or a bolt on t.'Slid, t is band. but venturing. Quick. That's my master. master doctor. Shal. Be not dismayed. Anne. Alas! I had rather be set quick i7 the earth, Slen. No, she shall not dismay me: I care not for And bowl'd to death with turnips. that,-but that I am afeard, Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a word master Fenton, with you. I will not be your friend, nor enemy: Not in f. e. SCENE v. THE MIERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 53 My daughter will I question how she loves you, think, what a man is: let her consider his frailty, and And as I find her, so am I affected. then judge of my merit.'Till then, farewell, sir: she must needs go in; Quick. I will tell her. Her father will be angry. [Exeunt Mrs. PAGE and ANNE. Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st. thou? Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress.-Farewell, Nan. Quick. Eight and nine, sir. Quick. This is my doing, now.-Nay, said I, will Fal. Well, be gone: I will not miss her. you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician? Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. look on, master Fenton.-This is my doing. Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook: he sent Fent. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night me word to stay within. I like his money well. 0! Give my sweet Nan this ring. There Is for thy pains, here he comes. [Exit. Enter FORD. Quick. Now, heaven send thee good fortune! A Ford. Bless you; sir. kind heart he hath: a woman would run through fire Fal. Now, master Brook; you come to know what and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my hath passed between me and Ford's wife? master had mistress Anne; or I would master Slender Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. had her, or, in sooth, I would master Fenton had her. Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you. I was at I will do what I can for them all three, for so I have her house the hour she appointed me. promised, and I 711 be as good as my word but spe- Ford. And sped you. sir? ciously for master Fenton. Well, I must of another Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook. errand to sir John Falstaff from my two mistresses: Ford. How so, sir? Did she change her determination? what a beast am I to slack it. [Exit. Fal. No, master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her SCENE V-A oom in the Garter Inn, husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual larum SCENE V-A Room in ar. of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our encounter, Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. after we had embraced, kissed, protested, and, as it Fal. Bardolph, I say! were, spoke the prologue of our comedy; and at his Bard. Here, sir. heels a rabble of his companions, thither provoked and Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in It. instigated by his distemper, and, forsooth, to search his [Exit BARD.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, house for his wife's love. like a barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thrown in Ford. What! while you were there? the Thames? Well, if I be served such another trick, Fal. While I was there. I 11 have my brains taken out, and buttered, and give Ford. And did he search for you, and could not find you? them to a dog for a new yearns gift. The rogues Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, slighted me into the river with as little remorse as comes in one mistress Page: gives intelligence of Ford's they would have drowned a blind bitch's puppies, fif- approach; and by her invention, and Ford's wife's disteen il the litter; and you may know by my size, that I traction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket. have a kind of alacrity in sinking: if the bottom were Ford. A buck-basket! as deep as hell, I should down. I had been drowned, Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket: rammed me in with but that the shore was shelvy and shallow; a death foul shirts and smo socks, soksfoul stockings, and greasy that I abhor, for the water swells a man, and what a napkins; that, master Brook, there was the rankest thing should I have been, when I had been swelled! compound of villainous smell, that ever offended nostril. I should have been a mountain of mummy. Ford. And how long lay you there? Re-enter BARDOLPH, with the wine. Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I have Bard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you. suffered, to bring this woman to evil for your good. Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple of Ford's water; for my belly's as cold, as if I had swallowed knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their mistress, snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. to carry me in the name of foul clothes to DatchetBard. Come in. woman. lane: they took me on their shoulders; met the jealous Enter Mrs. QUICKLY. knave, their master, in the door, who asked them once Quick. By your leave.-I cry you mercy: give your or twice what they had in their basket. I quaked for worship good-morrow. fear, lest the lunatic knave would have searched it; Fal. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his pottle of sack finely, hand. Well; on went he for a search, and away went Bard.. With eggs, sir? I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook: Fal. Simple of itself; I'11 no pullet-sperm in my I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first, an brewage.-[Exit BARDOLPH.]-How now? intolerable fright. to be detected with a jealous rotten Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from bell-wether: next, to be compassed, like a good bilbo, mistress Ford. in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to Fal. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough: I was head: and then, to be stopped in, like a strong distilthrown into the ford: I have my belly full of ford. lation, with stinking clothes that fretted in their own Quick. Alas the day! good heart, that was not her grease: think of that,-a man of my kidney,-think of fault: she does so take on with her men; they mistook that; that am as subject to heat, as butter; a man of their erection. continual dissolution and thaw: it was a miracle, to Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's'scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, promise. when I was more than half stewed in grease, like a Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse shoe; think of morning a birding: she desires you once more to come that,-hissing hot,-think of that, master Brook. to her between eight and nine. I must carry her word Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my quickly: she'il make you amends, I warrant you. sake you have suffered all this. My suit, then, is desFal. Well, I will visit her: tell her so; and bid her perate; you 711 undertake her no more? 54 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV. Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into JEtna, as I do I sleep? Master Ford, awake! awake, master have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her Ford! there's a hole made in your best coat, master husband is this morning gone a birding: I have re- Ford. This t is to be married: this't is to have linen, ceived from her another embassy of meeting;'twixt and buck-baskets.-Well, I will proclaim myself what eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. I am: I will now take the lecher; he is at my house: Ford.'T is past eight already, sir. he cannot'scape me; It is impossible he should: he Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appoint- cannot creep into a half-penny purse, nor into a pepperment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and box; but, lest the devil that guides him should aid you shall know how I speed, and the conclusion shall him, I will search impossible places. Though what I be crowned with your enjoying her: adieu. You shall am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall have her, master Brook; master Brook, you shall not make me tame: if I have horns to make me mad, cuckold Ford. [Exit. let the proverb go with me, I 711 be horn mad. Ford. Hum: ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The Street. Eva. Leave your prabbles,'oman.-What is the focative case, William? Enter Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. QUICKLY, and WILLIAM. Wll. Oocativo.. IMrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, think'st Eva. Remember, William; focative is, caret. thou? Quick. And that Is a good root. Quick. Sure he is, by this, or will be presently; but Eva.'Oman, forbear. truly, he is very courageous mad about his throwing Mrs. Page. Peace! into the water. Mistress Ford desires you to come Eva. What is your genitive case plural, William? suddenly. Will. Genitive case? Mrs. Page. I'11 be with her by and by: I'11 but Eva. Ay. bring my young man here to school. Look, where his Will. Genitive,-horum, harum, horum. master comes;'tis a playing day I see. Quick. Vengeance of Jenny's case! fie on her!Enter Sir HUGH EVANS. Never name her child, if she be a whore. How now, sir Hugh! no school to-day? Eva. For shame, ooman! Eva. No; master Slender is get' the boys leave to Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words.play. He teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do Quick. Blessing of his heart! fast enough of themselves; and to call horum,-fie Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my son upon you! profits nothing in the world at his book: I pray you, Eva.'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no underask him some questions in his accidence. standings for thy cases, and the numbers and the genEva. Come hither, William: hold up your head; ders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures as I come. would desires. Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah: hold up your head: Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee hold thy peace. answer your master; be not afraid. Eva. Show me now, William, some declensions of Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns? your pronouns. Will. Two. Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one number Eva. It is qui, qua, quod; if you forget your quis, more, because they say, -od Is nouns. your quces, and your quods, you must be preeches2. Go Eva. Peace your tattlings!-What isfair, William? your ways, and play; go. Will. Pulcher. Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought he Quick. Pole-cats! there are fairer things than pole- was. cats, sure. Eva. He is a good sprag3 memory. Farewell, mnisEva. You are a very simplicity'oman: I pray you, tress Page. peace.-What is lapis, William? MIrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sir HUGH.] Will. A stone. Get you home, boy.-Come, we stay too long. Eva. And what is a stone, William? [Exeunt Will. A pebble. Eva. No, it is lapis: T pray you remember in your SCENE I.-A Room i FORDs House prain.Enter FALSTAFF and Mrs. FORD. Will. Lapis. Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my Eva. That is good, William. What is he, William sufferance. I see, you are obsequious in your love, that does lend articles? and I profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun: and be Mrs. Ford, in the simple office of love but in all the thus declined, Singulariter. nominativo, hic, htec, hoc. accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; —pray you, mark: are you sure of your husband now? genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your accusative case? lMrs. Ford. He s a birding, sweet sir John. Will. Accusativoe hinc. Mrs. Page. [Within.] What hoa! gossip Ford! what Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child; hoa! accusative, hing, hang, hog. Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. [Exit FALSTAFF. 1 let: in f. e. 2 Breeched, whipped. 3 Spry, quick. SOENE II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 55 Enter Mrs. PAGE. Mrs. Page. Quick, quick: we 711 come dress you 3Hrs. Page. How now, sweetheart! who's at home straight: put on the gown the while. [Exit FALSTAFF. besides yourself? Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet him in Mrs Ford. Why, none but mine own people. this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of BrentMrs. Page. Indeed? ford; he swears, she's a witch; forbade her my house, M1irs. Ford. No, certainly.-[Aside.] Speak louder. and hath threatened to beat her. 1Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's here. cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! Mrs. Ford. Why? Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming? iMrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he; and talks of lunes again: he so takes on yonder with my husband; the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelligence. so rails against all married mankind; so curses all Eve's Mrs. Ford. We' try that; for I 11 appoint mymen daughters, of what complexion soever; and so buffets to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with himself on the forehead, crying, " Peer-out, Peer-out!'' it, as they did last time. that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed but tame- Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'11 be here presently: let's ness, civility, and patience, to this distemper he is in go dress him like the witch of Brentford. now. I am glad the fat knight is not here. Mrs. Ford. I'11 first direct my men; what they shall Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him? do with the basket. Go up, I'11 bring linen for him Mrs. Page. Of none but him; and swears, he was straight. [Exit. carried out, the last time he searched for him, in a ]/lrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot basket: protests to my husband he is now here, and misuse him enough. hath drawn him and the rest of their company from We'I1 leave a proof, by that which we will do, their sport, to make another experiment of his sus- Wives may be merry, and yet honest too: picion. But I am glad the knight is not here; now We do not act, that often jest and laugh he shall see his own foolery.'T is old but true,' Still swine eat all the draff." Airs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page? [Exit. Mrs. Page. Hard by; at street end: he will be here Re-enter Mrs. FORD, with two Servants. anon. Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your Mrs. Ford. I am undone! the knight is here. shoulders: your master is hard at door; if he bid you Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, and set it down, obey him. Quickly; despatch. [Exit. he s but a dead man. What a woman are you!- 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. Away with him, away with him: better shame, than 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of knight again. murder. 1 Serv. I hope not; I had as lief bear so much lead. lMrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how should I Enter FORD, PAGE) SHALLOW, CAIUS, and Sir HUGH bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again? EVANS. Re-enter FALSTAFF in fright.1 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have Fal. No, I1ll come no more in the basket. May I you any way then to unfool me again?-Set down the not go out, ere he come? basket, villains.-Somebody call my wife.-Youth in a Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers basket!-0 you panderly rascals! there's a knot, a watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out; ging2, a pack, a conspiracy against me: now shall the otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what devil be shamed.-What, wife, I say? Come, come make you here? forth: behold what honest clothes you send forth to Fal. What shall I do?-I'11 creep up into the chim- bleaching. ney. Page. Why, this passes! Master Ford, you are not AMrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge their to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned. birding-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole. Eva. Why, this is lunatics: this is mad as a mad Fal. Where is it? dog. 5Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. Neither Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well; indeed. press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an Enter rhis. FORD. abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes Ford. So say I too, sir.-Come hither, mistress Ford; to them by his note; there is no hiding you in the mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the house. virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her Fal. I 11 go out, then. husband.-I suspect without cause, mistress, do I? Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance, Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised,- suspect me in any dishonesty. Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him? Ford. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out.-Come Mrs. Page. Alas the day! I know not. There is forth, sirrah. [Pulls the Clothes out3, and throws them no woman's gown big enough for him; otherwise. he all over the stage. might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so Page. This passes! escape. Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed? let the clothes Fal. Good hearts, devise something: any extremity, alone. rather than a mischief. Ford. I shall find you anon. Mrs. F. Ford. Myaid's aunt, the fat woman of BrentL Eva.'T is unreasonable. Will you take up your ford, has a gown above. wife's clothes? Come away. Mrs. Page. On my word it will serve him; she's as Ford. Empty the basket, I say. big as he is: and there s her thrum'd hat, and her lMrs. Ford. Why, man, why,muffler too.-Run up, sir John. Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one iMrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John: mistress Page conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket: and I will look some linen for your head. why may not he be there again? In my house I am 1 infright: not in f. e. 2 Gang. 3 The rest of the direction not in f. e. 56 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT Iv. sure he is: my intelligence is true; my jealousy is shall be any farther afflicted we two will still be the reasonable.-Pluck me out all the linen. ministers. Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there) he shall die a Mrs. Ford. I'11 warrant, they'11 have him publicly flea's death. [All Clothes thrown out.1 shamed, and, methinks, there would be no period to Page. Here's no man. the jest. Should he not be publicly shamed? Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford; Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it, then shape this wrongs you. it: I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow SNAE T A in artr the imaginations of your own heart: this is jealousies. SENE I Room n the Garter Inn Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. Entr ost and BARDOLPH. Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your Ford. Help to search my house this one time: if I horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow at court, find not what I seek, show no colour for my extremity, and they are going to meet him. let me for ever be your table-sport; let them say of Host. What duke should that be, comes so secretly? me, " As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow I hear not of him in the court. Let me speak with walnut for his wife's leman2." Satisfy me once more; the gentlemen; they speak English? once more search with me. Bard. Ay, sir I'11 call them to you. Mrs. Ford. What hoa! mistress Page! come you, Host. They shall have my horses, but I'11 make and the old woman, down; my husband will come into them pay; I 11i sauce them: they have had my house the chamber. a week at command; I have turned away my other Ford. Old woman! What old woman's that? guests: they must come off'; I'11 sauce them. Come. lMrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford. [Exeunt. Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean? CE IY A?m n n Have I not forbid her my house? She comes of SCENE I Ro l F errands, does she? We are simple men; we do not Enter PAGE, FORD, Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, and know what's brought to pass under the profession of Sir HUGH EVANS. fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by Eva. IT is one of the pest discretions of a roman as the figure, and such daubery as this is; beyond our ever I did look upon. element: we know nothing. — ome down, you witch, Page. And did he send you both these letters at an you hag you; come down I say. instant? MIrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband.-Good gen- Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. tlenen, let him not strike the old woman. Ford. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do what thou Enter FALSTAFF in Women's Clothes, led by Mrs. PAGE. wilt; Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat; come, give me your I rather will suspect the sun with cold, hand. Than thee with wantonness; now doth thy honour Ford. I'11 prat her.-Out of my door, you witch! stand, [beats him] you rag, you baggage, you polecat, you In him that was of late a heretic, ronyon3! out! out! I'11 conjure you, I'11 fortune-tell As firm as faith. you. [Exit FALSTAFF. Page.'T is well,'t is well; no more. Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed! I think, you Be not as extreme in submission, have killed the poor woman. As in offence; lris. Ford. Nay, he will do it. —T is a goodly credit But let our plot go forward: let our wives for you. Yet once again, to make us public sport, Ford. Hang her, witch! Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, Eva. By yea and nay, I think, the'oman is a witch Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. indeed; I like not when a'oman has a great peard; I Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke of. spy a great peard under her muffler. Page. How? to send him word they i11 meet him in Ford. Will you follow gentlemen? I beseech you, the park at midnight? fie, fie! he'11 never come. follow: see but the issue of my jealousy. If I cry out Eva. You see,5 he has been thrown into the rivers, thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again, and has been grievously peaten, as an old'oman mePage. Let's obey his humour a little farther. Come, thinks, there should be terrors in him, that he should gentlemen. [Exeunt FORDPA, PAGE SHALLOW and EVANS. not come: methinks, his flesh is punished, he shall Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. have no desires. IMrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he Page. So think I too. beat him most unpitifully, methought. Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when he 2Mrs. Page. I 11 have the cudgel hallowed, and hung comes, o'erthe altar; it hath done meritorious service. And let us two devise to bring him thither. AMrs. Ford. What think you? May we, with the Mi]rs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Herne warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good con- the hunter, science, pursue him with any farther revenge? Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness, is, sure, scared Doth all the winter time, at still midnights out of him: if the devil have him not in fee simple, Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns; with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the And there he blasts the trees, and takes6 the cattle; way of waste, attempt us again. And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain lMrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands howwe have In a most hideous and dreadful manner. served him? You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape The superstitious idle-headed eld the figures out of your husband's brains. If they can I Received, and did deliver to our age, find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight i This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth. 1 Not in f. e. 2 Lover; also used for mistress. 3 Fr. rogue, for scurf. 4 come down. 5 say: in f. e. 6 posseess. sCENE v. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 57 Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John FalIn deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak. staff from master Slender. But what of this? Host. There Is his chamber, his house, his castle, his.irs. Ford. Marry, this is our devise; standing-bed, and truckle-bed: - t is painted about with That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, the story of the prodigal, fresh and new. Go knock Disguised like Herne, with huge horns on his head. and call; he'11 speak like an Anthropophaginian unto Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'11 come, thee: knock, I say. And in this shape: when you have brought him thither, Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up What shall be done with him? what is your plot? into his chamber I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon, come down I come to speak with her, indeed. and thus. Host. Ha! a fat woman? the knight may be robbed: Nan Page my daughter, and my little sonI ll call.-Bully knight! Bully sir John! speak from And three or four more of their growth, we ll dress thy lungs military; art thou there? it is thine host, Like urchins, ouphesl, and fairies, green and white, thine Ephesian, calls. With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, Fal. [Above.] How now, mine host? And rattles in their hands. Upon a sudden, Host. Here Is a Bohemian Tartar tarries the coming As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, down of thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once her descend: my chambers are honourable: fie! priWith some diffused2 song: upon their sight, vacy? fie! We two in great amazedness will fly: Enter FALSTAFF. Then, let them all encircle him about, Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even And, fairy-like to-pinch3 the unclean knight; now with me, but she's gone. And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel, Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of In their so sacred paths he dares to tread, Brentford? In shape profane. Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell: what would Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, you with her? Let the supposed fairies pinch him soundly, Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to her, And burn him with their tapers. seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, whether Mrs. Page. The truth being known, one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the We'll all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit, chain, or no. And mock him home to Windsor. Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. Ford. The children must Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir? Be practised well to this, or they'll neler do't. Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man that Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours; and beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight of it. with my taber. Sim. I would I could have spoken with the woman Ford. That will be excellent. I'11 go buy them herself: I had other things to have spoken with her, vizards. too, from him. Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the Fal. What are they? let us know. fairies, Host. Ay, come; quick. Finely attired in a robe of white. Fal. You4 may not conceal them, sir. Page. That silk will I go buy; —[Aside.] and in Host. Conceal them, and5 thou diest. that time Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about mistress Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, Anne Page; to know, if it were my masters fortune to And marry her at Eton. [To them.] Go, send to have her, or no. Falstaff straight. Fal.'T is,'t is his fortune. Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook; Sirm. What, sir? He ll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he ll come. Fal. To have her,-or no. Go; say, the woman OMrs. Page. Fear not you that. Go, get us properties, told me so. And tricking for our fairies. Sim. May I be bold to say so, sir? Eva. Let us about it: it is admirable pleasures, and Fal. Ay, sir, tike, who more bold? fery honest knaveries. Sim. I thank your worship. I shall make my mas[Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS. ter glad with these tidings. [Exit SIMPLE. Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, sir John. Send Quickly to sir John, to know his mind. Was there a wise woman with thee? [Exit Mrs. FORD. Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host; one, that hath I'11 to the doctor: he hath my good will, taught me more wit than ever I learned before in my And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. life: and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot, for my learning. And him my husband best of all affects: Enter BARDOLPH. The doctor is well moneyed, and his friends Bard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage; mere cozenage! Potent at court: he, none but he, shall have her, Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them, Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. varletto. [Exit. Bard. Run away with by6 the cozeners; for so soon as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one SCENE V.-A Room in the Garter Inn. of them in a slough of mire; and set spurs, and away, Enter Host and SIMPLE. like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses. Host. What wouldst thou have, boor? what, thick- Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain. skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap. Do not say, they be fled; Germans are honest men. I Elves. 2 Irregular. 3 Be-pinch. 4 I: in f. e. 6 or: in f. e6 Not in f. e. 58 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT V. Enter Sir HUGH EVANS. SCENE VI.-Another Room in the Garter Inn. Eva. Where is mine host? Enter FENTON and Host. Host. What is the matter, sir? Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is Eva. Have a care of your entertainments: there is heavy; I will give over all. a friend of mine come to town tells me there is three Fent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose, couzin germans, that has cozened all the hosts of Read- And as I am a gentlemann I 11 give thee ings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. A hundred pound in gold more than your loss. I tell you for good will, look you: you are wise, and Host. I will hear you, master Fenton; and I will, full of gibes and vlouting-stogs, and't is not convenient at the least keep your counsel. you should be cozened. Fare you well. you should be cozened. Fare you well. nt. From time to time I have acquainted you [Exit. With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page; Einter Doctor CARTTS. Who, mutually, hath answered my affection Cauzss. YTere is mine Host de Jarretziere? (So far forth as herself might be her chooser) Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and doubt- Even to my wish. I have a letter from her ful dilemma. Of such contents as you will wonder at; Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me, The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, dat you make grand preparation for a duke de Jar- That neither, singly, can be manifested, many: by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de court is Without te show of both —wherein fat Falstaff know to come. I tell you for good vill: adieu. th a great s e: the image of the jest [Exit. Hath a great scene: the image of the jest r T [Exi*n T A + t. [Showing the Letter. Host. Hue and cry, villain! go.-Assist me, knight; 1 show you here at large. oo ine LHost I am undone.-Fly, run, hue and cry, villain! I am To-night at He s oak, t twelve and one To-nig-ht at Herne's oak, just ktwixt twelve and one undone.,TMust my sweet Nan present the fairy queen; - [Exeunt Host and BARDOLPH. The purpose why, is here; in which disguise) Fal. I would all the world might be cozened, for I While other jests are something rank on foot, have been cozened and beaten too. If it should come Her father hath commanded her to slip to the ear of the court how I have been transformed, Away with Slender and with him at Eton and how my transformation hath been washed and cud- Immediately to marry: she hath consented. gelled, they would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, Now, sir and liquor fishermen's boots with me: I warrant, they Her mother, even strong against that match, would whip me with their fine wits, till I were as crest- And firm for Dr. Caius, hath appointed fallen as a dried pear. I never prospered since I for- That he shall likewise shuffle her away, swore myself at primero.1 Well, if my wind were but While other sports are tasking of their minds, long enough,2 I would pray and repent. long enoug2 I would ptray and Qreent. And at the deanery, where a priest attends, Enter itess QUICKLY. Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot Now, whence come you? Now, whence coe you? She seemingly obedient, likewise hath Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. She seeminl Made promise to the doctor.-Now, thus it rests: Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the other, Her father means she shall be all in white; and so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffered And in that habit when Slender sees his time more for their sakes, more, than the villainous incon- To take her by the hand, and bid her go, stancy of man's disposition is able to bear. She shall go with him:-her mother hath intended, Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I war- The better to denote her to the doctor rant; speciously one of them: mistress Ford, good For they must all be maskd and vizarded) heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see a That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd, white spot about her. With ribands pendant, flaring'bout her head; Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, was beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; To pinch her by the hand, and on that token and I was like to be apprehended for the witch of The maid hath given consent to go with him. Brentford; but that my admirable dexterity of wit, my ost. Whic means she to deceive? father or counterfeiting the action of an old woman, deliver'd mother me, the knave constable had set me i) the stocks Fent. Both my good host, to go along with me: the common stocks, for a witch. And here it rests,-that you'll procure the vicar Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; To stay for me at church'twixt twelve and one, you shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your Ad in the lawful name of marrying, content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good To give our hearts united cereony. hearts! what ado here is to bring you together. Sure, Host. ell, husband your device: Ill to the vicar. one of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. crossed. Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. Besides,-I'11 make a present recompense. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENlE I.-A Room in the Garter Inn. This is the third time; I hope, good luck lies in odd numbers. Away, go. They say, there is divinity in Enter FALSTAFF and 3/Mrs. QUICKLY. odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling;-go:-I ll hold. Away. I A game of cards. 2 to say my prayers from the quartos: in f. e. SCENE v. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 59 Quick. I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I Those that betray them do no treachery. can to get you a pair of horns. Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on: to the oak, to the Fal. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, oak! [Exeunt. and mince.' [Exit Mrs. QUICKLY. SCENE IV Windsor Park. Enter SFoaD. How now, master Brook! Master Brook, the matter Ente r HUGH EVANS, and Fairies. will be known to-night or never. Be you in the Park Eva. Trib, trib, fairies: come; and remember your about midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see parts. Be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit, wonders. and when I give the watch-lords, do as I pid you. Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you Come, come; trib, trib. [Exeunt. told me you had appointed? SCENE V.-Another Part of the Park. Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, like a poor old man; but I came from her, master Brook, Enter FALSTAFF, disguised, with a Buck's Head on. like a poor old woman. That same knave, Ford her Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell me!-remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Euyou.-He beat me grievously, in the shape of a woman; ropa; love set on thy horns.-O powerful love! that, for in the shape of man, master Brook, I fear not in some respects, makes a beast a man, in some other, Goliah with a weaver's beam, because I know also, a man a beast.-You were also, Jupiter, a swan, for life is a shuttle. I am in haste: go along with me; the love of Leda: 0, omnipotent love! how near the I11 tell you all, master Brook. Since I plucked geese, god drew to the complexion of a goose!-A fault done played truant, and whipped top, I knew not what it first in the form of a beast -0 Jove, a beastly fault! was to be beaten, till lately. Follow me: I'11 tell you and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl: strange things of this knave Ford, on whom to-night I think on't Jove; a foul fault. When gods have hot will be revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here hand.-Follow. Strange things in hand, master Brook: a Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, iv the forest: follow. [Exeunt. send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to SCENE II.-Windsor Park. piss my tallow? Who comes here? my doe? Enter Mrs. FORD and Mrs. PAGE. Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. MIs. Ford. Sir John? art thou there, my deer? my Page. Come, come: we i11 couch i' the castle-ditch, male deer? till we see the light of our fairies.-Remember, son Fal. My doe with the black scut?-Let the sky Slender, my daughter. rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of " Green Slen. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we Sleeves; hail kissing-comfits,.and snow eringoes; let have a nay-word, how to know one another. I come there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me to her in white, and cry "mum " she cries budget" here. [Embracing her. and by that we know one another. lMrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetShal. That's good too; but what needs either your heart. mum,7 or her "budget? the white will decipher her Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck,3 each a haunch: well enough.-It hath struck ten o'clock. I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the Page. The night is dark; light and spirits will fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your become it well. Heaven prosper our sport! No man husbands. Am I a woodman? ha! Speak I like means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by Herne the hunter?-Why, now is Cupid a child of his horns. Let s away; follow me. [Exeunt. conscience; he makes restitution. As I am a true SCENE 11T. -The Street in Windsor. spirit, welcome. [Noise within. SCENE TIT.-The Street in Windsor. Mrs. Page. Alas! what noise? Enter Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, and Dr. CAIUS. Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins! Mrs. Page. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green: Fal. What should this be? when you see your time, take her by the hand, away Mrs. Ford. ) with her to the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go Mrs. Page. Away, away! [Te run of before into the park: we two must go together. Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damned, Caius. I know vat I have to do. Adieu. lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire; he iMrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUs.] My would never else cross me thus. husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Fal- Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, like a&atyr; Mlrs. QUICKLY, staff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my and PISTOL; ANNE PAdE, as the Fairy Queen, atdaughter: but't is no matter; better a little chiding, tended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, than a great deal of heart-break. with waxen tapers on their heads. Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of Queen. Fairies, black grey, green, and white, fairies? and the Welch devil, Evans?2 You moonshine revellers; and shades of night Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, Herne's oak, with obscured lights; which, at the very Attend your office, and your quality. instant of Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. display to the night. Pist. Elves, list your names: silence, you airy toys! iMrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. Cricket, to Windsor chimneys when thoust leapt,4 Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; Where fires thou findst unrak'd, and hearths unswept, if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry: Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. Our radiant queen hates sluts, and sluttery. Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their Fal. They are fairies; he, that speaks to them, lechery, shall die: [To himself.' 1 Walk (mincingly.) 2 Hugh: in f. e. 3 Buck sent for a bribe. 4 shalt thou leap. s Not in f. e. 60 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT Y. I'11 wink and couch. No man their works must eye. Enter PAGE, FORD, Mrs. PAGE, and Mrs. FORD. They [Lies down upon his face. lay hold of him. Eva. Where is Bead?-Go you, and where you find Page. Nay, do not fly: I think, we have match'd a maid, you now. That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn? Rousel up the organs of her fantasy, Mrs. Page. I pray you come; hold up the jest no Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; higher.But those that2 sleep, and think not on their sins, Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives? Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins. See you these, husband? do not these fair yokes Queen. About, about! Become the forest better than the town? Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out: Ford. Now, sir, who Is a cuckold now!-Master Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room, Brook, Falstaff s a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are That it may stand till the perpetual doom, his horns, master Brook: and, master Brook, he hath In state as wholesome, as in state't is fit; enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his Worthy the owner, and the owner it. cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be The several chairs of order look you scour paid to master Brook: his horses are arrested for it, With juice of balm, and every precious flower: master Brook. Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill-luck; we could With loyal blazon, ever more be blest! never meet. I will never take you for my love again, And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, but I will always count you my deer. Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring: Fal. I do begin to perceive, that I am made an ass. Th' expressure. that it bears, green let it be, Ford. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are More fertile-fresh than all the field to see; extant. And, Honi soit qui mal y pense, write, Fal. And these are not fairies! I was three or four In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white; times in the thought, they were not fairies; and yet Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee: powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a reFairies, use flowers for their charactery. ceived belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and Away! disperse! but, till It is one o'clock, reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may Our dance of custom, round about the oak be made a Jack-a-lent, when't is upon ill employment!; Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your' Eva. Lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set; desires, and fairies will not pinse you. And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. To guide our measure round about the tree. Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. But, stay! I smell a man of middle earth. Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest art able to woo her in good English. he transform me to a piece of cheese! [To himself.3 Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'er-look'd4 even in thy that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching birth. as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too? shall Queen. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end: I have a coxcomb of frize?''T is time I were choked If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, with a piece of toasted cheese. And turn him to no pain; but if he start, Eva. Seese is not good to give putter: your pelly is It is the flesh of -a corrupted heart. all putter. Pist. A trial! come. Fal. Seese and putter! have I lived to stand at Eva. Come, will this wood take fire? -the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This [They burn him with their tapers. is enough to be the decay of lust, and late-walking, Fal. Oh, oh, oh! through the realm. Queen. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! M rs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we About him, fairies, sing a scornful rhyme; would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. and shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple SONG, by one. to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our Fie on sinful fantasy! delight? Fie on lust and luxury! Ford. What, a hog-pudding? a bag of flax? Lust is but a bloody fire, MJrs. Page. A puffed man? Kindled with unchaste desire, Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails? Fed in heart; whose flames aspire, Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? As thoughts do blow them higher and higher. Page. And as poor as Job? CHORUS. Ford. And as wicked as his wife? Pinch him, fairies, mutually; Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and Pinch him for his villainy; sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles? Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start of During this song, the fairies pinch FALSTAFF: Doctor me I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch CAIUS comes one way, and steals awzay afairy in green; flannel. Ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in white; me as you will. and FENTON comes, and steals away ANNE PAGE. A Ford. Marry, sir, we'11 bring you to Windsor, to one noise of hunting is made within. All the fairies run master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to away. FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises. whom you should have been a pander: over and above 1 raise: in f. e 2 as: in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. 4 Bewitched. 5 Malone adds, from the quarto:-Eva. It is right, indeed; he is full of lecheries and iniquity. 6 A foo's cap of frieze. SCENE V. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 61 that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money Caius. Ay, by gar, and't is a boy: by gar, I ll raise will be a biting affliction.1 all Windsor. [Exit CAIuS. Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a pos- Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne? set to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to Page. My heart misgives me. Here comes master laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her, Fenton. master Slender hath married her daughter. Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that: if Anne Page be my How now, master Fenton! [They kneel. daughter, she is, by this doctor Caius' wife. [Aside. Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon. Enter SLENDER, crying. Page. Now, mistress; how chance you went not Slen. Whoo, ho! ho! father Page! with master Slender? Page. Son, how now! how now, son! have you IMrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, despatched? maid? Slen. Despatched! —I 11 make the best in Glouces- Fent. You do amaze her: hear the truth of it. tershire know on It; would I were hanged, la, else. You would have married her most shamefully, Page. Of what, son? Where there was no proportion held in love. Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne The truth is, she and 1, long since contracted, Page, and she Is a great lubberly boy: if it had not Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. been i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he The offence is holy that she hath committed; should have swinged me. If I,did not think it had And this deceit loses the name of craft, been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and It is a Of disobedience, or unduteous guile,2 post-master's boy. Since therein she doth evitate and shun Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. A thousand irreligious cursed hours, Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. when I took a boy for a girl: if I had been married Ford. Stand not amazed: here is no remedy.to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state: have had him. Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special you, how you should know my daughter by her gar- stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. ments? Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give Slen. I went to her in white, and cried " mum, b thee joy. and she cried " budget," as Anne and I had appointed; What cannot be eschew'd must be embraced. and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of chased. your purpose; turned my daughter into green; and, Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no farther.-Master indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and Fenton, there married. Heaven give you many, many merry days.Enter Doctor CAIUS. Good husband, let us every one go home, Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am co- And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; zened; I ha' married un garfon, a boy; un paisan, by Sir John and all. gar,.a boy: it is not Anne Page; by gar, I am Ford. Let it be so.-Sir John, cozened. To master Brook you yet shall hold your word; MIrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green? For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford. [Exeunt. 1 The quartos here haveMrs. Ford. Nay. husband, let that go to make amends: Forgive that sum and so we Il' all be friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand: all's forgiven at last. Fal. It hath cost me well: I have been well pinched and wash'd, 2 title: in f. e. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. DRAMATIS PERSONE. VINCENTIO, the Duke. FROTH, a foolish Gentleman. ANGELO, the Deputy. Clown. ESCALUS, an ancient Lord. ABHORSON, an Executioner. CLAUDIO, a young Gentleman. BARNARDINE a dissolute Prisoner. Lucio, a Fantastic. Two other like Gentlemen. ISABELLA sister to Claudio. ~Provost. MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo. THOMAS, l Two Friars. JULIET, beloved of Claudio. PETER, J FRANCISCA, a Nun. A Justice. MISTRESS OVER-DONE, a Bawd. ELBOW, a simple Constable. Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other Attendants. SCENE, Vienna. ACT I. in th D P Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do SCENE I.-An Apartrment in the DUKE S Palace. Not light them for ourselves; for if our virtues Enter DUKE, ESCALUS, Lords, and Attendants. Did not go forth of us, It were all alike Duke. Escalus! As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd, Escal. My lord. But to fine issues; nor nature never lends Duke. Of government the properties to unfold The smallest scruple of her excellence, Would seem in me ti affect speech and discourse; But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Since I am apt' to know, that your own science Herself the glory of a creditor, Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice Both thanks and use5. But I do bend my speech My strength can give you: then, no more remains To one that can my part in him advertise: But add' to your sufficiency your worth,3 Hold, therefore, Angelo: [Tendering his commission. And let them work. The nature of our people, In our remove be thou at full ourself; Our city;s institutions, and the terms Mortality and mercy in Vienna For common justice, y' are as pregnant in Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus, As art and practice hath enriched any Though first in question, is thy secondary: That we remember. There is our commission, Take thy commission. [Giving it.7 [Giving it.4 Ang. Now, good my lord, From which we would not have you warp.-Call hither, Let there be some more test made of my metal, I say, bid come before us Angelo.-[Exit an Attendant. Before so noble and so great a figure What figure of us think you he will bear? Be stamp'd upon it. For, you must know, we have with special soul Duke. No more evasion: Elected him our absence to supply, We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Lent him our terror, drest him with our love, Proceeded to you; therefore, take your honours. And given his deputation all the organs Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, Of our own power. What think you of it? That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestioned Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, To undergo such ample grace and honour As time and our concernings shall importune, It is lord Angelo. How it goes with us; and do look to know, Enter ANGELO. What doth befall you here. So, fare you well: Duke. Look, where he comes. To the hopeful execution do I leave you Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, Of your commissions. I come to know your pleasure. Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, Duke. Angelo, That we may bring you something on the way. There is a kind of character in thy life, Duke. My haste may not admit it; That, to th7 observer, doth thy history Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings With any scruple: your scope is as mine own, Are not thine own so proper, as to waste So to enforce, or quality the laws Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand. 1 put: in f. e. 2 that: in f. e. 3 as your worth is able: in f. e. 4Not in f. e. 5 interest. 6 7 Not in f. e. SCENE II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 63 I'11 privily away: I love the people, 2 Gent. To what, I pray? But do not like to stage me to their eyes. Lucio. Judge. Though it do well, I do not relish well 2 Gent. To three thousand dollars2 a-year. Their loud applause, and aves vehement, 1 Gent. Ay, and more. Nor do I think the man of safe discretion Lucio. A French crown more. That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 2 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me; Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes! but thou art full of error: I am sound. Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happi- Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so ness! sound as things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; Duke. I thank you Fare you well. [Exit. impiety has made a feast of thee. Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave Enter Bawd. To have free speech with you; and it concerns me 1 Gent. How now? Which of your hips has the most To look into the bottom of my place: profound sciatica? A power I have, but of what strength and nature Bawd. Well, well; there Is one yonder arrested, and I am not yet instructed. carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. Ang.'T is so with me. Let us withdraw together, 2 Gent. Who s that, I pray thee? And we. may soon our satisfaction have Bawd. Marry, sir, that's Claudio; signior Claudio. Touching that point. 1 Gent. Claudio to prison! It is not so. Escal. I'11 wait upon your honour. [Exeunt. Bawd. Nay, but I know,'t is so; I saw him arrested; saw him carried away; and, which is more, within these SCENE II.-A Street. three days his head is3 to be chopped off. Enter LucIo and two Gentlemen. Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not it so. Art thou sure of this? to composition with the king of Hungary, why then, Bawd. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting all the dukes fall upon the king. madam Julietta with child. 1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the king Lucio. Believe me, this may be: he promised to of Hungary's! meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in 2 Gent. Amen. promise-keeping. Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, 2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something near that went to sea with the ten commandments, but to the speech we had to such a purpose. scraped one out of the table. 1 Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the proclama2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal? tion. Lucio. Ay, that he razed. Lucio. Away: let Is go learn the truth of it. 1 Gent. Why?1 IT was a commandment to command [Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. the captain and all the rest from their functions: they Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the put forth to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty, in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish the peti- I am custom-shrunk. How now? what's the news tion well that prays for peace. with you? 2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. Enter Clown. Lucio. I believe thee; for, I think, thou never wast Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. where grace was said. Bawd. Well: what has he done? 2 Gent. No? a dozen times at least. Clo. A woman. 1 Gent. What, in metre? Bawd. But what's his offence? Lacio. In any proportion, or in any language. Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him? Lucio. Ay; why not? Grace is grace, despite of all Clo. No; but there s a woman with maid by him. controversy: as for example; thou thyself art a wicked You have not heard of the proclamation, have you? villain, despite of all grace. Bawd. What proclamation, man? 1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers be- Clo. All bawdy4 houses in the suburbs of Vienna tween us. must be pluck'd down. Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists and Bawd. And what shall become of those in the the velvet: thou art the list. city? 1 Gent. And thou the velvet? thou art good velvet: Clo. They shall stand for seed: they had gone down thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee. I had as too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. lief be a list of an English kersey, as be pil'd, as thou Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the art pild, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly suburbs be pull'd down? now? Clo. To the ground, mistress. Lucio. I thing thou dost; and, indeed, with most Bawd. Why, here's a change, indeed, in the compainful feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own monwealth! What shall become of me? confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I Clo. Come; fear not you: good counsellors lack no live, forget to drink after thee. clients: though you change your place, you need not 1 Gent. I think, I have done myself wrong, have I change your trade; I'1 be your tapster still. Courage! not? there will be pity taken on you; you that have worn 2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art your eyes almost out in the service: you will be containted, or free. sidered. Lucio. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's comes!withdraw. 1 Gent. I have purchased as many diseases under Clo. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the provost her roof, as come to- to prison; and there's madam Juliet. [Exeunt. 1 Mr. Dyce removes the interrogation (?) giving why an emphatic sense only. 2 A quibble upon dolours. 3 4 Not in f. e. 64 MEASUE F EASURE. ACT I. SCENPE III.The Same, tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in E ro C oa Ofir.'love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and.appeal Enter Provostf CLAUDIO, and Officers.l to him Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to Claud. I have done so, but he Is not to be found. th' world? I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service. Bear me to prison, where I am committed. This day my sister should the cloister enter, Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, And there receive her approbation: But from lord Angelo by special charge. Acquaint her with the danger of my state; Claud. Thus can the demi-god, authority, Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends Make us pay down for our offence by weight.- To the strict deputy; bid herself essay him: The words of heaven;2-on whom it will, it will; I have great hope in that; for in her youth On whom it will not, so: yet still't is just. There is a prone and speechless dialect, Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen.3 Such as moves men: beside, she hath prosperous art, Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio? whence comes this When she will play with reason and discourse, restraint? And she can well persuade. Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty: Lucio. I pray, she may: as well for the encourageAs surfeit is the father of much fast, ment of the like, which else would stand under grievous So every scape by the immoderate use imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tickLike rats that ravin4 down their proper bane, tack.7 I'1 to her. A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die. Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I Lucio. Within two hours. would send for certain of my creditors. And yet, to Claud. Come, officer; away! [Exeunt. say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom, SCENE IV.-A onastery. as the morality of imprisonment.-What's thy offence, J I Monastr Claudio? Enter Dukee and Friar THOMAS. Claud. What but to speak of would offend again. Duke. No, holy father; throw away that thought: Lucio. What is it? murder? Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Claud. No. Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee Lucio. Lechery? To give me secret harbour hath a purpose Claud. Call it so. More grave and wrinkled, than the aims and ends Prov. Away, sir! you must go. Of burning youth. Claud. One word, good friend.-Lucio, a word with Fri. May your grace speak of it? you. [Takes him aside. Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you Lucio. A hundred, if they l11 do you any good.-Is How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd; lechery so look'd after? And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, Claud. Thus stands it with me:-Upon a true con- Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. tract, I have delivered to lord Angelo I got possession of Julietta's bed: (A man of stricture, and firm abstinence) You know the lady; she is fast my wife, My absolute power and place here in Vienna, Save that we do the pronunciation5 lack And he supposes me travelled to Poland; Of outward order: this we came not to, For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, Only for procuration6 of a dower And so it is received. Now, pious sir, Remaining in the coffer of her friends, You will demand of me, why I do this? From whom we thought it meet to hide our love, Fri. Gladly, my lord. Till time had made them for us. But it chances, Duke. We have strict statutes. and most biting laws, The stealth of our most mutual entertainment (The needful bits and curbs to head-strong steeds8) With character too gross is writ on Juliet. Which for this fourteen years we have let sleep9 Lucio. With child, perhaps? Even like an over-grown lion in a cave, Claud. Unhappily, even so. That goes not out to prey: now, as fond fathers, And the new deputy now for the duke,- Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, Only to stick it in their children's sight, Or whether that the body public be For terror, not to use, in time the rod' s10 A horse whereon the governor doth ride More mock'd than feared; so our most just decrees, Who, newly in the seat, that it may know Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead, He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; And liberty plucks justice by the nose; Whether the tyranny be in his place, The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Or in his eminence that fills it up, Goes all decorum. I stagger in; —but this new governor Fri. It rested in your grace Awakes me all the enrolled penalties, To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleased; Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, So long, that nineteen zodiacks have gone round, Than in lord Angelo. And none of them been worn; and, for a name, Duke. I fear, too dreadful: Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Sith't was my fault to give the people scope, Freshly on me: —t is surely, for a name.''T would be my tyranny to strike and gall them Lucio. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done, 1 Enter Provost, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and Officers; LuCIO and two Gentlemen: in f. e. 2 An allusion to St. Paul's Ep. to Romans ix: 15. 3 Not in f. e. 4 Greedily devour. 6 denunciation: in f. e. 6 propagation: in f. e. 7 Tric-trac. 8 weeds: in f. e. 9 Old Eds. and Knight: slip. Theobald suggested the change also. 10 f. e.: In time, the rod Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd; so our decrees, Becomes was added by Pope. SCENE V. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 65 When evil deeds have their permissive pass Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. Andnotdue punishment. Therefore, indeed,my father, Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, Itis I have on Angelo impos'd the office thus: Who may, in th' ambush of my name; strike home, Your brother and his lover have embraced: And yet my nature never in the sight, As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time, To draw on2 slander. And to behold his sway, That from the seeding the bare fallow brings [ will, as It were a brother of your order To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prlythee, Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. Supply me with the habit, and instruct me Isab. Some one with child by him?-My cousin How I may formally in person bear me Juliet? Like a true friar. More reasons for this action, Lucio. Is she your cousin? At our more leisure shall I render you; Isab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names Only, this one:-Lord Angelo is precise; By vain, though apt, affection. Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses Lucio. She it is. That his blood flows, or that his appetite Isab. 0! let him marry her. Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see, Lucio. This is the point. If power change purpose, what our seemers be. [Exeunt. The duke, who Is very strangely gone from hence, SCENE V-A N unn Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn, Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA. By those that know the very nerves of state, Isab. And have you nuns no farther privileges? His givings out were of an infinite distance Fran. Are not these large enough? From his true-meant design. Upon his place, Isab. Yes, truly: 1 speak not as desiring more, And with full line of his authority, But rather wishing a more strict restraint Governs lord Angelo; a man whose blood Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of saint Clare. Is very snow-broth; one who never feels Lucio. [Within.] Ho! Peace be in this place! The wanton stings and motions of the sense, Isab. Who's that which calls? But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella With profits of the mind, study and fast. Turn you the key, and know his business of him: He (to give fear to use and liberty, You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn. Which have for long run by the hideous law, When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men, As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act, But in the presence of the prioress: Under whose heavy sense your brother's life Then, if you speak, you must not show your face; Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it, Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. And follows close the rigour of the statute, [Lucio calls.3 To make him an example. All hope is gone, He calls again: I pray you, answer him. Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer [Exit FRANcIscA. To soften Angelo; and that's my pith Isab. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls? Of business'twixt you and your poor brother. Enter Lucio. Isab. Doth he so seek his life? Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses Lucio. Has censured him Proclaim you are no less, can you so stead me, Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath As bring me to the sight of Isabella A warrant for his execution. A novice of this place, and the fair sister Isab. Alas! what poor ability's in me To her unhappy brother Claudio? To do him good? Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask, Lucio. Essay the power you have. The rather, for I now must make you know Isab. My power, alas! I doubt. I am that Isabella, and his sister. Lucio. Our doubts are aitors, Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets And make us lose the good we oft might wiln you. By fearing to attempt. Go to lord Angelo, Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, Isab. Woe me! for what? Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, Lucio. For that, which, if myself might be his judge, All their petitions are as freely theirs He should receive his punishment in thanks. As they themselves would owe them, He hath got his friend with child. Isab. I 11 see what I can do. Isab. Sir, make me not your scorn. Lucio. But speedily. Lucio.'T is: true. I would not, though't is my Isab. I will about it straight, familiar sin No longer staying but to give the mother With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you: Tongue far from heart, play with all virgins so: Commend me to my brother; soon at night I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted I l11 send him certain word of my success. By your renouncement, an immortal spirit Lucio. I take my leave of you. And to be talk'd with in sincerity, Isab. Good sir, adieu. [Exeunt. As with a saint. fight: in f. e. doin: inf. e. Notinf. e. story: inf. e. 5 66 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II. ACT II. SCENE I.-A all in AN S H. Escal. This comes off well: here's a wise officer. SCENE I. —A Hall in ANGELO'S House. Elbow is Ang. Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a Justice, Officers, and other your name: why dost thou not speak, Elbow? Attendants. Clo. He cannot, sir: he's out at elbow. Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the law, Ang. What are you, sir? Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, Elb. He, sir? a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that And let it keep one shape, till custom make it serves a bad woman, whose house, sir, was, as they say, Their perch, and not their terror. pluck'd down in the suburbs; and now she professes Escal. Ay, but yet a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too. Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, Escal. How know you that? Than fall,' and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman. Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and Whom I would save, had a most noble father. your honour,Let but your honour know, Escal. How! thy wife? (Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,) Elb. Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest That, in the working of your own affections woman,Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore Or that the resolute acting of your blood Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose, she that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is Whether you had not, sometime in your life, pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. Err'd in this point, which now you censure him, Escal. How dost thou know that. constable? And pulled the law upon you. Elb. Marry sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a Ang.'T is one thing to be tempted, Escalus, woman cardinally given, might have been accused in Another thing to fall. I not deny, fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. The jury, passing on a prisoner's life, Escal. By the woman's means? May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Over-done's means; but as Guiltier than him they try; what s open made to justice, she spit in his face, so she defied him. That justice seizes: what know the laws, Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. That thieves do pass on thieves? T isverypregnant, Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honThe jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, ourable man; prove it. Because we see it; but what we do not see Escal. [To ANGELO.] Do you hear how he misplaces? We tread upon, and never think of it. Clo. Sir, she came in great with child, and longing You may not so extenuate his offence, (saving your honour's reverence) for stewed prunes: sir, For I have had such faults: but rather tell me, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant When I, that censure him, do so offend, time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, three-pence: your honours have seen such dishes: they And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. are not China dishes, but very good dishes. Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. Escal. Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir. Ang. Where is the provost? Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein Enter Provost. in the right; but to the point. As I say, this mistress Prov. Here if it like your honour. Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great Ang. See that Claudio belly'd, and longing, as I said, for prunes, and having Be executed by nine to-morrow morning. but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth here, this Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd, very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exit Provost. paying for them very honestly; —for, as you know, Escal. Well, heaven forgive him, and forgive us all! master Froth, I could not give you three-pence again. Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Froth. No, indeed. Some run from breaks2 of ice, and answer none, Clo. Very well: you being then, if you be rememAnd some condemned for a fault alone. ber'd, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes. Enter ELBOW, FROTH, Clown, Officers, ~c. Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. Elb. Come, bring them away. If these be good Clo. Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be people in a common-weal, that do nothing but use their remembered, that such a one, and such a one, were past,abuses in common houses, I know no law: bring them cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very away. good diet, as I told you. Ang. Hownow, sir? What s your name, and what's Froth. All this is true. the matter? Clo. Why, very well then. Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's Escal. Come; you are a tedious fool: to the purpose. constable, and my name is Elbow: I do not lean upon -What was done to Elbow's wife, that he haith cause justice, sir; and do bring in here before your good to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. honour two notorious benefactors. Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. Ang. Benefactors! Well; what benefactors are they! Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. are they not malefactors? Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well what leave. And I beseech you, look unto master Froth they are; but precise villains they are, that I am sure here, sir; a man of fourscore pound a year, whose of, and void of all profanation in the world, that good father died at Hallowmas.-Was't not at Hallowmas, Christians ought to have. master Froth?'fell. 2 brakes was altered to breaks by Steevens. Dyce would read brakes (instruments of torture) of vice. SCENE I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 67 Froth. All-hallownd eve. Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year? Clo. Why, very well: I hope here be truths. He, Froth. Yes, an't please you, sir. sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir;-'t was in the Escal. So.- What trade are you of, sir? Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a delight to Clo. A tapster; a poor widow's tapster. sit, have you not? Escal. Your mistress7 name? Froth. I have so; because it is an open room, and Clo. Mistress Over-done. good for windows.' Escal. Hath she any more than one husband? Clo. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths. Clo. Nine, sir; Over-done by the last. Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, Escal. Nine!-Come hither to me, master Froth. When nights are longest there. I'11 take my leave, Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with And leave you to the hearing of the cause, tapsters; they will draw you, master Froth, and you Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. will hang them: get you gone, and let me hear no Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to your lord- more of you. ship. [Exit ANGELO. Froth. I thank your worship. For mine own part, Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am once more? drawn in. Clo. Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once. Escal. Well; no more of it, master Froth; farewell. Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did [Exit FROTH.]-Come you hither to me, master tapto my wife. ster. What's your name, master tapster? Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. Clo. Pompey. Escal. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her? Escal. What else? Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Clo. Bum, sir. -Good master Froth, look upon his honour;'t is for a Escal.' Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face?' about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are Escal. Ay, sir, very well. Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Clo. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. Escal. Well, I do so. Are you not? come, tell me true: it shall be the better Clo. Doth your honour see any harm in his face? for you. Escal. Why, no. Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. Clo. I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a worst thing about him. Good then; if his face be the bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? is worst thing about him, how could master Froth do the it a lawful trade? constable's wife any harm? I would know that of Clo. If the law would allow it, sir. your honour. Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor Escal. He Is in the right. Constable, what say you it shall not be allowed in Vienna. to it? Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respected the youth of the city? house; next, this is a respected fellow, and his mis- Escal. No, Pompey. tress is a respected woman. Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected then. If your lordship will take order for the drabs person than any of us all. and the knaves, you need not fear the bawds. Elb. Varlet, thou liest: thou liest, wicked varlet. Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell The time is yet to come that she was ever respected you: it is but heading and hanging. with man, woman, or child. Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that way Clo. Sir, she was respected with him, before he mar- but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out ried with her. a commission for more heads. If this law hold in Escal. Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Ini- Vienna ten year, I 11 rent the fairest house in it, after quity-Is this true? three pence a day.3 If you live to see this come to Elb. 0 thou caitiff! 0 thou varlet! 0 thou wicked pass, say Pompey told you so. Hannibal! I respected with her, before I was married Escal. Thank you, good Pompey; and in requital to her?-If ever I was respected with her, or she with of your prophecy, hark you:-I advise you, let me not me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's find you before me again upon any complaint whatofficer.-Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have soever; no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, mine action of battery on thee. Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a Escal. If he took you a box o' thI ear, you might shrewd Caesar to you. In plain dealing, Pompey, I have your action of slander too. shall have you whipt. So, for this time, Pompey, fare Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What you well. is't your worship's pleasure I shall2 do with this wicked Clo. I thank your worship for your good counsel, caitiff? but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences better determine. in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade; him continue in his courses, till thou know'st what The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Exit. they are. Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow; come Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it.-Thou seest, hither, master constable. How long have you been thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon thee: thou in this place of constable? art to continue; now, thou varlet, thou art to con- Elb. Seven year and a half, sir, tinue. Escal. I thought by your4 readiness in the office, Escal. Where were you born, friend? you had continued in it some time. You say, seven Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. years together? 1 winter: in f. e. 2 Altered by Malone to " should." 3 bay: in f. e. 4 the: in f. e. 68 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT n. Elb. And a half, sir. Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Escal. Alas! it hath been great pains to you. They Please but your honour hear me. do you wrong to put you so oft upon't. Are there not Ang. Well; what's your suit? men in your ward sufficient to serve it? Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters. As And most desire should meet the blow of justice, they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them: For which I would not plead, but that I must; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with For which I must not plead, but that I am all. At war'twixt will, and will not. Escal. Look you bring me in the names of some six Ang. Well; the matter? or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. Isab. I have a brother is condemned to die: Elb. To your worship's house, sir? I do beseech you, let it be his fault, Escal. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW. And not my brother. What Is o'clock, think you? Prov. [Aside.] Heaven give thee moving graces. Just. Eleven, sir. Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done. Just. I humbly thank you. Mine were the very cipher of a function, Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, But there Is no remedy. And let go by the actor. Just. Lord Angelo is severe. Isab. 0 just, but severe law! Escal. It is but needful: I had a brother then.-Heaven keep your honour! Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so; [Going.' Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. Lucio. [To ISAB.] Give't not o'er so: to him again, But yet, poor Claudio!-There is no remedy. intreat him: Come, sir: [Exeunt. Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; You are too cold: if you should need a pin, SCEaNE II. -Another room. in the Same. JYou could not with more tame a tongue desire it Enter Provost, and a Servant. To him, I say. Serv. He Is hearing of a cause: he will come straight. Isab. Must he needs die? I'11 tell him of you. Ang. Maiden, no remedy. Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.] I ll know Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him. His pleasure; may be, he will relent. Alas! And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. He hath but as offended in a dream: Ang. I will not do't. All sects, all ages smack of this vice and he Isab. But can you, if you would? To die for it!- Ang. Look; what I will not, that I cannot do. Enter ANGELO. Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no Ang. Now; what IS the matter, provost? wrong, Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? If so your heart were touched with that remorse Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order? As mine is to him? Why dost thou ask again? Ang. He's sentenced:'t is too late. Prov. Lest I might be too rash. Lucio. [To ISAB.] Thou art2 too cold. Under your good correction, I have seen, Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, When, after execution, judgment hath May call it back again: Well believe this, Repented o'er his doom. No ceremony that to great ones'longs, Ang. Go to; let that be mine: Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, Do you your office, or give up your place, The marshals truncheon, nor the judge's robe, And you shall well be spared. Become them with one half so good a grace Prov. I crave your honour's pardon. As mercy does. If he had been as you, and you as he,8 What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? You would have slipt like him; but he, like you, She Is very near her hour. Would not have been so stern. Ang. Dispose of her Ang. Pray you, begone. To some more fitter place, and that with speed. Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, Re-enter Servant. And you were Isabel! should it then be thus? Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd No; I would tell what't were to be a judge, Desires access to you. And what a prisoner. Ang. Hath he a sister? Lucio. [Aside.] Ay, touch him; there's the vein. Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, And you but waste your words. If not already, Isab. Alas! alas! Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant. Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; See you the fornicatress be removed: And he that might the vantage best have took, Let her have needful, but not lavish,'means; Found out the remedy. How would you be, There shall be order for it. If he, which is the God' of judgment, should Enter Lucio and ISABELLA. But judge you as you are? 0, think on that, Prov.:Save your honour! [Offering to go. And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Ang. Stay a little while.-[To ISAB.] Y' are wel- Like man new made! come: what Is your will? Ang. Be you content fair maid. 1 Retiring: in f. e ~ You are: in f. e. 3 Knight reads: If he had been as you. And you as he, you would have slipp'd like him; But he, &e. 4 top: in f. e. 'I'Ilii; illj~i~j~I'VS~ii! Ilii iliiiil i~illjiir — illim I 01\MNSIRW1 11 VIIII /` ~ ~ ~ ~ ~:\,`(;.- NE ILIAi~lllilllil il! l iiiil!iil11 ~ Ijij~~~~~~~~~~~~ji 1!jl j~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ljlI~~~~~~~4 /I/i~Ji~II'~f~ijij I Ijl~~lii: i zig'g ~ MW 11i~011,11!1 1111!'I ji~~~~l liiii~~~~~~~~~liiiii~~~~~~~~f;~~iledl V:,~~"~;I/jiii~~i~i~i ~ I/~~2~~ ~-~~ ~~i-~i~~ii I; /111/i/ ii!~~ii~i 10 ~~-~ ~ru; dll~ill/I"~': I IN lo mm I 14 iii. lI/Vil ~ ll~ ioi~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ii;I i; I. i i I iit! ~: I-~~~l M;lI'/ /jIii~r ii! i i! i I':l~~~~iii i A Gr I IS BELLA A D LUCIU ~~~~~~ ";'ili'; I i i~~~eaue o TIasre ctI. cne2 SCENE IIn. MEASURE FOR M'EASURE. 69 It is the law, not I, condemns your brother: Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, Against my brother's life. It should be thus with him: he must die to-morrow. Ang. [Aside.] She speaks, and't is Isab. To-morrow? 0, that's sudden! Spare him, Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. [To her.] spare him! Fare you well. He Is not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven Ang. I will bethink me.-Come again to-morrow. With less respect than we do minister Isab. Hark, how I'1 bribe you. Good my lord, To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you? turn back. Who is it that hath died for this offence? Ang. How! bribe me? [with you. There's many have committed it. Isab. Ay, with such gifts. that heaven shall share Lucio. [Aside.] Ay, well said. Lucio. [Aside.] You had marr'd all else. Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath Isab. Not with fond circles3 of the tested gold, slept: Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, As fancy values them; but with true prayers, If the first one1 that did th: edict infringe, That shall be up at heaven, and enter there Had answered for his deed: now, It is awake; Ere sun-rise: prayers from preserved souls, Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet, From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils To nothing temporal. Either new, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, Ang. Well; come to me to-morrow. And so in progress to be hatch'd and born, Lucio. [To ISAB.] Go to;'t is well: away! Are now to have no successive degrees, Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe! [Going.; But ere2 they live to end. Ang. [Aside.] Amen: Isab. Yet show some pity. For I am that way going to temptation, Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; Where prayers cross. For then I pity those I do not know, Isab. At what hour to-morrow Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall, Shall I attend your lordship? And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, Ang. At any time'fore noon. Lives not to act another. Be satisfied: Isab. Save your honour! Your brother dies to-morrow: be content. [Exeunt LucIo, ISABELLA, and Provost. Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sen- Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue!tence, What's this? what Is this? Is this her fault or mine? And he that suffers. 0! it is excellent The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! To have a giant's strength; but tyrannous Not she, nor doth she tempt; but it is I, To use it like a giant. That lying by the violet in the sun, Lucio. [Aside.] That's well said. Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower Isab. Could great men thunder, Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be As Jove himself does Jove would ne'er be quiet, That modesty may more betray our sense For every pelting, petty officer Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Would use his heaven for thunder; Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, Nothing but thunder. Merciful heaven! And pitch our offals5 there? 0, fie, fie fie! Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo? Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Dost thou desire her foully for those things Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man! That make her good? O, let her brother live! Drest in a little brief authority, Thieves for their robbery have authority, Most ignorant of what he Is most assur'd, When judges steal themselves. What! do I love her, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, That I desire to hear her speak again, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, And feast upon her eyes? What is It I dream on? As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, 0 cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, Would all themselves laugh mortal. With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous Lucio. [To ISAB.] 0, to him, to him, wench! He Is that temptation, that doth goad us on will relent: To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet, He's coming; I perceive't. With all her double vigour, art and nature, Prov. [Aside.] Pray heaven, she win him! Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid Isab. You cannot weigh our brother with yourself: Subdues me quite.-Even from youth till now, Great men may jest with saints: It is wit in them, When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. But in the less foul profanation. [Exit. Lucio. [To ISAB.] Thou'rt in the right, girl: more o' that. SCENE III.-A Room in a Prison. Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word, Enter DUKE, as a Friar, and Provost. Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Duke.,Hail to you. provost; so I think you are. Lucio. [Aside.] Art avis'd o' that? more on t. Prov. I am the provost. What s your will, good Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? friar? Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, I come to visit the afflicted spirits That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom; Here in the prison: do me the common right Knock there, and ask your heart, what it doth know To let me see them, and to make me know That's like my brother's fault: if it confess The nature of their crimes, that I may minister A natural guiltiness, such as is his, To them accordingly. 1 Not in f. e. 2 f e.: here. Knight reads-where. 3 shekels: in f. e. 4 Not in f. e. evils: in f. e. 70 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT a. Prov. T would do more than that, if more were 0 heavens! needful. Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, Enter JULIET. Making it both unable for itself, Look; here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine, And dispossessing all my other part Who, falling in the flames1 of her own youth, Of necessary fitness? Hath blistered her report. She is with child, So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; And he that got it, sentencd-a young man Come all to help him, and so stop the air More fit to do another such offence, By which he should revive: and even so Than die for this. The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Duke. When must he die? Quit their own path, and in obsequious fondness Prov. As I do think, to-morrow.- Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love [To JULIET.] I have provided for you: stay a while, Must needs appear offence. And you shall be conducted. Enter ISABELLA. Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? How now, fair maid? Juliet. I do, and bear the shame most patiently. isab. I am come to know your pleasure. Duke. I 11 teach you how you shall arraign your Ang. That you might know it, would much better conscience, please me, And try your penitence, if it be sound, Than to demand what It is. Your brother cannot live. Or hollowly put on. Isab. Even so.-Heaven keep your honour! Juliet. I'11 gladly learn. [Going.' Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? Ang. Yet may he live a while; and, it may be, Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wronged him. As long as you, or I: yet he must die. Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act Isab. Under your sentence? Was mutually committed? Ang. Yea. Juliet. Mutually. Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted, Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. That his soul sicken not. Duke.'T is meet so, daughter: but least2 you do Ang. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good repent, To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen As that the sin hath brought you to this shame; A man already made, as to remit Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven, Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image Showing, we would not serve3 heaven, as we love it. In stamps that are forbid: It is all as easy But as we stand in fear. Falsely to take away a life true made, Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil, As to put metal in restrained means, And take the shame with joy. To make a false one. | Duke. There rest. Isab.'T is set down so in heaven, but not in earth. Yotr partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, Ang. Say you so? then, I shall poze you quickly. And I am going with instruction to him. Which had you rather, that the most just law Grace go with you! Benedicite! [Exit. Now took your brother's life or to redeem him Juliet. Must die to-morrow! 0, injurious love, Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness That respites me a life, whose very comfort As she that he hath stained? Is still a dying horror! Isab. Sir, believe this, Prov.'T is pity of him. [Exeunt. I had rather give my body than my soul. SCENE IY.-A oom in ANGELo)s House. AAng. I talk not of your soul. Our compell'd sins SCENE IV.-A Room in ANGELOTS House. Stand more for number than for accompt. Enter ANGELO. Isab. How say you? Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and Ang. Nay, I 11 not warrant that; for I can speak pray Against the thing I say. Answer to this:To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words, I, now the voice of the recorded law, Whilst my intention, hearing not my tongue, Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life' Anchors on Isabel: heaven in my mouth, Might there not be a charity in sin, As if I did but only chew his name, To save this brother's life? And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Isab. Please you to do t, Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied, I ll 7take it as a peril to my soul: Is like a good thing, being often read, It is no sin at all, but charity. Grown sear and tedious; yea, my gravity, Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul, Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, Were equal poize of sin and charity. Could I, with boot, change for an idle plume, Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Which the air beats for vain. 0 place! 0 form! Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, If that be sin,I 711 make it my morn-prayer Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls To have it added to the faults of mine, To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood: And nothing of your answer. Let Is write good angel on the devils horn, Ang. Nay, but hear me. IT is not the devils crest. Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant.. Enter Servant. Or seem so, crafty; and that is not good. How now! who's there? Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, Serv. One Isabel, a sister, But graciously to know I am no better. Desires access to you. Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright, Ang. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. When it doth tax itself: as these black masks I Knight, with the old eds., reads: flaws. 2 Most modern eds. read: lest. 3 spare: in f. e. 4 Retiring: in f. e. SCENE I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 71 Proclaim an inshell'd' beauty ten times louder Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold: Than beauty could displayed.-But mark me: I do arrest your words. Be that you are, To be received plain, I'11 speak more gross. That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none; Your brother is to die. If you be one, (as you are well express'd Isab. So. By all external warrants,) show it now, Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears By putting on the destin'd livery. Accountant to the law upon that pain. Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Isab. True. Let me intreat you speak the former language. Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, Ang. Plainly, conceive I love you. (As I subscribe not that, nor any other, Isab. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me, But in the force2 of question) that you, his sister, That he shall die for it. Finding yourself desir'd of such a person, Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Isab. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Which seems a little fouler than it is, Of the all-binding law; and that there were To pluck on others. No earthly mean to save him, but that either Ang. Believe me, on mine honour, You must lay down the treasures of your body My words express my purpose. To this suppos'd, or else to let him suffer, Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, What would you do? And most pernicious purpose!-Seeming, seeming!Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself: I will proclaim thee, Angelo look for t: That is, were I under the terms of death, Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, Or with an outstretched throat I'11 tell the world And strip myself to death, as to a bed Aloud what man thou art. That longing I've been sick for, ere I'd yield Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel? My body up to shame. My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, Ang. Then must May vouch against you, and my place i' the state, Your brother die. Will so your accusation overweigh, Isab. And't were the cheaper way. That you shall stifle in your own report, Better it were, a brother died at once, And smell of calumny. I have begun, Than that a sister, by redeeming him, And now I give my sensual race the rein: Should die for ever. Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; Ang. Were not you, then, as cruel, as the sentence Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes, That you have slander'd so? That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother Isab. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon, By yielding up thy body to my will, Are of two houses: lawful mercy is Or else he must not only die the death, Nothing akin to foul redemption. But thy unkindness shall his death draw out Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother Or, by the affection that now guides me most, A merriment than a vice. I'11 prove a tyrant to him. As for you, Isab. 0, pardon me, my lord! it oft falls out, Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. To have what we would have, we speak not what we [Exit. mean. Isab. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, I something do excuse the thing I hate, Who would believe me? 0 perilous mouths! For his advantage that I dearly love. That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, Ang. We are all frail. Either of condemnation or approof, Isab. Else let my brother die, Bidding the law make court'sy to their will, If not a feodary, but only he, Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite, Owe, and succeed this3 weakness. To follow as it draws. I'11 to my brother: Ang. Nay, women are frail too. Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, Which are as easy broke as they make forms. That had he twenty heads to tender down Women!-Help heaven! men their creation mar On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail, Before his sister should her body stoop For we are soft as our complexions are, To such abhorr'd pollution. And credulous to false prints. Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: Ang. I think it well; More than our brother is our chastity. And from this testimony of your own sex, I'11 tell him yet of Angelo's request, (Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit, ACT III. Claud. The miserable have SCENE I.-A Room in the Prison.au The erab have No other medicine, but only hope. Enter DUKE, as a Friar, CLAUDIO) and Provost. I have hope to live, and am prepared to die. Duke. So then, you hope of pardon from lord Angelo? Duke. Be absolute for death; either death, or life, 1 enshield: in f.e. 2 loss: in f. e. 3 Kniht: thy. The old copies: by. The word in the text was taken from a copy of the first folio, with MS. emendations, belonging to Lord Francis Egerton. 72 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT nI. Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:- Claud. Perpetual durance? If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing Isab. Ay, just; perpetual durance: a restraint, That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, Though all the world's vastidity you had, Servile to all the skyey influences, To a determined scope. That do this habitation, where thou keep'st, Claud. But in what nature? Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art death's fool; Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to it, For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And yet run'st toward him still: thou art not noble; And leave you naked. For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st, Claud. Let me know the point. Are nurs'd by baseness: thou art by no means valiant; Isab. O! I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Lest thou a feverous life would'st entertain, Of a poor worm: thy best of rest is sleep, And six or seven winters more respect, And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fearst Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die? Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; The sense of death is most in apprehension, For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, That issue out of dust: happy thou art not; In corporal sufferance finds a pang, as great For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get, As when a giant dies. And what thou hast forget'st. Thou art not certain; Claud. Why give you me this shame? For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, Think you I can a resolution fetch After the moon: if thou art rich, thou Irt poor; From flowery tenderness? If I must die, For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, I will encounter darkness as a bride, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And hug it in mine arms. And death unloads thee: friend hast thou none; Isab. There spake my brother: there my father's For thine own bowels. which do call thee sire, grave The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: Do curse the gout, serpigol, and the rheum, Thou art too noble to conserve a life For ending thee no sooner: thou hast nor youth, nor age, In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Dreaming on both; for all thy boasted2 youth Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil; Of palsied eld: and when thou art old and rich, His filth within being cast, he would appear Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, A pond as deep as hell. To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, Claud. The priestly' Angelo? That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Isab. 0,'t is the cunning livery of hell, Lie hid more thousand deaths, yet death we fear, The damnedgst body to invest and cover That makes these odds all even. In priestly garb!5 Dost thou think, Claudio, Claud. I humbly thank you. If I would yield him my virginity, To sue to live, I find, I seek to die, Thou might'st be freed. And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. Claud. 0, heavens! it cannot be. Isab. [Without.] What, ho! Peace here; grace and Isab. Yes, he would give't thee from this rank offence, good company! [welcome. So to offend him still. This night's the time Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a That I should do what I abhor to name, Enter ISABELLA. Or else thou diest to-morrow. Duke. Dear sir, ere loneI 71l visit you again. Claud. Thou shalt not do It. Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. Isab. 0! were it but my life, Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. I'd throw it down for your deliverance Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior; here Js As frankly as a pin. your sister. Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. Duke. Provost, a word with you. Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Prov. As many as you please. Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him, Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, be conceal'd. [Exeunt DUKE and Provost. When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin; Claud. Now, sister, what Is the comfort? Or of the deadly seven it is the least. Isab. Why, as all Isab. Which is the least? Comforts are: most good, most good, indeed. Claud. If it were damnable, he being so wise, Lord Angelo having affairs to heaven, Why would he for the momentary trick Intends you for his swift ambassador, Be perdurably fin'd?-O Isabel! Where you shall be an everlasting lieger3: Isab. What says my brother? Therefore, your best appointment make with speed; Claud. Death is a fearful thing To-morrow you set on. Isab. And shamed life a hateful. Claud. Is there no remedy? Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; Isab. None, but such remedy, as to save a head To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; To cleave a heart in twain. This sensible warm motion to become Claud. But is there any? A kneaded clod; and the delighted6 spirit Isab. Yes, brother, you may live: To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside There is a devilish mercy in the judge, In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; If you ll implore it, that will free your life, To be imprisoned in the viewless winds, But fetter you till death. And blown with restless violence round about 1 A kind of tetter. 2 blessed: in f. e. 3 Resident embassador. 4 f. e. princely; Knight: precise 5 f. e.: guards. 6 Knight suggests de-lighted, that is, removed from light. SCENE I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 73 The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Isab. I am now going to resolve him. I had rather Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts my brother die by the law, than my son should be Imagine howling!-'t is too horrible. unlawfully born. But 0, how much is the good duke The weariest and most loathed worldly life, deceived in Angelo! If ever he return, and I can That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover Can lay on nature, is a paradise his government. To what we fear of death. Duke. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the Isab. Alas! alas! matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation: he Claud. Sweet sister, let me live. made trial of you only.-Therefore, fasten your ear What sin you do to save a brother's life, on my advisings: to the love I have in doing good a Nature dispenses with the deed so far, remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, that That it becomes a virtue. you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady Isab. 0, you beast! a merited benefit, redeem your brother from the angry 0, faithless coward! 0, dishonest wretch! law, do no stain to your own gracious person, and Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he shall Is't not a kind of incest to take life ever return to have hearing of this business. From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? Isab. Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair, to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of For such a warped slip of wilderness1 my spirit. Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance: Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Die; perish! might but my bending down Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed. Frederick, the great soldier who miscarried at sea? I ll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words went No word to save thee. with her name. Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. Duke. Her should this Angelo have married; he was Isab. 0, fie, ie fie! affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: Thy sin Is not accidental, but a trade. between which time of the contract, and limit of the Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea,'T is best that thou diest quickly. [Going. having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. Claud. O hear me, Isabella! But mark how heavily this befel to the poor gentleRe-enter DUKE. woman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister; but one word. in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; Isab. What is your will? with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate3 husband, by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction this well-seeming Angelo. I would require, is likewise your own benefit. Isab. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave Isab. I have no superfluous leisure: my stay must her? be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you a Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them while. with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending Duke. [To CLAUDIO.] Son, I have overheard what in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made sake, and he, as marble to her tears, is washed with an essay of her virtue, to practise his judgment with them, but relents not. the disposition of natures. She, having the truth of Isab. What a merit were it in death to take this honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial poor maid from the world! What corruption in this which he is most glad to receive: I am confessor to life, that it will let this man live!-But how out of this Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore, prepare can she avail? yourself to death. Do not satisfy your resolution with Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die. Go; the cure of it not only saves your brother,'but keeps to your knees, and make ready. you from dishonour in doing it. Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out Isab. Show me how, good father. of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it. Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the Duke. Hold you there: farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO. continuance of her first affection: his unjust unkindRe-enter Provost. ness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, Provost, a word with you. hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more Prov. What's your will, father? violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo: answer his Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone. requiring with a plausible obedience: agree with his Leave me awhile with the maid: my mind promises demands to the point; only refer yourself to this with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. advantage,-first, that your stay with him may not be Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. long, that the time may have all shadow and silence Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath made in it, and the place answer to convenience. This you good; the goodness that is chief2 in beauty makes being granted in course, and now follows all: we shall beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense; and hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that here by this is your brother saved, your honour unfrailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder tainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corat Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, rupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, and make and to save your brother? fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this, as I Wildness, ungrafted. 2 cheap: in f. e. 3 Contracted. 74 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IM. you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the Duke. Still thus, and thus: still worse! deceit from reproof. What think you of it? Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Isab. The image of it gives me content already, Procures she still? Ha! and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and Duke. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you she is herself in the tub. speedily to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to Lucio. Why,'t is good; it is the right of it; it must his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will pre- be so: ever your fresh whore, and your powder'd bawd: sently to St. Luke's; there, at the moated grange, an unshunn'd consequence; it must be so. Art going resides this dejected Mariana: at that place call upon to prison, Pompey? me, and despatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly. Clo. Yes, faith, sir. Isab. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, Lucio. Why,'t is riot amiss, Pompey. Farewell. Go; good father. [Exeunt. say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey, or how?.SCENE II.-The Street before the Prison. Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. ~ SCENE II.-PThe Street before the Prisong. Lucio. Well, then imprison him. If imprisonment Enter DUKE, as a Friar; to him ELBOW, Clown, and be the due of a bawd, why, i t is his right: bawd is he, Officers. doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born. Farewell, Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it; but that you good Pompey: commend me to the prison, Pompey. will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will we shall have all the world drink brown and white keep the house. bastard.' Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my Duke. 0, heavens! what stuff is here? bail. Clo. T was never merry world, since, of two usances,2 Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the the merriest was put down, and the worser allow'd by wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: order of law a furr'd gown to keep him warm; and if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify that craft, more. Adieu, trusty Pompey.-Bless you, friar. being richer than innocency, stands for the facing. Duke. And you. Elb. Come your way, sir.-Bless you, good father Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey? Ha! friar. Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. Duke, And you, good brother father. What offence Clo. You will not bail me, then, sir? hath this man made you, sir? Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now.-What news abroad, Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, friar? What news? we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we have sent Lucio. Go; to kennel, Pompey, go. to the deputy. [Exeunt ELBOW, Clown, and Oficers. Duke. Fie, sirrah: a bawd, a wicked bawd! What news, friar, of the duke? The evil that thou causest to be done, Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of any? That is thy means to live. Do thou but think Lucio. Some say, he is with the emperor of Russia; What't is to cram a maw, or clothe a back, other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you? From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, Duke. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish From their abominable and beastly touches him well. I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to steal Canst thou believe thy living is a life, from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence: Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, he puts transgression to't. sir, I would prove Duke. He does well in't. Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer: harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar. Correction and instruction must both work, Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must Ere this rude beast will profit. cure it. Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kinhim warning. The deputy cannot abide a whoremas- dred: it is well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it ter: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. he were as good go a mile on his errand. They say, this Angelo was not made by man and Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, woman, after the downright way of creation: is it From our faults, as faults from seeming, free! true, think you? Enter Lucio. Duke. How should he be made then? Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir. Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, Clo. I spy comfort: I cry, bail. Here's a gentleman, that he was begot between two stock-fishes; but it is and a friend of mine. certain, that when he makes water, his urine is conLucio. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the geal'd ice: that I knowto be true; and he is a motion wheels of Caesar? Art thou led in triumph? What, is ingenerative, that's infallible. there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, Duke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for extracting it clutchd? What reply? Ha! What the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the life of a say'st thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is't not man? Would the duke that is absent have done this? drown'd i' the last rain? Ha! What say'st thou, Ere he would have hang'd a man for the getting a troth? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing way? Is it sad, and few words, or how? The trick a thousand. He had some feeling of the sport: he of it? knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy. 1 Ital. bastardo, a sweet wine made of raisins. 2 usuries: in f. e. 3 trot: in f. e. SCENE n. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 75 Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detected1 Enter ESCALUS, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. for women: he was not inclined that way. Escal. Go: away with her to prison! Lucio. 0, sir! you are deceived. Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour Duke.'T is not possible. is accounted a merciful man: good my lord. Lucio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still forfifty; and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack-dish. feit in the same kind? This would make mercy swear, The duke had crotchets in him: he would be drunk and play the tyrant. too; that let me inform you. Prov. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it Duke. You do him wrong, surely. please your honour. Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information was the duke; and, I believe, I know- the cause of his against me. Mistress Kate Keep-down was with child withdrawing. by him in the duke's time: he promised her marriage; Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause? his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Lucio. No,-pardon;-'t is a secret must be lock'd Jacob. I have kept it myself, and see how he goes within the teeth and the lips; but this I can let you about to abuse me! understand,-the greater file of the subject2 held the Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much licence:-let duke to be wise. him be called before us.-Away with her to prison! Duke. Wise? why, no question but he was. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and Officers.] Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing Provost, my brother Angelo will not be alterld; Claudio fellow. must die to-morrow. Let him be furnished with divines, Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis- and have all charitable preparation: if my brother taking: the very stream of his life and the business wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, him a better proclamation. Let him be but testi- and advised him for the entertainment of death. monied in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear Escal. Good even, good father. to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Duke. Bliss and goodness on you. Therefore, you speak unskilfully; or, if your know- Escal. Of whence are you? ledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is now Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. To use it for my time: I am a brother Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and know- Of gracious order, late come from the See, ledge with dearer love. In special business from his holiness. Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. Escal. What news abroad i' the world? Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know not Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, (as our goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: prayers are he may,) let me desire you to make your novelty is only in request; and as it is as dangerous answer before him: if it be honest you have spoke, you to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to have courage to maintain it. I am bound to call upon be constant in any undertaking, there is scarce truth you; and, I pray you, your name. enough alive to make societies secure, but security Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the enough to make fellowships accurs'd. Much upon duke. this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray you, report you. sir. of what disposition was the duke? Lucio. I fear you not. JEscal. One that, above all other strifes, contended Duke. O! you hope the duke will return no more, especially to know himself. or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, Duke. What pleasure was he given to? indeed, I can do you little harm; you'll forswear this Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than again. merry at any thing which professed to make him reLucio. I'11 be hang'd first: thou art deceived in me, joice: a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell, if Claudio him to his events, with a prayer they may prove die to-morrow, or no? prosperous, and let me desire to know how you find Duke. Why should he die, sir? Claudio prepared. I am made to understand, that Lucio. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I you have lent him visitation. would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again: this Duke. He professes to have received no sinister ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with con- measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles tinency: sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, himself to the determination of justice; yet had he because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring many deceiving promises of life which I, by my good them to light: would he were return'd! Marry, this leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he resolved Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good to die. friar; I pr'ythee, pray for me. The duke, I say to Escal. You have paid the heavens the due of3 your thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's now function, and the prisoner the very debt of your callpast it; yet, and I say to thee, he would mouth with ing. I have labour'd for the poor gentleman to the a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic: extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother jussay, that I said so. Farewell. [Exit. tice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality tell him, he is indeed-justice. Can censure'scape: back-wounding calumny Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong, proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. [well. But who comes here? Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you 2Suspected. 2 Number of the subjects. 3 The words " the due of": not in f. e. 76 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV. Duke. Peace be with you! 0, what may man within him hide, [Exeunt ESCALUS and Provost. Though angel on the outward side! He, who the sword of heaven will bear, How may likeness, made in crimes, Should be as holy as severe; Masking2 practice on the times, Pattern in himself to know, Draw with idle spiders' strings Grace to stand, virtue to go;1 Most ponderous and substantial things! More nor less to others paying, Craft against vice I must apply. Than by self offences weighing. With Angelo to-night shall lie Shame to him, whose cruel striking His old betrothed, but despised: Kills for faults of his own liking! So disguise shall, by the disguised, Twice treble shame on Angelo, Pay with falsehood false exacting, To weed my vice, and let his grow! And perform an old contracting. [Exit, ACT IV. SCENE I. —A Room at the moated Grange. Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't: With whispering and most guilty diligence, MARIANA discovered sitting: a Boy singing. In action all of precept, he did show me SONG. The way twice o'er. Take, 0! take those lips away, Duke. Are there no other tokens That so sweetly were forsworn; Between you?greed, concerning her observance? And those eyes, the break of day, Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark; Lights that do mislead the morn: And that I have possess'd him my most stay But my kisses bring again, Can be but brief: for I have made him know, Seals of love, but sealed in vain.3 I have a servant comes with me along, aari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick That stays upon me; whose persuasion is, away: I come about my brother. Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Duke.'T is well borne up. Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.- I have not yet made known to Mariana [Exit Boy. A word of this.-What, ho! within! come forth. Enter DUKE. Re-enter MARIANA. T cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish I pray you, be acquainted with this maid: You had not found me here so musical: She comes to do you good. Let me excuse me, and believe me so, Isab. I do desire the like. My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? Duke.'T is good: though music oft hath such a Mari. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it. charm, Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand, To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. Who hath a story ready for your ear. I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me I shall attend your leisure: but make haste; here to-day? much upon this time have I promis'd The vaporous night approaches. here to meet. Mari. Will't please you walk aside? Mari. You have not been inquired after: I have [Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA. sat here all day. Duke. 0 place and greatness! millions of false eyes Enter ISABELLA. Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report Duke. I do constantly believe you.-The time is Run with base6, false and most contrarious quests come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance a Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit little: may be, I will call upon you anon, for some Make thee the father of their idle dreams, advantage to yourself. And rack thee in their fancies! Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit. Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA. Duke. Very well met, and welcome. Welcome! How agreed! What is the news from this good deputy? Isab. She'l take the enterprise upon her, father, Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick, If you advise it. Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; Duke. It is not my consent, And to that vineyard is a plancheda gate, But my entreaty too. That makes his opening with this bigger key: Isab. Little have you to say, This other doth command a little door, When you depart from him, but, soft and low, Which from the vineyard to the garden leads; " Remember now my brother."7 There have I made my promise upon the heavy6 Mari. Fear me not. Middle of the night to call upon him. Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this He is your husband on a pre-contract: way? To bring you thus together,'t is no sin, 1 and virtue go: in f. e. 2 Making: in f. e. 3 This song is found in Beaumont and Fletcher's Bloody Brother, Act V., Sc. II., with a second stanza, as follows. It is attributed to Shakespeare in the spurious Ed. of his Poems, printed in 1640. Hide, oh, hide those hills of snowz Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears; But first set my poor heart free, Bound in icy chains by thee. 4 Boarded. 5 Knight, following the old eds., transfers this woid to the beginning of the next line. 6 these: in f. e. SCENE I. MEASURE FOR EMEASURE. 77 Sith that the justice of your title to him Th' one has my pity; not a jot the other, Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go: Being a murderer, though he were my brother. Our corn s to reap, for yet our field s' to sow. [Exeunt. Enter CLAUDIO. SCENE II.-A Room in the Prison. Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death: TS is now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow Enter Provost and Clown. Thou must be made immortal. Where s Barnardine? Prov. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless labour, head? When it lies starkly2 in the traveller's bones: Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can: but if he He will not awake. be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I can Prov. Who can do good on him? never cut off a woman's head. Well, go; prepare yourself. But hark! what noise? Prov. Come, sir; leave me your snatches, and yield [Knocking within. me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Heaven give your spirits comfort!-By and by:Claudio and Barnardine: here is in our prison a com- [Exit CLAUDIO. mon executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve. you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem For the most gentle Claudio.-Welcome, father. you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full Enter DUKE. time of imprisonment, and your deliverance with an Duke. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night unpitied whipping, for you have been a notorious Envelop you, good provost! Who call'd here of late? bawd. Prov. None, since the curfew rung. Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out Duke. Not Isabel? of mind but yet I will be content to be a lawful Prov. No. hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction Duke. There will then, ere't be long. from my fellow partner. Prov. What comfort is for Claudio? Prov. What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, Duke. There's some in hope. there? Prov. It is a bitter deputy. Enter ABHORSON. Duke. Not so, not so: his life is parallel'd Abhor. Do you call, sir? Even with the stroke and line of his great justice. Prov. Sirrah, here Is a fellow will help you to-morrow He doth with holy abstinence subdue in your execution. If you think it meet, compound That in himself, which he spurs on his power with him by the year, and let him abide here with you; To qualify in others: were he meal'd3 with that if not, use him for the present, and dismiss him. He Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; cannot plead his estimation with you: he hath been a [Knocking within. bawd. But this being so, he's just.-Now are they come.Abhor. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! he will dis- [Exit Provost. credit our mystery. This is a gentle provost: seldom, when Prov. Go to, sir: you weigh equally: a feather will The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking. turn the scale. [Exit. How now? What noise? That spirit's possessed with Clo. Pray. sir, by your good favour, (for, surely, sir, haste, a good favour you have but that you have a hanging That wounds the resisting4 postern with these strokes. look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery? Re-enter Provost. Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery. Prov. [Speaking to one at the door.] There he must Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; stay, until the officer and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation Arise to let him in: he is call'd up. using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery; but Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should But he must die to-morrow? be hang'd, I cannot imagine. Prov. None, sir, none. Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, Clo. Proof? You shall hear more ere morning. Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief. Prov. Happily, Clo. If it be too little for your thief, your true man You something know; yet, I believe, there comes thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, No countermand: no such example have we. your thief thinks it little enough: so, every true mans Besides, upon the very siege of justice, apparel fits your thief. Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Re-enter Provost. Profess'd the contrary. Prov. Are you agreed? Enter a Messenger. Clo. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find, your hang- Duke. This is his lordship's man.5 man is a more penitent trade than your bawd: he doth Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. oftener ask forgiveness. Mles. My lord hath sent you this note; [giving a Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe paper] and by me this further charge, that you swerve to-morrow, four o'clock. not from the smallest article of it, neither in time, Abhor. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as trade: follow. I take it, it is almost day. Clo. I do desire to learn, sir; and, I hope, if you Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall Duke. This is his pardon; purchas'd by such sin, find me yare; for, truly, sir, for your kindness I owe [side. you a good turn. For which the pardoner himself is in: Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio: Hence hath offence his quick celerity, [Exeunt Clown and ABHORSON. When it is born in high authority.' tithe's: in f. e. a Stiffly. 3 Mingled. 4 unsisting: in f. e. 5 Knight gives this speech to the Provost, and the next to the Duke 78 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV. When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended, fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead That for the fault's love is th' offender friended.- against it with my life. Now, sir, what news? Prov. Pardon me, good father: it is against my Prov. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me oath. remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted Duke. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the putting on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used deputy? it before. Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. Duke. Pray you, let's hear. Duke. You will think you have made no offence, if Prov. [Reads.] "Whatsoever you may hear to the the Duke avouch the justice of your dealing. contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock; Prov. But what likelihood is in that? and, in the afternoon, Barnardine. For my better satis- Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet faction, let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, Let this be duly performed; with a thought, that more nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt you, I will depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not go farther than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.7 — Look you, sir; here is the hand and seal of the Duke: What say you to this, sir? you know the character, I doubt not, and the signet is Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be exe- not strange to you. cuted in the afternoon? Prov. I know them both. Prov. A Bohemian born; but here nursed up and Duke. The contents of this is the return of the bred: one that is a prisoner nine years old. Duke: you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure, Duke. How came it, that the absent Duke had not where you shall find, within these two days he will be either deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed him? here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not, for he I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so. this very day receives letters of strange tenor; perProv. His friends still wrought reprieves for him: chance, of the Duke's death; perchance, entering into and, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Duke. It is now apparent? Put not yourself into amazement how these things Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. should be: all difficulties are but easy when they are Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? known. Call your executioner, and off with BarnarHow seems he to be touch'd? dine's head: I will give him a present shrift, and Prov. A man that apprehends death no more dread- advise him for a better place. Yet you are amazed, fully but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it fearless of what's past, present, or to come: insensible is almost clear dawn. [Exeunt. of mortality, and desperately mortal. SCENE III.-Another Room in the Same. Duke. He wants advice. Prov. He will hear none. He hath evermore had Enter Clown. the liberty of the prison: give him leave to escape Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not house of profession: one would think, it were mistress many days entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked Over-done's own house, for here be many of her old him, as if to carry him to execution, and show'd him customers. First, here Is young Mr. Rash; he's in for a seeming warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all. a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,1 ninescore Duke. More of him anon. There is written in your and seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks, brow, provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not ready money: marry, then, ginger was not much in truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but in the bold- request, for the old women were all dead. Then is ness of my cunning I will lay myself in hazard. there here one Mr. Caper, at the suit of master ThreeClaudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour d no greater forfeit to the law, than Angelo who hath satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we sentenced him. To make you understand this in a here young Dicy, and young Mr. Deep-vow, and Mr. manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite, for the Copper-spur, and Mr. Starve-lackey, the rapier and which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that kill'd Lusty courtesy. Pudding, and Mr. Forthright the tilter, and brave Mr. Prov. Pray, sir, in what? Shoe-tie the great traveller, and wild Half-can that Duke. In the delaying death. stabb'd Pots, and, I think, forty more, all great doers Prov. Alack! how may I do it. having the hour in our trade, and are now ina for the Lord's sake.3 limited, and an express command, under penalty, to Enter ABHORSON. deliver his head in the view of Angelo? I may make Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. Clo. Mr. Barnardine! you must rise and be hang'd, Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you: if Mr. Barnardine. my instructions may be your guide, let this Barnardine Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine! be this morning executed, and his head borne to Barnar. [Within.] A pox o7 your throats! Who Angelo. makes that noise there? What are you? Prov. Angelo hath seen them both and will discover Clo. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must the favour. be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. Duke. O! death's a great disguiser, and you may Barnar. [Within.] Away, you rogue, away! I am add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say, sleepy. it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly too. his death: you know, the course is common. If any Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are thing fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good executed, and sleep afterwards. i It was a custom of usurers to compel borrowers to take part of the sum advanced to them in goods, often of little real value. * Not in f. e. 3 Imprisoned debtors used to beg from the jail windows, " for the Lord's sake." SCENE III. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 79 Abhor. Go in to nim, and fetch him out. I Now will I write letters to Angelo, Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming: I hear his (The provost, he shall bear them) whose contents straw rustle. Shall witness to him, I am near at home, Enter BARNARDINE. And that by great injunctions I am bound Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? To enter publicly: him I'11 desire Clo. Very ready, sir. [you? To meet me at the consecrated fount, Barnar. How now, Abhorson? what Is the news with A league below the city; and from thence, Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into By cold gradation and well-balanc'd form,* your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come. We shall proceed with Angelo. Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night: Re-enter Provost. I am not fitted for't. Prov. Here is the head; I'11 carry it myself. Clo. 0! the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, Duke. Convenient is it. Make a swift return, and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may sleep the For I would commune with you of such things, sounder all the next day. That want no ear but yours. Enter DUKE. Prov. I'11 make all speed. [Exit Abhor. Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly Isab. [Within.] Peace, ho, be here! father. Do we jest now, think you? Duke. The tongue of Isabel.-She's come to know, Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how If yet her brother's pardon be come hither; hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, But I will keep her ignorant of her good, comfort you, and pray with you. To make her heavenly comforts of despai-, Barnar. Friar, not I: I have been drinking hard all When it is least expected. night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or Enter ISABELLA they shall beat out my brains with billets. I will not Isab. Ho! by your leave. consent to die this day, that's certain. Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious Duke. 0, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech daughter. you, Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. Look forward on the journey you shall go. Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any man's Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world. persuasion. His head is off, and sent to Angelo. Duke. But hear you,- Isab. Nay, but it is not so. Barnar. Not a word: if you have any thing to say Duke. It is no other. [Catching her.' to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day. Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. [Exit. Isab. O! I will to him, and pluck out his eyes. Enter Provost. Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. Duke. Unfit to live, or die. 0, grovelling beast! — Isab. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel! After him, fellows: bring him to the block. Perjurious6 world! Most damned Angelo! [Exeunt ABHORSON and Clown. Duke. This not hurts him, nor profits you a jot: Prov. Now, sir; how do you find the prisoner? Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven. Duke. A creature unprepared, unmeet for death; Mark what I say to you,7 which you shall find And, to transport him in the mind he is, By every syllable a faithful verity. Were damnable. The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes: Prov. Here in the prison, father, One of our convent, and his confessor There died this morning of a cruel fever Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, Notice to Escalus and Angelo, A man of Claudions years; his beard, and head, Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, Just of his colour. What if we do omit There to give up their power. If you can, pace your This reprobate, till he were well inclin'd, wisdom And satisfy the deputy with the visage In that good path that I would wish it go, Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? And you shall have your bosom2 on this wretch, Duke. 0,'t is an accident that heaven provides! Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, Despatch it presently: the hour draws on And general honour. Prefix'd by Angelo. See, this be done, Isab. I am directed by you. And sent according to command, whiles I Duke. This letter, then, to friar Peter give: Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.'T is that he sent me of the duke's return: Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently, Say, by this token, I desire his company But Barnardine must die this afternoon; At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours And how shall we continue ClaudioI ll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you To save me from the danger that might come, Before the duke; and to the head of Angelo If he were known alive? Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self, Duke. Let this be done.-Put them in secret I am confined' by a sacred vow, holds, And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter. Both Barnardine and Claudio; Command these fretting waters from your eyes Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting With a light heart: trust not my holy order, To yonder2 generation, you shall find If I pervert your course.-Who's here? Your safety manifest.3 Enter LucIo. Prov. I am your free dependant. Lucio. Good even. Duke. Quick, despatch, and send the head to Angelo. Friar, where is the provost? [Exit Provost. Duke. Not within, sir. gravel heart: in f. e. a yond: in f. e. 3 manifested: in f. e. 4 weal-balanc'd in f. e. Not in f. e. 6 Injurious: in f. e. 7 The words to you not in f. e. 8 Wish. 9 combined: in f. e. 80 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V. Lucio. 0, pretty Isabella! I am pale at mine heart, And dull to all proceedings. A deflowered maid, to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am And by an eminent body, that enforced fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not The law against it!-But that her tender shame for my head fill my belly: one fruitful meal would set Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, me to't. But, they say, the duke will be here to- How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her: morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother; no; if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been at For my authority bears such2 a credent bulk home, he had lived. [Exit ISABELLA. That no particular scandal once can touch, Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, your reports; but the best is, he lives not in them. Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous -sense, Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, I do: he's a better woodman than thou takest him For so receiving a dishonour'd life for. With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had livd! Duke. Well, you'11 answer this one day. Fare ye Alack! when once our grace we have forgot, well. [Going. Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not. [Exit. Lucio. Nay, tarry: I'l go along with thee. I can SCENE V-Fields without the Town. tell thee pretty tales of the duke. r i i i n Duke. You have told me too many of him already, Enter DUE n hts own habtt and Fiar PETER. sir, if they be true; if not true, none were enough. Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench [Giving them.3 with child. The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. Duke. Did you such a thing? The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, Lucio. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear And hold you ever to our special drift, it: they would else have married me to the rotten Though sometimes you do blench* from this to that, medlar. As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house, Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. And tell him where I stay: give the like notice Rest you well. [Going. Unto Valentius, Rowland, and to Crassus, Lucio. By my troth I'11 go with thee to the lane's And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; end. If bawdy talk offend you, we'11 have very little But send me Flavius first. of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick. F. Peter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit Peter. [Exeunt. Enter VARRIUS. SCENE IV. A Room in ANELos Hos. Duke. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good SCENE IV.-A Room in ANGELO'S House. haste. Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS. Come, we will walk: there's other of our friends Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt. other. Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. SCENE VI-Street near the City Gate. His actions show much like to madness: pray heaven, Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA. His wisdom be not tainted! Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath: And why meet him at the gates, and re-deliver I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, Our authorities there? That is your part; yet I'm advis'd to do it, Escal. I guess not. He says, to'vailful5 purpose. Ang. And why should we Mari. Be rul'd by him. Proclaim it an hour before his entering, Isab. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure That if any crave redress of injustice, He speak against me on the adverse side, They should exhibit their petitions I should not think it strange; for't is a physic, In the street?1 That's bitter to sweet end. Escal. He shows his reason for that: to have a des- Mari. I would, friar Peterpatch of complaints, and to deliver us from devices Isab. 0, peace! the friar is come. hereafter, Enter Friar PETER. Which shall then have no power to stand against us. F. Peter. Come; I have found you out a stand most Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd: fit, Betimes i' the morn, I'11 call you at your house. Where you may have such vantage on the duke, Give notice to such men of sort and suit, He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets As are to meet him. sounded: Escal. I shall, sir: fare you well. [Exit. The generous and gravest citizens Ang. Good night.- Have hent the gates, and very near upon This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant, The duke is ent'ring: therefore hence, away. [Exeunt. ACT V. E.- p. n e C G Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. SCENE I.-A public Place near the City Gate.. and Escal. Hapy return be to your royal Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal MARIANA, (veil'd,) ISABELLA and PETER, at a distance. grace! Enter at several doors, DUKE, VARRIUS, Lords; AN- Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. GELO, ESCALUS, LucO, Provost Oficers, and Citizens. We have made inquiry of you; and we hear Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met.- Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 1 Knight and other eds. print this and Angelo's former speech in prose. 2 of: in f. e. 3 letters: in f. e. 4 Start off. 6 to veil full purpose: in f. e. SCENE I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 81 Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Isab. 0, gracious duke! Forerunning more requital. Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason Ang. You make my bonds still greater. For incredulity7' but let your reason serve Duke. 0! your desert speaks loud; and I should To make the truth appear, where it seems hid, wrong it, And hide the false seems true. To lock it in the wards of covert bosom Duke. Many that are not mad, When it deserves with characters of brass Have, sure, more lack of reason. —What would you say? A forted residence'gainst the tooth of time, Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand, Condemn'd upon the act of fornication And let the subject see, to make them know To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo. That outward courtesies would fain proclaim I, in probation of a sisterhood, Favours that keep within.-Come, Escalus; Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio You must walk by us on our other hand, As then the messenger.And good supporters are you. Lucio. That's I, an It like your grace. Friar PETER and ISABELLA come forward. I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her F. Peter. Now is your time. Speak loud, and kneel To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, before him. For her poor brother's pardon. Isab. Justice 0 royal duke! Vail your regard Isab. That's he, indeed. [Kneeling.' Duke. You were not bid to speak. Upon a wrong'd, 1 would fain have said, a maid! Lucio. No, my good lord; 0 worthy prince! dishonour not your eye Nor wish'd to hold my peace. By throwing it on any other object, Duke. I wish you now, then: Till you have heard me in my true complaint, Pray you, take note of it; and when you have And given me justice, justice, justice, justice! A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then Duke. Relate your wrongs: in what? by whom? Be Be perfect. brief. Lucio. I warrant your honour. Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice: Duke. The warrant's for yourself: take heed to it. Reveal youiself to him. Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Isab. O, worthy duke! [Rising.2 Lucio. Right. You bid me seek redemption of the devil. Duke. It may be right; but you are in the wrong Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak To speak before your time.-Proceed. Must either punish me, not being believd, Isab. I went Or wring redress from you. Hear me, 0, hear, me, To this pernicious, caitiff deputy. here! [Kneeling again.3 Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm: Isab. Pardon it: She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, The phrase is to the matter. Cut off by course of justice. Duke. Mended again: the matter?-Now proceed. Isab. By course of justice! [Rising.4 Isab. In brief,-to set the needless process by, Ang. And she will speak most bitterly, and strangely.5 How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, Isab. Most strangely, yet6 most truly, will I speak. How he refell'd me, and how I replied, That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange? (For this was of much length) the vile conclusion That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange? I now begin with grief and shame to utter. That Angelo is an adulterous thief, He would not, but by gift of my chaste body An hypocrite, a virgin-violator, To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Is it not strange, and strange? Release my brother; and, after much debatement, Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange. My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo, And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes, Than this is all as true as it is strange: His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth For my poor brother's head. To th' end of reckoning. Duke. This is most likely. Duke. Away with her.-Poor soul! Isab. 0, that it were as likes, as it is true! She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense. Duke. By heaven, fond wretch! thou know'st not Isab. 0 prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st what thou speak'st, There is another comfort than this world, Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion In hateful practice. First, his integrity That I am touch'd with madness: make not impossible Stands without blemish: next, it imports no reason, That which but seems unlike.'T is not impossible, That with such vehemency he should pursue But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, As Angelo; even so may Angelo, And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on: In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal prince: Thou cam'st here to complain. If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, Isab. And is this all? Had I more name for badness. Then O! you blessed ministers above, Duke. By mine honesty, Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time, If she be mad, as I believe no other, Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, In countenance!-Heaven shield your grace from woe, Such a dependency of thing on thing, As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! As e'er I heard in madness. Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone.-An officer! 1 2 9 Not in f. e. 5 strange: in f. e. 6 Most strange, but yet, &c.: in f. e. 7 inequality: in f. e. 8 Probable. 6 82 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V. To prison with her.-Shall we thus permit Lucio. Well, my lord. A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married; On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. And, I confess, besides, I am no maid: -Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? I have known my husband, yet my husband knows not Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. That ever he knew me. Duke. A ghostly father, belike.-Who knows that Lucio. He was drunk, then, my lord: it can be no Lodowick? better. Lucio. My lord, I know him:'t is a meddling friar: Duke. For the benefit of silence,'would thou wert I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord, so too For certain words he spake against your grace, Lucio. Well, my lord. In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. Duke. Words against me? This a good friar, belike. Mari. Now I come to't, my lord. And to set on this wretched woman here She that accuses him of fornication, Against our substitute!-Let this friar be found. In self-same manner doth accuse my husband; Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar And charges him, my lord, with such a time, I saw them at the prison. A saucy friar When, I'11 depose, I had him in mine arms, - A very scurvy fellow. With all th' effect of love. F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace! Ang. Charges she more than me? I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Mari. Not that I know. Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman Duke. No? you say, your husband. Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute, Mari. Why, just my lord, and that is Angelo; Who is as free from touch or soil with her, Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, As she from one ungot. But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. Duke. We did believe no less. Ang. This is a strange abuse.-Let's see thy face. Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy; [Unveiling. Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, As he's reported by this gentleman; Which once, thou swor'st, was worth the looking on: And, on my truth1, a man that never yet This is the hand which with a vow'd contract, Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. Was fast belock'd in thine: this is the body Lucio. My lord, most villainously: believe it. That took away the match from Isabel, F. Peter. Well; he in time may come to clear him- And did supply thee at thy garden-house3 self. In her imagin'd person. But at this instant he is sick, my lord, Duke. Know you this woman? Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request, Lucio. Carnally, she says. Being come to knowledge that there was complaint Duke. Sirrah, no more. Intended'gainst lord Angelo, came I hither, Lucio. Enough, my lord. To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this woman; Is true, and false; and what he with his oath, And five years since there was some speech of marriage And all probation, will make up full clear, Betwixt myself and her, which was broke off, Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman, Partly, for that her promised proportions To justify this worthy nobleman Came short of composition; but, in chief, So vulgarly and personally accus'd For that her reputation was disvalued Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, In levity: since which time of five years Till she herself confess it. I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. Upon my faith and honour. [ISABELLA is carried off guarded; and MARIANA Mari. Noble prince, [Kneeling.' comes forward. As there comes light from heaven, and words from Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo?- breath, O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!- As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, Give us some seats.-Come, cousin Angelo; I am affianced this man's wife, as strongly In this I'11 be impartial2: be you judge As words could make up vows: and, my good lord, Of your own cause.-Is this the witness, friar? But Tuesday night last gone, in's garden-house First, let her show her face, and after speak. He knew me as a wife. As this is true Mari. Pardon, my lord, I will not show my face, Let me in.safety raise me from my knees, Until my husband bid me. Or else for ever be confixed here, Duke. What, are you married? A marble monument. Mari. No, my lord. Ang. I did but smile till now: Duke. Are you a maid? Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; Mari. No, my lord. My patience here is touched. I do perceive, Duke. A widow, then? These poor informal5 women are no more Mari. Neither, my lord. But instruments of some more mightier member, Duke. Why, you That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord, Are nothing then: neither, maid, widow, nor wife? To find this practice out. Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of Duke. Ay, with my heart; them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. And punish them unto your height of pleasure.Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had some Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, cause Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou, thy oaths, To prattle for himself. Though they would swear down each particular saint, 1 trust: in f. e 2 Im, that is, very partial, a common use of the prefix. 3 Summer-house. 4 Not in f. e.: Senseless. SCENE I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 83 Were testimonies against his worth and credit, To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth, That Is sealed in approbation?-You, lord Escalus, And in the witness of his proper ear, Sit with my cousin: lend him your kind pains To call him villain? And then to glance from him To find out this abuse, whence It is derivd.- To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice?There is another friar that set them on; Take him hence; to the rack with him.-We'11 touse you Let him be sent for. Joint by joint, but we will know your2 purpose.F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord; for he, What! unjust? indeed, Duke. Be not so hot; the duke dare3 Hath set the women on to this complaint. No more stretch this finger of mine, than he Your provost knows the place where he abides, Dare rack his own; his subject am I not, And he may fetch him. Nor here provincial. My business in this state Duke. Go, do it instantly.- [Exit Provost. Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, Till it o'er-run the stew: laws for all faults, Do with your injuries as seems you best, But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes In any chastisement: I for a while Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, Will leave you; but stir not you, till you have well As much in mock as mark. Determined upon these slanderers. [Exit DUKE. Escal. Slander to the state! Away with him to prison. Escal. My lord, we'1 do it thoroughly.-Signior Ang. What can you vouch against him, signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew that friar Lodowick Lucio? to be a dishonest person? Is this the man that you did tell us of? Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum: honest in Lucio.'T is he, my lord.-Come hither, goodman nothing, but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke bald-pate; do you know me? most villainous speeches of the duke. Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he voice: I met you at the prison in the absence of the come, and enforce them against him. We shall find duke. this friar a notable fellow. Lucio. 0, did you so? And do you remember what Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. you said of the duke? Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again: [To Duke. Most notedly, sir. an Attendant.] I would speak with her. Pray you, Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmy lord, give me leave to question; you shall see how monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported I 711 handle her. him to be? Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere Escal. Say you? you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her pri- him: and much more, much worse. vately, she would sooner confess: perchance, publicly Lucio. 0, thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck she 11 be ashamed. thee by the nose, for thy speeches? Re-enter Officers, with ISABELLA: the DUKE, in a Duke. I protest, I love the duke as I love myself. Friar's habit, and Provost. Ang. Hark how the villain would gloze now, after Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. his treasonable abuses. Lucio. That Is the way; for women are light at mid- Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal:night. Away with him to prison.-Where is the provost?Escal. Come on mistress. [To ISABELLA.] Here's a Away with him to prison. Lay bolts enough upon gentlewoman denies all that you have said. him, let him speak no more.-Away with those giglots4 Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; too, and with the other confederate companion. here, with the provost. [The Provost lays hand on the DUKE. Escal. In very good time:-speak not you to him, Duke. Stay, sir; stay a while. till we call upon you. Ang. What! resists he? Help him, Lucio. Lucio. Mum. Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh! sir. Escal. Come, sir. Did you set these women on to Why,youbald-pated,lyingrascal! youmust behooded, slander lord Angelo? they have confessd you did. must you? show your knave's visage, with a pox to Duke.'T is false. you! show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an Escal. How! know you where you are? hour. Will't not off? Duke. Respect to your great place! then let the devil [Pulling off the DUnKE' disguise.5 Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne.- Duke. Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a Where is the duke?'t is he should hear me speak. duke.- [All start and stand6. Escal. The duke's in us, and we will hear you speak: First, provost, let me hail these gentle three.Look, you speak justly. Sneak not away, sir; [To Lucio.] for the friar and you Duke. Boldly, at least.-But 0, poor souls! Must have a word anon.-Lay hold on him. Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox? Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone? Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon; sit you Then is your cause gone too. The duke Is unjust, down. [To EscALUS. Thus to reject' your manifest appeal, We'11 borrow place of him:-Sir, by your leave. And put your trial in the villain's mouth, To ANGELO. Which here you come to accuse. Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, Lucio. This is the rascal: this is he I spoke of. That yet can do thee office? If thou hast, Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallowed friar! Rely upon it till my tale be heard, Is't not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women And hold no longer out. 1 retort: in f. e. 2 his: in f. e. 3 Knight transfers this word to the beginning of the next line. a Wantons. 5 Pulls off the Friar's hood, and discovers the DUKE: in f. e. 6 Not in f. e. 84 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V. Ang. 0, my dread lord! Mari. 0, my dear lord, I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, I crave no other, nor no better man. To think I can be undiscernible, Duke. Never crave him: we are definitive. When I perceive your grace, like power divine, Mari. Gentle my liege,- [Kneeling. Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince, Duke. You do but lose your labour. No longer session hold upon my shame, Away with him to death.-Now, sir, [To Lucio.] to you. But let my trial be mine own confession: Mari. 0, my good lord!-Sweet Isabel, take my part; Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, Lend me your knees, and all my life to come, Is all the grace I beg. I l11 lend you all my life to do you service. Duke. Come hither, Mariana.- Duke. Against all sense you do importune her: Say, wast thou eler contracted to this woman? Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Ang. I was, my lord. Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly.- And take her hence in horror. Do you the office, friar; which consummate, Mari. Isabel, Return him here again.-Go with him, provost. Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me: [Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, PETER, and Provost. Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'11 speak all. Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour, They say, best men are moulded out of faults, Than at the strangeness of it. And, for the most, become much more the better Duke. Come hither, Isabel. For being a little bad: so may my husband. Your friar is now your prince: as I was then 0, Isabel! will you not lend a knee? Advertising and holy to your business, Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. Not changing heart with habit, I am still Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling. Attorney'd at your service. Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, Isab. 0, give me pardon, As if my brother liv'd. I partly think, That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, Your unknown sovereignty! Till he did look on me: since it is so, Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel: Let him not die. My brother had but justice, And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. In that he did the thing for which he died: Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; For Angelo And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself, His act did not o'ertake his bad intent; Labouring to save his life, and would not rather And must be buried but as an intent Make rash demonstrance of my hidden power, That perish'd by the way. Thoughts are no subjects, Than let him so be lost. 0, most kind maid! Intents but merely thoughts. It was the swift celerity of his death, Mari. Merely, my lord. Which I did think with slower foot came on, Duke. Your suit's unprofitable: stand up, I say.That brain'd my purpose: but all peace be with him! [They rise. That life is better life. past fearing death, I have bethought me of another fault.Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort, Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded So happy is your brother. At an unusual hour? Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, PETER, and Provost. Prov. It was commanded so. Isab. I do, my lord. Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed? Duke. For this new-married man, approaching here, Prov. No, my good lord: it was by private message. Whose salt imagination yet hath wronged Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office: Your well-defended honour, you must pardon Give up your keys. For Mariana's sake. But, as he adjudg'd your brother, Prov. Pardon me noble lord: (Being criminal, in double violation I thought it was a fault, but knew it not, Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach, Yet did repent me, after more advice; Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,) For testimony whereof, one in the prison, The very mercy of the law cries out That should by private order else have died, Most audible, even from his proper tongue, I have reserv'd alive. " An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!" Duke. What's he? Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure, Prov. His name is Barnardine. Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. Duke. I would thou had'st done so by Claudio.Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested, Go, fetch him hither: let me look upon him. Which, though thou would'st deny, denies thee vantage. [Exit Provost. We do condemn thee to the very block Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.- As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Away with him. Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, Mari. 0, my most gracious lord! And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. I hope you will not mock me with a husband. Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure; Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, husband. That I crave death more willingly than mercy: Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,'T is my deserving, and I do entreat it. I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, Re-enter Provost, BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO (muffled'), For that he knew you, might reproach your life, and JULIET. And choke your good to come. For his possessions, Duke. Which is that Barnardine? Although by confiscation they are ours, Prov. This, my lord. We do instate and widow you withal, Duke.- There was a friar told me of this man.To buy you a better husband. Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, 1 2Not in f. e. SCENE i. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 85 That apprehends no farther than this world, (As I have heard him swear himself there's one And squarlst thy life according. Thou'rt condemned Whom he begot with child,) let her appear, But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd, And pray thee, take this mercy to provide Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. For better times to come.-Friar, advise him: Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me to I leave him to your hand.-What muffled fellow s that? a whore! Your highness said even now I made you a Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd, duke: good my lord, do not recompense me in making That should have died when Claudio lost his head, me a cuckold. As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffes him. Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. Duke. If he be like your brother, [To ISABELLA,] Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal for his sake, Remit thy other forfeits.-Take him to prison, [CLAUDIO and ISABELLA embrace.l And see our pleasure herein executed. Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely sake, Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to Give me your hand, and say you will be mine, death, whipping, and hanging. He is my brother too. But fitter time for that. Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it.By this lord Angelo perceives he's safe: She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.Methinks, I see a quickening in his eye.- Joy to you, Mariana!-love her, Angelo: Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well: I have confessed her, and I know her virtue.Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth yours.- Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: I find an apt remission in myself, There's more behind that is more gratulate. And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.- Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy; You, sirrah, [To Lucio,] that knew me for a fool, a We shall employ thee in a worthier place.coward, Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home One all of luxury, an ass, a madman: The head of Ragozine for Claudio's: Wherein have I so well deserved of you, Th' offence pardons itself.-Dear Isabel, That you extol me thus? I have a motion much imports your good; Lucio.'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, the trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.I had rather it would please you, I might be whipp'd. So bring us to our palace; where we'11 show Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after.- What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, [Curtain drawn.o If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 1 ot in f.e. 2 Exeunt: in f. e. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus. A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. ~EGEON. a Merchant of Syracuse. PINCH, a Schoolmaster. ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, } Twin Brothers, Sons to ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, JEgeon and AEmilia. JEMILIA, Wife to JEgeon. DROMIO of Ephesus, } Twin Brothers, tt t AttenaDRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. DRoMIo of Syracuse, on the two Antipholuses. LUCIANA, her sister., BALTHAZAR, a Merchant. LUCE, Servant to Adriana. ANGELO, a Goldsmith. A Courtezan. Jailor, Officers, and other Attendants. SCENE: Ephesus. ACT I. SCENE I.-A Hall in the DUKE'S Palace. In Syracu-.., and wed Unto a woman, happy but for me Enter SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus, _EGEON, a Merchant And by me too had not our hap been bad. of Syracusa Jailor, Officers, and other Attendants. With her I liv'd in joy: our wealth increased lEge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, By prosperous voyages I often made And by the doom of death end woes and all. To Epidamnum: till my factor's death, Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more. And the great care of goods at random left I am not partial, to infringe our laws: Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: The enmity and discord, which of late From whom my absence was not six months old, Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke Before herself (almost at fainting under To merchants, our well-de ling countrymen,- The pleasing punishment that women bear) Who, wanting gilders to re'eem their lives, Had made provision for her following me, Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,- And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. There had she not been long, but she became For, since the mortal and intestine jars A joyful mother of two goodly sons;'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, And, which was strange, the one so like the other, It hath in solemn synods been decreed, As could not be distinguished but by names. Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, That very hour, and in the self-same inn, To admit no traffic to our adverse towns: A poor mean woman was delivered Nay, more, if any, born at Ephesus, Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs; Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, Again, if any Syracusian born I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies; My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose, Made daily motions for our home return: Unless a thousand marks be levied, Unwilling I agreed. Alas. too soon we came aboard!2 To quit the penalty, and to ransom him. A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd. Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, Before the always-wind-obeying deep Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; Gave any tragic instance of our harm: Therefore, by law thou art condemned to die. But longer did we not retain much hope; 2Ege. Yet this my comfort; when your words are For what obscured light the heavens did grant done, Did but convey unto our fearful minds My woes end likewise with the evening sun. A doubtful warrant of immediate death; Duke. Well, Syracusian; say, in brief, the cause Which, though myself would gently' have embraced, Why thou departedst from thy native home, Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. Weeping before for what she saw must come, zEge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd, And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable; That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, Yet, that the world may witness, that my end Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. Was wrought by fortune', not by vile offence, And this it was,-for other means were none.I 11 utter what my sorrow gives me leave. The sailors sought for safety by our boat, ] nature: in f. e. 2 Malone makes a separate line of the last three words. 3 gladly. SCENE II. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 87 And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us. But though thou art adjudged to the death, My wife, more careful for the latter-born, And passed sentence may not be recall'd, Had fastened him unto a: small spare mast, But to our honour;s great disparagement, Such as sea-faring men provide for storms: Yet will I favour thee in what I can: To him one of the other twins was bound Therefore, merchant, I 11 limit thee this day, Whilst I had been like' heedful of the other. To seek thy hope2 by beneficial help. The children thus disposd, my wife and I, Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; Fixing our'eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, Fasten'd. ourselves at either end the mast; And live; if no, then thou art doomed to die.And floating straight, obedient to the stream, Jailor, now3 take him to thy custody. Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. Jail. I will, my lord. At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,; Ege. Hopeless, and helpless, doth /Egeon wend, Dispersed those vapours that offended us, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. And by the benefit of his wished light The seas wax'd calm, and we discoveredSCENE II.A public Place. Two ships from far making amain to us; Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Syracuse, and a Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: Merchant. But ere they came, -0 let me say no more! Mler. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum, Gather the sequel by that went before. Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so. This very day, a Syracusian merchant For we may pity, though not pardon thee. Is apprehended for arrival here;,Ege. 0, had the gods done so, I had not now And, not being able to buy out his life Worthily term'd them merciless to us!:According to the statute of the town, For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. We were encountered by a mighty rock, There is your money that I had to keep. Which being violently borne upon, Ant. S. Go, bear it to the Centaur, where we host, Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. So that in this unjust divorce of us Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Fortune had left to both of us alike Till then, I11 view the manners of the town, What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened And then return and sleep within mine inn, With lesser weight. but not with lesser woe, For with long travel I am stiff and weary. Was carried with more speed before the wind, Get thee away. And in our sight they three were taken up Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word, By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. And go indeed having so good a mean. At length another ship had seized on us; [Exit,4 shaking money-bag. And knowing whom it was their hap to save, Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir; that very oft, Gave healthful welcome to their shipwrecked guests; When I am dull with care and melancholy, And would have reft the fishers of their prey, Lightens my humour with his merry jests. Had not their bark been very slow of sail, What, will you walk with me about the town, And therefore homeward did they bend their course.- And then go to my inn, and dine with me? Thus have you heard me severed from my bliss, Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, And by misfortune was my life prolongd, Of whom I hope to make much benefit; To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. I crave your pardon. Soon5 at five o'clock, Duke. And, for the sake of' them thou sorrowest for, Please you, I'11 meet with you upon the mart, Do me the favour to dilate at full And afterwards consort you till bed-time: What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. My present business calls me from you now. jEge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, Ant. S. Farewell till then. I will go lose myself, At eighteen years became inquisitive And wander up and down to view the city. After his brother; and importuned me, ler. Sir, I commend you to your own content. That his attendant (so his case was like, [Exit. Reft of his brother. but retained his name,) Ant. SHe that commends me to mine own content, Might bear him company in the quest of him; Commends me to the thing I cannot get. Whom whilst he1 labour'd of all love to see, I to the world am like a drop of water, I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. That in the ocean seeks another drop; Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia; Unseen, inquisitive confounds himself: And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus, So I, to find a mother, and a brother, Hopeless to find, yet loth to leave unsought In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. Or that, or any place that harbours men. Enter DaRMIO of Ephesus. But here must end the story of my life; Here comes the almanack of my true date.And happy were I in my timely death, What now? How chance thou art returned so soon? Could all my travels warrant me they live. Dro. E. Returned so soon! rather approached too Duke. Hapless ZEgeon, whom the fates have marked late. To bear the extremity of dire mishap! The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit, Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, My mistress made it one upon my cheek: Which princes, would they, may not disannul, She is so hot, because the meat is cold; My soul should sue as advocate for thee. The meat is cold, because you come not home; 1 I laboured of a: in f. e. 2 help: in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. 4 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 5 About five o'clock. 88 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT Ir. You come not home, because you have no stomach; Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, You have no stomach, having broke your fast; That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd. But we, that know what't is to fast and pray, Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? Are penitent1 for your default to-day. Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate; Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir. Tell me this, I pray; Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, Where have you left the money that I gave you?'But not a thousand marks between you both. Dro. E. 0! sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last If I should pay your worship those again, To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper. Perchance, you would not bear them patiently. The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not. Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now. hast thou? Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust Phoenix; So great a charge from thine own custody? She that doth fast till you come home to dinner. Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner. And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. I from my mistress come to you in post; Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, If I return, I shall be post2 indeed; Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. For she will score your fault upon my pate.3 [Strikes him. Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock, Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold And strike you home without a messenger. your hands. Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come; these jests are out Nay, an you will not, sir, I'11 take my heels. of season: [Exit running.4 Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? The villain is o'er-raught5 of all my money. Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. They say, this town is full of cozenage; Ant. S. Come on, sir knave; have done your fool- As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, ishness, Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. Soul-killing witches that deform the body,. Dro. E; My charge was but to fetch you from the Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, mart. And many such like libertines of sin: Home to your house the Phcenix, sir, to dinner. If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. I'1 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave: Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me I greatly fear, my money is not safe. In what safe place you have bestow'd my money, [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I.-A public Place. Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. Enter ADRIANA, wife to ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus) and Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some LUCIANA) her sister. sway. Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd Luc. Ere I learn love, I 11 practise to obey. That in such haste I sent to seek his master? Adr. How if your husband start some other where? Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him. Adr. Patience unmov'd, no marvel though she pause; And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. They can be meek, that have no other cause. Good sister, let us dine, and never fret. A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, A man is master of his liberty: We bid be quiet, when we hear-it cry: Time is their master; and, when they see time, But were we burden'd with like weight of'pain, They'll go, or come: if so, be patient, sister. As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more? So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, Luc. Because their business still lies out o' door. With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me; Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. But if thou live to see like right bereft, Luc. 0! know he is the bridle of your will. This fool-begg'd patience6 in thee will be left. Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so. Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try.Luc. Why, head-strong liberty is lash'd with woe. Here comes your man: now is your husband nigh. There Is nothing situate under heaven's eye, Enter DROMIO of Ephesus. But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that Are their males' subjects, and at their controls. my two ears can witness. Men, more divine, the masters of all these Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, thou his mind? Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Dro. E. Ay, ay; he told his mind upon mine ear. Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Are masters to their females, and their lords: Luc. Spake he so doubly,7 thou couldst not feel his Then, let your will attend on their accords. meaning? 1 Doing penance. 2 It was a custom to mark the score of a shop on a post. 3 cook: in f. e. 4 Not in f. e. 5 Over-reached.' 6 An allusion to the custom of soliciting the management of the estate of a fool. 7 Doubtfully. X",. ~~~~~ —-- — ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~z~ Zr, Hill~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"1"1''"""""lrll,~11111 ~. ~.,~,,~.........,,,,~x 1~..~ il~.l~!1111tii~,!,~~~~ ~l,,~~ t,..,.~~~.~. ~' ~~...,i,~tl,~~,~"~~:~-~~, ~',;,,,,~,,~ ANTIPHOLUS ANqD DROMffI OF EPHtESUS. Comedy of Errors, Act II. Scene 2 SCENE II. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 89 Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well SCENE II.-The Same. feel his blows; and withal so doubly, that I could scarce understand them. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse. Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home? Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain! By computation, and mine host's report, Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad I could not speak with Dromio, since at first But, sure, he is stark mad. I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. When I desirld him to come home to dinner, Enter DROMIO of Syracuse. He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold: How now, sir! is your merry humour altered?'T is dinner-time, quoth I; my gold, quoth he: As you love strokes, so jest with me again. Your meat doth burn, quoth I; my gold, quoth he: You know no Centaur? You receiv'd no gold? Will you come, quoth I? my gold, quoth he: Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain? My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad, The pig, quoth I, is burned; my gold, quoth he: That thus so madly thou didst answer me? My mistress, sir, quoth I; hang up thy mistress! Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a I know not thy mistress: out on thy mistress! word? Luc. Quoth who? Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour Dro. E. Quoth my master: since. I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress. Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, So that my errand, due unto my tongue, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders; Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner; Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased. Dro.' E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. For God's sake, send some other messenger. What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating. teeth? Between you I shall have a holy head. Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. Adr. Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home. [Beating him. Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me, Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your jest is That like a foot-ball you do spurn me thus? earnest: You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: Upon what bargain do you give it me? If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes [Exit. Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, Luc. Fie, how impatience lowreth in your face! Your sauciness will jest upon my love, Adr. His company must do his minions grace, And make a common of my serious hours. Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, Hath homely age th' alluring beauty took But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. From my poor cheek? then, he hath wasted it: If you will jest with me, know my aspect, Are my discourses dull? barren my wit? And fashion your demeanour to my looks, If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd Or I will beat this method in your sconce. Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave Do their gay vestments his affections bait? battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use That's not my fault; he's master of my state. these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and What ruins are in me, that can be found insconce5 it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my By him not ruined? then, is he the ground shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten? Of my defeatures'. My decayed fair' Ant. S. Dost thou not know? A sunny look of his would soon repair; Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten.'But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, Ant. S. Shall I tell you why? And feeds from home: poor I am but his stale.3 Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every Luc. Self-harming jealousy!-fie! beat it hence. why hath a wherefore. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. Ant. S. Why, first,-for flouting me; and then, I know his eye doth homage other where, wherefore,-for urging it the second time to me. Or else, what lets it but he would be here? Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain: season, Would that alone, alone he would detain, When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! nor reason?I see, the jewel best enamelled4 Well, sir, I thank you. Will lose his beauty: yet though gold'bides still, Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what? That others touch, and often touching will Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something, that you Wear gold; and no man, that hath a name, gave me for nothing. But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Ant. S. I 11 make you amends next, and give you Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner time? I'1 weep what's left away, and weeping die. Dro. S. No, sir: I think, the meat wants that I have. Luc. How many fond fools serve madjealousy! [Ex'nt. Ant. S. In good time, sir: what's that? 1 Uncomeliness. 2 Fairness. 3 His pretended wife-the stalking-horse, behind which sportsmen formerly shot, was so called. 4This and the two following lines are struck out by the MS. emendator of the folio of 1632-where the two succeeding lines of the text, in the first folio of 1623, are also omitted. 5 Sconce means a small fortification, as well as head; hence, insconce, to fortify. 90 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT I. Dro. S. Basting. For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall Ant. S. Well, sir, then't will be dry. A drop of water in the breaking gulph, Dro. S. If it be. sir, I pray you eat none of it. And take unmingled thence that drop again, Ant. S. Your reason? Without addition or diminishing, Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase As take from me thyself, and not me too. me another dry basting. How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there Is Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious, a time for all things. And that this body, consecrate to thee, Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were By ruffian lust should be contaminate! so choleric. Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, Ant. S. By what rule, sir? And hurl the name of husband in my face, Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow, bald pate of father Time himself. And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, Ant. S. Let Is hear it. And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it. hair that grows bald by nature. I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; Ant. S. May he- not do it by fine and recovery? My blood is mingled with the crime of lust: Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover For, if we two be one, and thou play false, the lost hair of another man. I do digest the poison of thy flesh; Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. as it is, so plentiful an excrement? Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed, Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on I live unstain'd,2 thou undishonoured. beasts; and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not. given them in wit. In Ephesus I am but two hours old, Ant. S. Why, but there Is many a man hath more As strange unto your town, as to your talk; hair than wit. Who, every word by all my wit being scannmd, Dro S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to Want wit in all one word to understand. lose his hair. Luc. Fie, brother: how the world is changed with you! Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain When were you wont to use my sister thus? dealers, without wit. She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he Ant. S. By Dromio? loseth it in a kind of jollity. Dro. S. By me? Ant. S. For what reason? Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from Dro. S. For two: and sound ones too. him,Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows Dro. S. Sure ones then. Denied my house for his, me for his wife. Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentleDro. S. Certain ones then. woman? Ant. S. Name them. What is the course and drift of your compact? Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. in trimming'; the other, that at dinner they should Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words not drop in his porridge. Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, there Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. is no time for all things. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names, Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, e'en no time Unless it be by inspiration? to recover hair lost by nature. Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, there is no time to recover. Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, therefore to the world's end, will have bald followers. But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Ant. S. I knew, It would be a bald conclusion. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine; But soft! who wafts us yonder? Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown: Makes me with thy strength to communicate: Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; The time was once, when thou unurg-d wouldst vow Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion That never words were music to thine ear, Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. That never object pleasing in thine eye, Ant. S. To me she speaks; she means3 me for her That never touch well welcome to thy hand, theme! That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, What, was I married to her in my dream, Unless I spake, or looked, or touch'd, or carved. Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this? How comes it now, my husband, 0! how comes it, What error draws4 our eyes and ears amiss? That thou art thus estranged from thyself? Until I know this sure uncertainty; Thyself I call it, being strange to me, I 11 entertain the proffer'd5 fallacy. That, undividable, incorporate, Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. Am better than thy dear self's better part. Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; This is the fairy land: 0, spite of spites! 1 tyring: in f. e.; an alteration by Pope, of trying, in old eds. 2 disstained: the emendation in the text was suggested by Warburtan. 3 moves: in f. e. 4 Drives. 5 offered: in f. e. The old eds. read: freed. SCENE I. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 91 We talk with goblins, owls, and elves and sprites.1 Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn. If we obey them not, this will ensue. Come, sir, to dinner.-Dromio, keep the gate. — They L11 suck our breath. or pinch us black and blue. Husband, I'11 dine above with you to-day, Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st riot? And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.Dromio thou Dromio, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am I not? Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter.- Ant. S. I think thou art, in mind, and so am I.'Come, Sister.-Dromio, play the porter well. Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. Sleeping or waking? mad, or well-advised? Dro. S. No, I am an ape. Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd? Luc. If thou art changed to aught, It is to an ass. I ll say as they say, and persever so, Dro. S. 2T is true; she rides me, and' I long for grass. And in this mist, at all adventures, go.'T is so, I am an ass: else it could never be Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? But I should know her, as well as she knows me. Adr. Ay, and let none enter, lest I break your pate. Adr. Come, come; no longer will I be a fool, Luc. Come, come, Antipholus; we dine too late. To put the finger in my eye and weep, [Exeunt. ACT III. lSCENTE I.-The Same. |Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Gin! [Calling. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus; Dro. S. [Within.] Mome,5 malt-horse, capon, coxANGELO, and BALTHAZAR. comb, idiot, patch!6 Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us; Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours, hatch. Say, that I lingered with you at your shop Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for To see the making of her carkanet2 such store, And. that to-morrow you will bring it home; When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door. But here's a villain, that would face me down Dro. E. What patch is made our porter?-My He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, master stays in the street. And charged him with a thousand marks in gold; Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came lest he And that I did deny my wife and house.- catch cold on's feet. Thou drunkard, thou, what did'st thou mean by this? Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho! open the door. Dro. E. Say what you will, sir; but I know what I Dro. S. Right, sir: I'11 tell you when, an you l11 tell know. me wherefore. That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not show; din'd to-day. If my3 skin were parchment, and the blows you gave Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not, come again were ink, when you may. Your own hand-writing would tell you for certain' Ant. E. What art thou that keep st me out from what I think, the house I owe? Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir; and my name Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear, is Dromio. By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. Dro. E. 0 villain! thou hast stolen both mine office I should kick, being kicked; and being at that pass, and my name: You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: pray God, If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, our cheer Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or May answer my good-will, and your good welcome thy name for a face.7 here. Luce. [Within.] What a coil is there, Dromio: who Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel- are those at the gate? come dear. Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. Ant. E. 0, signior Balthazar! either at flesh or fish, Luce. Faith no; he comes too late; A table-full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. And so tell your master. Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl Dro. E. 0 Lord, I must laugh:affords. Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in my Ant. E. And welcome more common, for that s staff? nothing but words. Luce. Have at you with another: that's,-when? Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry can you tell? feast. Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing answered him well. guest: Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'1l let us in, But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; I trow?8 Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. But soft! my door is locked. Go bid them let us in. Dro. S. And you said, no. 1 elvish sprites: in f. e. 2 Necklace. 3 the: in f. e. 4 These two words not in f. e. /wyoo, mummer, a silent performer, blockheadj who has nothing to say. 6 One patched up, a pretender. 7 an ass: in f. e. 8 hope: in f. e. 92 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT m. Dro. E. So; come, help! well struck; there was And about evening come yourself alone blow for blow. To know the reason of this strange restraint. Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. If by strong hand you offer to break in, Luce. Can you tell for whose sake? Now in the stirring passage of the day, Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. A vulgar comment will be made of it; Luce. Let him knock till it ache. And that supposed by the common route, Ant. E. You'11 cry for this, minion, if I beat the Against your yet ungalled estimation, door down. That may with foul intrusion enter in, Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in And dwell upon your grave when you are dead: the town? For slander lives upon succession, Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps For ever housed, where it gets possession. all this noise? Ant. E. You have prevail'd: I will depart in quiet, Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. unruly boys. I know a wench of excellent discourse, Ant. E. Are you there wife? you might have come Pretty and witty; wild, and yet too, gentle; before. There will we dine. This woman that I mean, Adr. Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the My wife (but I protest, without desert,) door. Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal: Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave To her will we to dinner.-Get you home, would go sore. And fetch the chain; by this, I know,'t is made: Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: we Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;4 would fain have either. For there's the house. That chain will I bestow Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part1 with (Be it for nothing but to spite my wife) neither. Upon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master: bid them Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, welcome hither. I'11 knock elsewhere, to see if they'11 disdain me. Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we Ang. I'11 meet you at that place, some hour hence. cannot get in. Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some exDro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments pense. [Exeunt. were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the SCENE II.-The Same. cold: Enter LUCIANA, and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse. It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot, and sold.2 A husband's office? Shall unkind debate5 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something: I'11 break ope the Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? gate. Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate? Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'1 break If you did wed my sister for her wealth, your knave's pate. Then, for her wealth's sake use her with more kindDro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir, ness: and words are but wind; Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth: Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not be- Muffle your false love with some show of blindness; hind. Let not my sister read it in your eye; Dro. S. It seems, thou want'st breaking. Out upon Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; thee, hind! Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; Dro. E. Here's too much out upon thee! I pray Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: thee let me in. Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Dro. S. Ay when fowls have no feathers, and fish Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint: have no fin. Be secret-false; what need she be acquainted? Ant. E. Well, I'11 break in. Go, borrow me a What simple thief brags of his own attaint? crow.'T is double wrong to truant with your bed, Dro. E. A crow without feather? master, mean you And let her read it in thy looks at board: so? Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; For a fish without a fin,there Is a fowl without a feather. Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word. If a crow help us in, sirrah, we l11 pluck a crow together. Alas, poor women! make us but believe, Ant. E. Go, get thee gone: fetch me an iron Being compact of credit,6 that you love us; crow. Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve, Bal. Have patience, sir; O let it not be so: We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Herein you war against your reputation, Then, gentle brother, get you in again: And draw within the compass of suspect Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife. Th' unviolated honour of your wife.'T is holy sport to be a little vain, Once this,8-Your long experience of her wisdom, When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, I Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; know not, And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,) Why at this time the doors are made against you. Less in your knowledge, and your grace you show not, Be rul'd by me: depart in patience, Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine. And let us to the Tiger all to dinner; Teach me dear creature, how to think and speak: 1 Depart. 2 In the same sense as our slang phrase, sold. 3 Once for all let me tell you this. 4 All the old eds. have Porpentine, which Dyce would retain, as a distinct form of the word used by many old writers. s f. e. have Antipholus, in place of the last two words. 6 Full of credulity. SCENE II. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 93 Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, )ro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and all Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to The folded meaning of your words' deceit. make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. Against my soul's pure truth, why labour you I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn To make it wander in an unknown field? a Polar winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'11 burn Are you a god? would you create me new? a week longer than the whole world. Transform me then, and to your power I'11 yield. Ant. S. What complexion is she of.6 But if that I am I, then well I know, Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, like so clean kept: for why? she sweats; a man may Nor to her bed no homage do I owe: go over shoes in the grime of it. Far more, far more, to you do I incline.1 Ant. S. That Is a fault that water will mend. 0, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, Dro. S. No, sir;'t is in grain: Noah's flood could To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears. not do it. Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote: Ant. S. What Is her name? Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, Dro. S. Nell, sir; but her name is three quarters, And as a bed I 11 take thee and there lie; that is, an ell; and three quarters will not measure And, in that glorious supposition, think her from hip to hip. He gains by death, that hath such means to die: Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth? Let Love,2 being light, be drowned if she sink! Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip Luc. What! are you mad, that you do reason so? to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out Ant. S. Not mad, but mated;3 how, I do not know. countries in her. Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks: I found it out Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear by the bogs. your sight. Ant. S. Where Scotland? Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness, hard, in the night. palm of the hand. Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. Ant. S. Where France? Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, makLuc. That Is my sister. ing war against her heir.7 Ant. S. No; Ant. S. Where England? It is thyself, mine own self's better part; Dro. S. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could Mine eye's clear eye, my dear hearts dearer heart; find no whiteness in them: but I guess, it stood in My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France Myrsole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim, and it. Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. Ant. S. Where Spain? Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet for I am thee. Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her Thee will I love and with thee lead my life: breath. Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? Give me thy hand. Dro. S. 0! sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished Luc. 0, soft; sir! hold you still: with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich I ll fetch my sister, to get her good-will. [Exit. aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole Enter DROMIO of Syracuse, running.4 armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio! where run'st thou Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? so fast? Dro. S. 0! sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, Dro. S. Do you know me sir? am I Dromio? am I this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; call'd me your man? am I myself? Dromio; swore, I was assured to her: told me what Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my art thyself, shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my Dro. S. I am an ass; I am a woman s man, and left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, besides myself. I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thy- my heart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtailself? dog, and made me turn i' the w;heel. Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently post to the road, woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one And if the wind blow any way from shore, that will have me. I will not harbour in this town to-night. Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to Where I will walk till thou return to me. your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not If every one knows us, and we know none, that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she,'T is time, I think, to trudge. pack, and begone. being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, Ant. S. What is she? So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here, man may not speak of, without he say, sir-reverence.5 And therefore' t is high time that I were hence. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet she is a She that doth call me husband, even my soul wondrous fat marriage. Doth for a wife abhor; but her fair sister, Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat marriage? Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, 1 decline: in f. e. 2 Shakespeare often speaks of love as feminine. 3 Made senseless. 4 hastily: in f e. 5 Salvd reverentid, save reverence. 6 This and the following passages, to and including, " I did not look so low," are struck out by the MS. emendator. "An allusion to the war of the League-the people were " making war," after the assassination of Henry III. in 1589, against the heir Henry IV. 94 TIHE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT IV. Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have. Hath almost made me traitor to myself: Go home with it, and please your wife withal; But, lest myself be guilty of self-wrong, And soon at supper-time'I11 visit you, I 11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song And then receive my money for the chain Enter ANGELO. Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, Ang. Master Antipholus? For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. Ant. S. Ay, that Is my name. Ang. You are a merry man, sir. Fare you well. Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo! here is the chain. ]Exit. I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine; Ant. S. What T should think of this, I cannot tell; The chain unfinished made me stay thus long. But this I think, there Is no man is so vain, Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with That would refuse so fair an offered chain. this? I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, Ang. What please yourself, sir: I have made it for When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. you. I' 11 to the mart, and there for Dromio stay: Ant. S. Made it for me, sir? I bespoke it not. If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The Same. Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you? Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have, Enter a Merchant, ANGELO, and an Oficer. Or else you may return without your money. Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due, ng. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain: And since I have not muchimportun'd you; Both wind and tide stay for this gentleman, Nor now I had not, but that I am bound And I, to blame, have held him here too long. To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage: Ant. E. Good lord! you use this dalliance, to excuse Therefore, make present satisfaction, Your breach of promise to the Porcupine. Or I 11 attach you by this officer. I should have chid you for not bringing it, Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. Is growing' to me by Antipholus; Mer. The hour steals on: I pray you, sir, dispatch. And, in the instant that I met with you, Ang. You hear, how he importunes me: the chainHe had of me a chain: at five o'clock, Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your I shall receive the money for the same. money. Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, Ang. Come, come; you know, I gave it you even now. I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Either send the chain, or send by me- some token. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, and DROMIO of Ephesus, Ant. E. Fie! now you run this humour out of breath. from the Courtezan's.2 Come, where Is the chain? 1 pray you, let me see it. Off. That labour may you save: see where he comes. li]er. My business cannot brook this dalliance. Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou Good sir, say, whe'r you'11 answer me, or no? And buy a rope's end, that will I bestow If not,I 711 leave him to the officer. Among my wife and these3 confederates, Ant. E. I answer you! what should I answer you? For locking me out of my doors by day.- Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain. But soft, I see the goldsmith.-Get thee gone; Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a-year? I buy a Ant. E. You gave me none: you wrong me much rope? [Exit. to say so. Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to you: Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it: I promis'd me your presence, and the chain, Consider how it stands upon my credit. But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. Belike, you thought our love would last too long, Off. I do, and charge you in the duke's naime to If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not. obey me. Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note Ang. This touches me in reputation.How much your chain weighs to the utmost caract, Either consent to pay this sum for me, The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, Or I attach you by this officer. Which doth amount to three odd ducats more Ant. E. Consent to pay for5 that I never had? Than I stand debted to this gentleman: Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. I pray you, see him presently discharged, Ang. Here is thy fee: arrest him, officer.For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. I would not spare my brother in this case, Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present money; If he should scorn me so apparently. Besides, I have some business in the town. Off. I do arrest you sir. You hear the suit. Good signior, take the stranger to my house, Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail.And with you take the chain, and bid my wife But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear, Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof: As all the metal in your shop will answer. Perchance, I will be there as soon as you. Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, Ang. Then, you will bring the chain to her yourself? To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come not time Enter DROMIo of Syracuse. enough. Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, i Accruing. 2 Knight omits the last three words. 3 their: in f. e. 4 me by: in f. 5 thee: in f. e. SCENE III. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 95 That stays but till her owner comes aboard, Enter DROMIO of Syracuse, running. And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, Dro. S. Here, go: the desk! the purse! swift3, now I have convey'd aboard, and I have bought make haste. The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitoe. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? The ship is in her trim: the merry wind Dro. S. By running fast. Blows fair from land; they stay for nought at all, Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? But for their owner, master, and yourself. Dro. S. No, he s in Tartar limbo, worse than hell: Ant. E. How now? a madman! Why, thou peevish1 A devil in an everlasting garment: hath him fell5, sheep, One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel; What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? Who knows no touch of mercy, cannot feel6; Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. A fiend, a fury7, pitiless and rough; Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; rope; A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that counterAnd told thee to what purpose, and what end. mands Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon. The passages and alleys, creeks and narrow lands: You sent.me to the bay, sir, for a bark. A hound that runs counter,8 and yet draws dry-foot Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure, well;9 And teach your ears to list me with more heed. One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight; helll~. Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? That's covered o'er with Turkish tapestry, Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is'rested on There is a purse of ducats: let her send it. the case. Tell her, I am arrested in the street, Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me. at whose suit. And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave, be gone. Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well; On, officer, to prison till it come. But he's in a suit of buffwhich'rested him, that can I tell. [Exeunt Merchant, ANGELO, Officer, and ANT. E. Will you send him, mistress, redemption? the money Dro. S. To Adriana? that is where we din'd, in his desk? Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: Adr. Go fetch it, sister.-This I wonder at; She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. [Exit LUCIANA. Thither I must, although against my will, That he, unknown to me should be in debt: For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. Tell me, was he arrested on a bandc? Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; SCENE II.-The Same. I n SCENE II. —The Same. A chain, a chain: do you not hear it ring! Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. Adr. What, the chain? Adr. Ah! Luciana, did he tempt thee so? Dro. S. No, no, the bell.'T is time that I were gone: Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. That he did plead in earnest? yea or no? Adr. The hours come back! that did I never hear. Look'd he or red, or pale? or sad, or merry? Dro. S. 0 yes; if any hour meet a serjeant,'a turns What observation mad'st thou in this case, back for very fear. Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost thou Luc. First he denied you had in him no right. reason! Adr. He meant, he did me none: the more my spite. Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. than he's worth, to season. Adr. And true he swore though yet forsworn he Nay, he is a thief too: have you not heard men say, were. That time comes stealing on by night and day? Luc. Then pleaded I for you. If he be in debt and theft, and a serjeant in the way, Adr. And what said he? Hath he not reason to turn back any hour in a day? Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me.'Re-enter LUCIANA. Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? Adr.' Go, Dromio: there's the money, bear it straight, Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might move. And bring thy master home immediately.First, he did praise my beauty; then, my speech. Cornme sister; I am pres'sd down with conceit, Adr. Didst speak him fair? Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt. Luc. Have patience, I beseech. SCENE III.-The Same. Adr. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still: My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. Enter ANTIPIOLUS of Syracuse, wearing the chain. He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, Ant. S. There's not a man I meet but doth salute me, Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; As if I were their well acquainted friend; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, And every one doth call me by my name. Stigmatical2 in making, worse in mind. Some tender money to me, some invite me; Luc. Who would be jealous, then, of such a one? Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Some offer me commodities to buy: Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say, Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. And show'd me silks that he had bought for me Far from her nest the lapwing cries away: And, therewithal, took measure of my body. My heart prays for him, though my tongue do Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, curse. And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 1 Silly. 2 Disfigured. 3 sweet: in f. e. 4 Serjeants wore bff. 5 Not in f. e. 6 This line is not in f. e. 7 The old copies have fairy; Theobald suggested the change made by the MS. emendator. 8 An allusion to his taking persons arrested to the Counter prison. 9 A hunting phrase, meaning to hunt by the scent of the animal'sfoot. 10 This was the name of a place of confinement under the Exchequer chamber, for the debtors of the crown. " Bond. 96 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT IV. Enter DROMIO of Syracuse. Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for. I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. What have you got' the picture of old Adam new Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let apparell'd? us go. Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock: mistress, that mean? you know. [Exeunt ANT. and DRO. Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, that Adam that keeps the prison: he that goes in the Else would he never so demean himself. calf's-skin that was killed for the prodigal: he that A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you And for the same he promised me a chain: forsake your liberty. Both one and other he denies me now. Ant. S. I understand thee not. The reason that I gather he is mad, Dro. S. No? why, It is a plain case: he that went, Besides this present instance of his rage, like a base-viol, in a case of leather: the man, sir, that, Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and'rests Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. them: he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits, gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to On purpose shut the doors against his way. do more exploits with his mace, than a morris-pike.3 My way is now, to hie home to his house, Ant. S. What, thou mean'st an officer? And tell his wife, that, being lunatic, Dro. S. Ay, sir, the serjeant of the band; he that He rush'd into my house, and took perforce brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band; one My ring away. This course I fittest choose that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. "God give you good rest!"7N SCENE IV.-The Same. Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is N V. e am there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, and a Jailor. gone? Ant. E. Fear me not, man; I will not break away: Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, I'11 give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then To warrant thee, as I am'rested for. were you hindered by the serjeant to tarry for the hoy My wife is in a wayward mood to-day, Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver And will not lightly trust the messenger: you. That I should be attached in Ephesus, Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I, I tell you,'t will sound harshly in her ears. And here we wander in illusions. Enter DIRMIo of Ephesus wiith a rope's-end. Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Here comes my man: I think he brings the money.Enter a Courtezan. How now, sir? have you that I sent you for? Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: Ant. E. But where's the money? Is that the chain, you promised me to-day? Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not! Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope? Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan? Dro. E. I'11 serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. Ant. S. It is the devil. Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; home? and here she comes in the habit of a light wench: and Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir; and to that end am I thereof comes that the wenches say, "God damn me," return'd. that's as much as to say, " God make me a light wench." Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: [Beating him. light is an effect of fire and fire will burn: ergo, light Jail. Good sir, be patient. wenches will burn. Come not near her. Dro. E. Nay, t is for me to be patient; I am in Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. adversity. Will you go with me? we I11 mend our dinner here. Jail. Good now, hold thy tongue. Dro. S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, be- Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. speak a long spoon. Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! Ant. S. Why, Dromio? Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir; that I might Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon that must not feel your blows. eat with the devil. Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, Ant. S. Avoid, thou4 fiend! what tell'st thou me of and so is an ass. supping? Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed: you may prove it by Thou art as you are all, a sorceress: my long ears. I have served him from the hour of I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, hands for my service, but blows. When I am cold, he Or for my diamond the chain you promised, heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me And I'1 be gone, sir, and not trouble you. with beating: I am wak'd with it, when I sleep; rais'd Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of one's with it, when I sit; driven out of doors with it, when nail, I go from home; welcomed home with it, when I A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, a nut, a cherry- return: nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar stone: wont her brat; and, I think, when he hath lamed me, But she, more covetous, would have a chain. I shall beg with it from door to door. Master, be wise: an if you give it her, Ant. E. Come, go along: my wife is coming The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. yonder. 1 What have you done with. 2 A reference to the serjeant's suit of buff. 3 A Moorish pike. 4 then: in f. e. SCENE IV. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 97 Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the Courtezan, and a Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no gold; Schoolmaster called PINCH. But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. Dro. E. Mistress, respice finem,l respect your end: Adr. Dissembling villain! thou speak'st false in both. or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, "beware the Ant. E. Dissembling harlot! thou art false in all, ropers end." And art confederate with a damned pack Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beats him. To make a loathsome, abject scorn of me; Cour. How say you now? is not your husband mad? But with these nails 1'11 pluck out those false eyes, Adr. His incivility confirms no less.- That would behold in me this shameful sport. Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; Enter three or four, and bind ANTIPHOLUS and Establish him in his true sense again, DROMIO. And I will please you what you will demand. Adr. 0 bind him, bind him! let him not come near Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! me. Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy! Pinch. More company!-the fiend is strong within Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your him. pulse. Luc. Ah me! poor man, how pale and wan he looks. Ant. E. There is my hanld, and let it feel your ear. Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou jailor, Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man, thou, To yield possession to my holy prayers, I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight: To make a rescue? I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. Jail. Masters, let him go. Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad. He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. Adr. 0, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul! Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. Ant. E. You minion, you; are these your customers? Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? Did this companion with the saffron face Hast thou delight to see a wretched man Revel and feast it at my house to-day, Do outrage and displeasure to himself? Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, Jail. He is my prisoner: if I let him go, And I denied to enter in my house? The debt he owes will be requird of me. Adr. 0, husband, God doth know, you din'd at home; Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee. Where vwould you had remained until this time, Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, Free from these slanders, and this open shame! And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. Ant. E. Din'd at home? Thou, villain, what say'st Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd thou? Home to my house.-O, most unhappy day! Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. Ant. E. 0, most unhappy strumpet! Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond for out? you. Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were locked, and you Ant. E. Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou shut out. mad me? Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there? Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. good master; Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and Cry, the devil.scorn me? Luc. God help, poor souls! how idly do they talk. Dro. E. Certes, she did; the kitchen-.vestal scorned Adr. Go bear him hence.-Sister, go you with me.you. [Exeunt PINCH and assistants with ANT. and DRO. Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence? Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? Dro. E. In verity, you did:-my bones bear witness, Jail. One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you know him? That since have felt the rigour2 of his rage. Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he owes? Adr. Is It good to soothe him in these contraries? Jail. Two hundred ducats. Pinch. It is no shame: the fellow finds his vein, Adr. Say, how grows it due? And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. Jail. Due for a chain your husband had of him. Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me. Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day By Dromio here who came in haste for it. Came to my house, and took away my ring, Dro. E. Money by me! heart and good-will you (The ring I saw upon his finger now) might; Straight after did I meet him with a chain. But, surely, master, not a rag of money. Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it.Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats! Come, jailor, bring me where the goldsmith is: Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. I long to know the truth hereof at large. Luc. And I am witness with her that she did. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, with his rapier drawn, Dro. E. God and the rope-maker now3 bear me and DROMIO of Syracuse. witness, Luc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again. That I was sent for nothing but a rope! Adr. And come with naked swords. Let's call more Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is possessed: help, I know it by their pale and deadly looks. To have them bound again, They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. Jail. Away! they Ill kill us. Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth [Exeunt ADRIANA, LUCIANA, and Jailor. to-day? Ant. S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. And why dost thou deny the bag of gold? Dro. S. She, that would be your wife; now ran from Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. you. I In Ulpian Fulwell's First Parte of the Eighth Liberal Science, 1579, these words occur, and are translated in a marginal note, All's well that ends well." Shakespeare may have borrowed both a phrase and a title from this work. 2 vigour: in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. 7 98 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT V. Ant. S. Come to the Centaur: fetch our stuff1 from but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage thence: of me, I could find in my heart to stay here still, and I long that we were safe and sound aboard. turn witch. Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they will surely Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town; do us no harm; you saw they spake us fair, gave us Therefore away, to get out stuff aboard. [Exeunt. gold. Methinks they are such a gentle nation, that ACT V. SCENE.-The Sa. B e an A. Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye SCENE I.-The Same. Before an Abbey. Strayd his ffection in unlawful love? Stray'd his affection in unlawful love? Enter Merchant and ANGELO. A sin prevailing much in youthful men,'Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you; Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. But, I protest, he had the chain of me, Which of these sorrows is he subject to? Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. Adr. To none of these, except it be the last; Mer. How is the man esteemed here in the city? Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir; Abb. You should for that have reprehended him. Of credit infinite, highly belovd, Adr. Why, so I did. Second to none that lives here in the city: Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. His word might bear my wealth at any time. Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he walks. Abb. Haply, in private. Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Syracuse. Adr. And in assemblies too. Ang.'T is so; and that self chain about his neck, Abb. Ay, but not enough. Which he forswore most monstrously to have. Adr. It was the copy of our conference. Good sir, draw near with me, I 11 speak to him.- In bed, he slept not for my urging it; Signior Antipholus, I wonder much At boardi he fed not for my urging it; That you would put me to this shame and trouble; Alone, it was the subject of my theme; And not without some scandal to yourself, In company, I often glanc'd at3 it: With circumstance and oaths so to deny Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. This chain, which now you wear so openly: Abb. And thereof came it that the man was mad: Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, The venom clamours of a jealous woman You have done wrong to this my honest friend; Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. Who, but for staying on our controversy, It seems, his sleeps were hindered by thy railing, Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day. And thereof comes it, that his head is light. This chain, you had of me: can you deny it? Thou say'st, his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings: Ant. S. I think, I had: I never did deny it. Unquiet meals make ill digestions; Mer. Yes, that you did, sir; and forswore it too. Thereof the raging fire of fever bred: Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it? And what's a fever but a fit of madness? Mer. These ears of mine thou knowest, did hear Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls: thee. Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, Fie on thee, wretch! It is pity that thou liv'st But moody and dull melancholy, To walk where any honest men resort. Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus. And at her heels a huge infectious troop I ll prove mine honour and mine honesty Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life? Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest Mer. Idare, and dodefythee for avillain. [Theydraw. To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast. Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, Courtezan, and Others. The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits Adr. Hold! hurt him not, for God's sake! he is mad.- Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. Some get within him2; take his sword away. Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly, Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. When he demeaned himself rough, rude, and wildly.Dro. S. Run, master, run; for God's sale take a house! Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not? This is some priory:-in, or we are spoil'd. Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof.[Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO to the Abbey. Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. Enter the Lady Abbess. Abb. No; not a creature enters in my house. Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband forth. hither? Abb. Neither: he took this place for sanctuary, Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. And it shall privilege him from your hands, Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, Till I have brought him to his wits again, And bear him home for his recovery. Or lose my labour in essaying it. Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits. Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, Mer. ~I am sorry now, that I did draw on him. Diet his sickness; for it is my office Abb. How long hath this possession held the man? And will have no attorney but myself, Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad; And therefore let me have him home with me. And much different from the man he was Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir, But, till this afternoon, his passion Till I have us'd the approved means I have, Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers, Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea? To make of him a formal man again..Baggage. -2 Close with him. 3 Not in f. e sCENE I. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 99 It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, My master and his man are both broke loose, A charitable duty of my order; Beaten the maids a-row,4 and bound the doctor, Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire; Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband here: And ever as it blazed they threw on him And ill it doth beseem your holiness Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. To separate the husband and the wife. My master preaches patience to him, and the while Abb. Be quiet, and depart: thou shalt not have him. His man with scissars nicks him like a fool;5 [Exit Abbess. And, sure, unless you send some present help, Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. Between them they will kill the conjurer. Adr. Come, go: I will fall prostrate at his feet, Adr. Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here: And never rise, until my tears and prayers And that is false, thou dost report to us. Have won his grace to come in person hither, Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; And take perforce my husband from the abbess. I have not breath'd almost, since I did see it. lier. By this, I think, the dial points at five: He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. [Cry within. Comes this way to the melancholy vale, Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress: fly, be gone. The place of death and solemn' execution, Duke. Come, stand by me fear nothing. Guard Behind the ditches of the abbey here. with halberds! Ang. Upon what cause? Adr. Ah me, it is my husband! Witness you, Mer. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant, That he is borne about invisible: Who put unluckily into this bay Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here, Against the laws and statutes of tlis town, And now he's there, past thought of human reason. Beheaded publicly for his offence. Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Ephesus. Ang. See, where they come: we will behold his death. Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke! 0! grant me Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey. justice, Enter DuirE attended; LEGEON bare-headed; with the Even for the service that long since I did thee, Headsman and other Officers. When I bestrid thee in the wars and took Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, Deep scars to save thy live; even for the blood If any friend will pay the sum for him, That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. He shall not die, so much we tender him. -Ege. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess! I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio! Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady: Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. there! Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife, husband, That hath abused and dishonour'd me, Whom I made lord of me, and all I had, Even in the strength and height of injury. At your important2 letters, this ill day Beyond imagination is the wrong, A most outrageous fit of madness took him, That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. That desperately he hurried through the street, Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. (With him his bondman, all as mad as he) Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors Doing displeasure to the citizens upon me, By rushing in their houses, bearing thence While she with harlots6 feasted in my house. Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. Duke. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so? Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, Adr. No, my good lord: myself, he, and my sister, Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, To-day did dine together. So befal my soul, That here and there his fury had committed. As this is false he burdens me withal. Anon, I wot not by what strange3 escape, Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, He broke from those that had the guard of him, But she tells to your highness simple truth. And with his mad attendant and himself, Ang. 0 perjur'd woman! They are both forsworn: Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, In this the madman justly chargeth them. Met us again, and, madly bent on us, Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; Chas'd us away; till, raising of more aid Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, We came again to bind them. Then they fled Nor heady-rash provokd with raging ire, Into this abbey, whither we pursued them; Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, This woman locked me out this day from dinner: And will not suffer us to fetch him out, That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. Could witness it, for he was with me then; Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command, Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help. Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Duke. Long since thy husband served me in my wars, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. And I to thee engaged a prince's word, Our dinner done and he not coming thither, When thou didst make him master of thy bed, I went to seek him: in the street I met him, To do him all the grace and good I could.- And in his company, that gentleman. Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate, There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down, And bid the lady abbess come to me. That I this day of him received the chain, I will determine this, before I stir. Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which, Enter a Servant. He did arrest me with an officer. Serv. 0 mistress, mistress! shift and save yourself. I did obey, and sent my peasant home 1 depth and sorry: in f. e. 2 Iimportunate. 3 strong: in f. e. 4 One after the other. 6 It was the custom to cut the hair of fools in a peculiar fashion 6 This word originally meant hireling, and was applied to either sex. 100 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT V. For certain ducats: he with none return7d. Ige. O! grief hath chang'd me; since you saw me Then fairly I bespoke the officer, last; To go in person with me to my house. And careful hours, with timers deformed hand, By the way we met Have written strange defeatures in my face: My wife, her sister, and a rabble more But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? Of vile confederates: along with them Ant. E. Neither. They brought one Pinch, a hungry, lean-fac'd villain,.Ege. Dromio, nor thou? A mere anatomy, a mountebank, Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller, Age. I am sure thou dost. A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, Dro. E. Ay, sir; but I am sure I do not; and whatA living dead man. This pernicious slave, soever a man denies, you are now bound to believe Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, him. And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, Ege. Not know my voice? 0, times extremity! And with no face, as't were, out-facing me, Hast thou so cracked my voice, split3 my poor tongue Cries out, I was possess'd. Then, altogether In seven short years, that here my only son They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence, Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares? And in a dark and dankish vault at home Though now this grained face of mine be hid They' left me and my man, both bound together; In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, Till. gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder And all the conduits of my blood froze up, I gained my freedom, and immediately Yet hath my night of life some memory, Ran hither to your grace, whom I beseech My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, To give me ample satisfaction My dull, deaf ears a little use to hear: For these deep shames, and great indignities. All these old witnesses (I cannot err) Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no? Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Ang. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here, Thou know'st we parted. But, perhaps, my son, These people saw the chain about his neck. Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Heard you confess you had the chain of him, Can witness with me that it is not so. After you first forswore it on the mart. I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you; Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years And then you fled into this abbey here, Have I been patron to Antipholus, From -whence, I think, you are come by miracle. During which time he ne'er saw Syracuse. Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls, I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me. Enter Abbess) with ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and I never saw the chain, so help me heaven! DROMIO of Syracuse. And' this is false you burden me withal. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wronged. Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this![All gather to see them. I think, you all have drunk of Circe's cup. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me! If here you hous'd him, here he would have been; Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other; If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:- And so of these: which is the natural man, You say, he dined at home: the goldsmith here And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? Denies that saying.-Sirrah, what say you? Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio: command him away. Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her, there, at the Porcupine. Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio: pray let me stay. Cour. He did, and from my finger snatched that ring. Ant. S. -Egeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? Ant. E.'T is true, my liege; this ring I had of her. Dro. S. 0, my old master! who bath bound him here? Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace And gain a husband by his liberty.Duke. Why, this is strange.-Go call the abbess Speak, old ZEgeon, if thou be'st the man hither.- That had a wife once call'd jEmilia, I think you are all mated, or stark mad. That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. [Exit an Attendant.! if thou be'st the same JEgeon, speak, _Ege. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word. And speak unto the same Emilia! Haply, I see a friend will save my life, Ege. If I dream not, thou art ZErnilia. And pay the sum that may deliver me. If thou art she, tell me, where is that son Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. That floated with thee on the fatal raft? jge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus, Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, And is not that your bondman Dromio? And the twin Dromio, all were taken up Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords: By force took Dromio and my son from them, Now am I Dromio, and his man. unbound. And me they left with those of Epidamnum. yEge. I am sure you both of you remember me. What then became of them, I cannot tell; Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; I, to this fortune that you see me in. For lately we were bound, as you are now. Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? These two Antipholus', these two so like, gEge. Why look you strange on me? you know me And these two Dromios, one in semblance,well. Besides his urging of his wreck at sea;Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. These are the parents to these children, There: in f. e. 2 Dyce reads, " as," and puts a period after'" chain." 3 crack'd and splitted: in f. e. SCENE I. THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 101 Which accidentally are met together. That by this sympathized one day's error Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. Have suffered wrong, go, keep us company, Ant. S. No, sir, not I: I came from Syracuse. And we shall make full satisfaction. Duke. Stay, stand apart: I know not which is which. Twenty-five years have I been gone in travail Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. Of you, my sons; and at2 this present hour Dro. E. And I with him. My heavy burdens are delivered.Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous The duke, my husband, and my children both warriorAnd you the calendars of their nativity, Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me: Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day? After so long grief such nativity! Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. Duke. With all my heart: I ll gossip at this feast. Adr. And are not you my husband? [Exeunt Duke, Abbess, jEGEON, Courtezan, Ant. E. No; I say nay to that. 3Merchant, ANGELO, and Attendants. Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so; Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipAnd this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, board? Did call me brother.-What I told you then Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou emI hope, I shall have leisure to make good, barked? If this be not a dream I see, and hear. Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. Centaur. Ant. S. I think it be, sir: I deny it not. Ant. S. He speaks to me.-I am your master, Dromio: Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. Come, go with us; we ll look to that anon. Ang. I think I did, sir: I deny it not. Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him. Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail. [Exeunt ANT. S. and E., ADR., and Luc. By Dromio; but I think, he brought it not. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's Dro. E. No, none by me. house, Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you, That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner: And Dromio, my man, did bring them me. She now shall be my sister, not my wife. I see, we still did meet each other's man, Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my And I was ta'en for him, and he for me, brother: And thereupon these errors all' arose. I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. Anlt. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Will you walk in to see their gossiping? Duke. It shall not need: thy father hath his life. Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder. Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. Dro. E. That Is a question: how shall we try it? Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for my Dro. S. We Ill draw cuts for the senior: till then, good cheer. lead thou first. Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains Dro. E. Nay, then thus: To go with us into the abbey here, We came into the world, like brother and brother; And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes; And now, let Is go hand in hand, not one before another. And all that are assembled in this place, Exeunt. lare: in f. e. 2till: inf. e. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon. FRIAR FRANCIS. JOHN, his bastard Brother. A Gentleman. CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence. A Sexton. BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua. A Boy. LEONATO, Governor of Messina. ANTONIO, his Brother. HERO, Daughter to Leonato. BALTHAZAR, Servant to Don Pedro. BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato. BONRACE' } followers of John. MARGAaET Gentlewomen attending on Hero. DOGBERRY }two Officers. VERGES, wo c Watchmen, and attendants, &c. SCENE, Messina. ACT I. SCENE I. Before LEONATO'S House. Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. Enter LEONATO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others, with a Gent. 0! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he Gentleman. was. Leon. 1 learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Ar- Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and chalragon comes this night to Messina. lenged Cupid at the flight4; and my uncle's fool, readGent.2 He is very near by this: he was not three ing the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged leagues off when I left him. him at the bird-bolt.-I pray you, how many hath he Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he action? killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. Gent. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Gent. He hath done good service, lady, in these Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Floren- wars. tine, called Claudio. Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to Gent. Much deserved on his part, and equally re- eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man; he hath an membered by Don Pedro: he hath borne himself be- excellent stomach. yond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a Gent. And a good soldier too, lady. lamb the feats of a lion: he hath, indeed, better bet- Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he tered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell to a lord? you how. Gent. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed6 Leon. He hath an uncle, here in Messina, will be with all honourable virtues. very much glad of it. Beat. It is so, indeed: he is no less than a stuffed Gent. I have already delivered him letters, and there man; but for the stuffing,-Well, we are all mortal. appears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There not show itself modest enough without a badge of bit- is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and terness. her: they never meet, but there's a skirmish of wit Leon. Did he break out into tears? between them. Gent. In great measure. Beat. Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no conflict four of his five wits7 went halting off, and now faces truer than those that are so washed; how much is the whole man governed with one; so that if he have better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping? wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto3 returned from a difference8 between himself and his horse; for it is all the wars, or no? the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable Gent. I know none of that name, lady: there was creature.-Who is his companion now? He hath every none such in the army of any sort. month a new sworn brother. 1 Messenger: in f. e. 2 Throughout the Scene: Mess.: in f. e. 3 A term of the fencing-school. 4 A long and light-feathered arrow, used for objects at a distance. 5 A short and thick arrow, for near aim. 6 Stored. 7 Chaucer uses the five wits for the five senses. A similar enumeration, referred to in the text, was made of the intellectual powers. s In heraldry, a distinction. SCENE 1. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 103 Gent. Is It possible? Beat. You always end with a jade's trick: I know Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as you of old. the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the next block. D. Pedro. That4 is the sum of all.-Leonato,-sigGent. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.l nior Clandio, and signior Benedick, —my dear friend Beat. No; an he were, I would burn my study. Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no here at the least a month, and he heartily prays some young squarer2 now, that will make a voyage with him occasion may detain us longer: I dare swear he is no to the devil? hypocrite, but prays from his heart. Gent. He is most in the company of the right noble Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forClaudio. sworn.-Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being Beat. 0 Lord! he will hang upon him like a dis- reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty. ease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the John. I thank you: I am not of many words, but I taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! thank you. if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thou- Leon. Please it your grace, lead on? sand pound ere he be cured. D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato: we will go together. Gent. I will hold friends with you, lady. [Exeunt all but BENEDICK and CLAUDIO. Beat. Do, good friend. Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Leon. You will never run mad, niece signior Leonato? Beat. No, not till a hot January. Bene. I noted her not; but I looked on her. Gent. Don Pedro is approached. Claud. Is she not a modest young lady? Enter Don PEDRO. JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK) BAL- Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should THAZAR, and others. do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, are you3 come to me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant meet your trouble? the fashion of the world is to avoid to their sex? cost, and you encounter it. Claud. No; I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the like- Bene. Why,'i faith, methinks she's too low for a ness of your grace; for trouble being gone, comfort high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little should remain, but when you depart from me, sorrow for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford abides, and happiness takes his leave. her; that were she other than she is, she were unhandD. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. some, and being no other but as she is, I do not like I think, this is your daughter. her. Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. Claud. Thou thinkest, I am in sport: I pray thee, Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her? tell me truly how thou lik'st her. Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child. Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her? D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? by this what you are, being a man.-Truly, the lady Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you fathers herself.-Be happy, lady, for you are like an this with a sad brow, or do you play the flouting Jack, honourable father. to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as you, to go5 in the song? like him as she is..Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior ever I looked on. Benedick: no body marks you. Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain! are you yet such matter; there's her cousin, an she were not posliving? sessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty, as Beat. Is it possible disdain should die, while she the first of May doth the last of December. But I hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Benedick? hope, you have no intent to turn husband, have you? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had her presence. sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat. But it is cer- Bene. Is't come to this, i' faith? Hath not the world tain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion? I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore again? Go heart, for, truly, I love none. to, i' faith; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a Beat. A dear happiness to women: they would else yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank Look; Don Pedro is returned to seek you. God, and my cold blood, I am of your humour for Re-enter Don PEDRo. that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that man swear he loves me. you followed not to Leonato's? Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind; Bene. I would your grace would constrain me to so some gentleman or other shall'scape a predestinate tell. scratched face. D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. Beat. Scratching could not make it worse an It were Bene. You hear, count Claudio: I can be secret as such a face as yours. a dumb man, I would have you think so: but on my Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. allegiance,mark you this, on my allegiance.-He is Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of in love. With whom?-now that is your grace's part. yours. -Mark, how short the answer is:-with Hero LeoBene. I would, my horse had the speed of your nato's short daughter. tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. o' God's name; I have done. Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: it is not so, nor 1 This phrase is derived, says Knight, from books of credit. 2 Quarreler. s The old copies read: you are. 4 Old cop.: This. 5 Join.. _... _ _....~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 104 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT I. t was not so;' but, indeed, God forbid it should Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your be so. discourse is sometime guarded7 with fragments, and the Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God for- guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere you flout.bid it should be otherwise. old ends' any farther, examine your conscience. and so D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her for the lady is I leave you. [Exit BENEDICK. very well worthy. Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good. Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach: teach it but D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. how, Claud. And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn Bene. And by my two faiths and troths. my lord, I Any hard lesson that may do thee good. spoke mine. Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? Claud. That I love her, I feel. D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir. D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. Dost thou affect her, Claudio? Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, Claud. O! my lord, nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion When you went onward on this ended action, that fire cannot melt out of me: I will die in it at the I looked upon her with a soldiers eye, stake. That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand, D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in Than to drive liking to the name of love; the despite of beauty. But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in Have left their places vacant, in their rooms the force of his will. Come thronging soft and delicate desires, Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her: All prompting me how fair young Hero is, that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars-9 thanks; but that I will have a recheat2 winded in my D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick3, And tire the hearer with a book of words. all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the And I will break with her, and with her father, right to trust none; and the fine is, (for the which I And thou shalt have her.l0 Was't not to this end, may go the finer) I will live a bachelor. That thou began'st to twist so fine a story? D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love; Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, That know love's grief by his complexion! my lord; not with love: prove, that ever I lose more But lest my liking might too sudden seem, blood with love, than I will get again with drinking, I would have salved it with a longer treatise. pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, and hang D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of. the flood? blind Cupid. The fairest ground" is the necessity. D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith. Look, what will serve is fit:'t is once, thou lovest, thou wilt prove a notable argument. And I will fit thee with the remedy. Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and I know we shall have revelling to-night: shoot at me; and he that first4 hits me, let him be I will assume thy part in some disguise, clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam.5 And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try: And in her bosom I 11 unclasp my heart, " In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke."6 And take her hearing prisoner with the force, Bene. The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible And strong encounter of my amorous tale: Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them Then, after, to her father will I break; in my forehead; and let me be vilely painted, and in And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine. such great letters as they write, "Here is good horse In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. to hire," let them signify under my sign,-"Here you S E om in L O may see Benedick the married man." Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO. horn-mad. Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin, D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver your son? Hath he provided this music? in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. tell you strange12 news that you yet dreamt not of. D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. Leon. Are they good? In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a Leonato's: commend me to him, and tell him, I will good cover; they show well outward. The prince and not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he hath made great count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in preparation. my orchard, were thus13 much overheard by a man of Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such mine: the prince discovered to Claudio that he loved an embassage; and so I commit you- my niece, your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it Claud. To the tuition of God: from my house, if I this night in a dance; and, if he found her accordant. had it.- he meant to take the present time by the top, and D. Pedro. The sixth of July: your loving friend, instantly break with you of it. Benedick. Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? 1 An old tale, resembling in its horrors and incidents that of Blue Beard, and containing a frequent repetition of the passage in the text, is given in Boswell's ed. of Malone, and in Knight. 2 A recall. 3 Belt. 4 The word "first ": not in f. e. 5 Shooting at a cat in a bottle was an old popular sport; Adam, probably, alludes to Adam Bell, the famous archer of the Robin Hood fraternity. 6 Quoted from Act II. of Kyd's Spanish Tragedy; the play is in Dodslev's Col. 7 Trimmed. 8 The formal conclusions of old letters,often ending in the words used by Don Pedro. 9 The dash, implying the interruption of a narrative, is an addition by Collier. 10 This passage, from " with her," is from the quarto ed. 1600 11 grant: in f. e. 12 13 Only in the quarto, 1600. SCENE I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 105 Ant. A good sharp fellow: I will send for him, and a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle, question him yourself. and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed Leon. No, no: we will hold it as a dream, till it not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth. I would appear itself; but I will acquaint my daughter withal. bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if the mean time, let me be that I am, and seek not to peradventure this be true. Go you, and tell her of it. alter me. [Several persons cross the stage.] Cousins, you know Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? what you have to do.-O! I cry you mercy, friend; John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who go you with me, and I will use your skill.-Good comes here? What news, Borachio? cousin, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt. Enter BORACHIO. Bora. I came yonder from a great supper: the SCENE III.- Another Room in LEONATO7S House. prince, your brother, is royally entertained by LeoEnter JOHN and CONRADE. nato. and I can give you intelligence of an intended. Con. What the good year, my lord! why are you marriage. thus out of measure sad? John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief John. There is no measure in the occasion that on? What is he, for a fool, that betroths himself to breeds it,' therefore the sadness is without limit, unquietness? Con. You should hear reason. Bora. Marry, it is your brothers right hand. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio? brings it? Bora. Even he. Con. If not a present remedy, at least a patient John. A proper squire! And who, and who? which sufferance. way looks he? John. I wonder, that thou being (as thou say'st thou Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral Leonato. medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what John. A very forward March-chick! How came I am: I must be sad when I have cause, and smile at you to this? no mains jests; eat when I have stomach, and wait for Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was no man's leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend smoking a musty-room, comes me the prince and on no man's business; laugh when I am merry, and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt claw no man in his humour. me behind the arras and there heard it agreed upon, Con. Yea; but you must not make the full show that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and of this, till you may do it without controlment. You having obtained her, give her to count Claudio. have, till2 of late, stood out against your brother, and he John. Come, come; let us thither: this may prove hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is impos- food to my displeasure. That young start-up hath all sible you should take trues root, but by the fair weather the glory of my overthrow: if I can cross him any that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame way, I bless myself every way. You are both sure, the season for your own harvest, and will assist me? John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, than a Con. To the death, my lord. rose in his grace; and it better fits my blood to be John. Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob love greater, that I am subdued. Would the cook were of from any: in this, though I cannot be said to be a my mind! —Shall we go prove what's to be done? flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am Bora. We'I1 wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-A Hall in LEONATOIS House. Ant In faith, she s too curst. Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, and God's sending that way, for it is said, " God sends a others. curst cow short horns " but to a cow too curst he Leon. Was not count John here at supper? sends none. Ant. I saw him not. Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks: I never horns? can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made, morning and evening. Lord! I could not endure a just in the mid-way between him and Benedick: the husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie in one is too like an image, and says nothing; and the the woollen. other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling. Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard. Leon. Then, half signior Benedick's tongue in count Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewoman? signior Benedick's face,- He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that is money enough in his purse, such a man would win any more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less woman in the world,-if a' could get her good will. than a man I am not for him: therefore, I will even Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. apes into hell. 1 Not in f. e. 2 This wordmnot in f. e. 3 Only in quarto. 106 MUCI-I ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT II. Leon. Well then, go you into hell? Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when Beat. No; but to the gate; and there will the devil the dance is done!-Answer, clerk. meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, Bene. No more words: the clerk is answered. and say, "Get you to heaven,' Beatrice, get you to Urs. I know you well enough: you are signior heaven; here's no place for you maids:" so, deliver I Antonio. up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens: Ant. At a word, I am not. he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. we as merry as the day is long. Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. Ant. Well, niece, I trust, you will be ruled by your Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you father. [To Hero. were the very man. Here Is his dry hand up and Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make down: you are he, you are he. courtesy, and say, "Father, as it please you:" but yet Ant. At a word, I am not. for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or Urs. Come, come: do you think I do not know you else make another courtesy, and say, "Father, as it by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go please me." to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there's Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted an end. with a husband. Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal Bene. No, you shall pardon me. than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over- Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? mastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make an Bene. Not now. account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my uncle, I'11 none: Adam's sons are my brethren; and good wit out of the "Hundred merry Tales.?4 —Well, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. this was signior Benedick that said so. Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if Bene. What's he? the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. answer. Bene. Not I, believe me. Beat. The fault will be in the music cousin, if you Beat. Did he never make you laugh? be not woo'd in good time: if the prince be too in- Bene. I pray you, what is he? portant,' tell him, there is measure in every thing, and Beat. Why, he is the princees jester: a very dull so dance out the answer: for, hear me, Hero: wooing, fool, only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, none but libertines delight in him; and the commenand a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like dation is not in his wit, but in his villainy, for he both a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, pleases men, and angers them, and then they laugh at mannerly, modest, as a measure, full of state and him, and beat him. I am sure, he is in the fleet; I ancientry; and then comes repentance, and with his would he had boarded me! bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, Bene. When I know the gentleman, I 11 tell him till he sink a-pace2 into his grave. what you say. Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. Do, do: he'11 but break a comparison or two Beat. I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church on me; which, peradventure, not marked, or not by day-light. laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then Leon. The revellers are entering, brother. Make there Is a partridge7 wing saved, for the fool will eat good room! no supper that night. [iMusic within.] We must Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICI, BALTHAZAR; follow the leaders. JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA, and maskers. Bene. In every good thing. D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them friend? at the next turning. Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say [Dance. Then, exeunt all but JOHN, BORACHIO, nothing, I am yours for the walk; and, especially, when and CLAUDIO. I walk away. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and D. Pedro. With me in your company? hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it. Hero. I may say so, when I please. The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains. D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend, bearing. the lute should be like the case! John. Are not you signior Benedick? D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the Claud. You know me well: I am he. house is Jove.3 John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatched. love: he is enamoured on Hero. I pray you, dissuade D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. him from her; she is no equal for his birth: you may [Takes her aside. do the part of an honest man in it. Bene. Well, I would you did like me. Claud. How know you he loves her? Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for I John. I heard him swear his affection. have many ill qualities. Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would marry Bene. Which is one? her to-night. Marg. I say my prayers aloud. John. Come, let us to the banquet. Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may cry [Exeunt JOHN and BORACHIO. Amen. Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, Marg. God match me with a good dancer! But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. Bene. Amen.'T is certain so:-the prince woos for himself. 1 Importunate. 2 This word not in f. e. 3 An allusion to the story of Baucis and Philemon, in Ovid. 4 A popular jest-book, of which only a fragment is extant. It was reprinted in 1835, after its discovery. SCENE I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 107 Friendship is constant in all other things, with such importable6 conveyance, upon me, that I stood Save in the office and affairs of love: like a man at a mark. with a whole army shooting at Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues; me. She speaks poignards, and every word stabs: if Let every eye negotiate for itself, her breath were as terrible as her terminations there And trust no agent, for beauty is a witch, were no living near her; she would infect to the north Against whose charms faith melteth into blood, star. I would not marry her though she were endowed This is an accident of hourly proof, with all that Adam had lent7 him before he transgressed: Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, then', Hero! she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, Re-enter BENEDICK. and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, Bene. Count Claudio? talk not of her; you shall find her the infernal Ate in Claud. Yea, the same. good apparel. I would to God, some scholar would Bene. Come, will you go with me? conjure her; for, certainly, while she is here, a man Claud. Whither? may live as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary; and people Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own sin upon purpose, because they would go thither, so, business, county. What fashion will you wvear the indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain,2 Enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO. or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Bene. Will your grace command me any service to Hero. the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand Claud. I wish him joy of her. now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover: so on: I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince would farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester have served you thus? John's foot; fetch you a hair of8 the great Chan's Claud. I pray you, leave me. [Angrily.3 beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather Bane. Ho! now you strike like the blind man: 7t was than hold three words' conference with this harpy. the boy that stole your meat, and you'11 beat the post. Have you no employment for me? Claud. If it will not be, I 11 leave you. [Exit. D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. Bene. Alas; poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep into Bene. 0 God, sir, here's a dish I love not: I cansedges. - But, that my lady Beatrice should know not endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. me, and not know me! The prince's fool!-Ha! it D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the may be, I go under that title, because I am merry.- heart of signior Benedick. Yea; but so I am apt to do myself wrong: I am not Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I so reputed: it is the base, though bitter disposition of gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, and so marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, gives me out. Well, I 711 be revenged as I may. therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. Re-enter DON PEDRO. D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady; you have D. Pedro. Now, signior, where Is the count? Did put him down. you see him? Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of lady I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. a warren: I told him, and, I think, I told him true, D. Pedro. Why, how now, count? wherefore are that your grace had got the good4 will of this young you sad? lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree, Claud. Not sad, my lord. either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to D. Pedro. How then? Sick? bind him up5 a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. Claud. Neither, my lord. D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy; who, nor well; but civil, count, civil as an orange, and being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shows it his something of as jealous a complexion.9 companion, and he steals it. D. Pedro. I' faith, lady, I think your blazon to be D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? true; though, I'11 be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is The transgression is in the stealer. false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and Bene. Yet it had not been amiss. The rod had been fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and, made, and the garland too; for the garland he might his good will obtained, name the day of marriage, have worn himself, and the rod he might have bestow'd and God give thee joy! on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his bird's nest. Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and all them to the owner. grace say Amen to it! Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my Beat. Speak, count, t is your cue. faith, you say honestly. Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: were but little happy, if I could say how much.-Lady, the gentleman, that danced with her, told her she is as you are mine I am yours: I give away myself for much wronged by you. you, and dote upon the exchange. Bene.! she misused me past the endurance of a Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his block: an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither. have answered her; my very visor began to assume D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. life, and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I Beat. Yea, my lord; [ thank it, poor fool, it keeps had been myself, that I was the prince's jester; that I on the windy side of care.-My cousin tells him in his was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, ear, that he is in her heart. 1 therefore: in f. e. 2 A gold chain, a common ornament of the wealthy. 3 Not in f. e. 4 5 From the quarto. 6 impossible: in f.. e. 7 left: in f. e. 8 The old copies have " off." 9 of that jealous complexion: in f. e. 108 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT HI. Claud. And so she doth, cousin. SCENE II.-Another Room in LEONATO'S House. Beat. Good lord! for alliance thus goes every one to the world1 but I, and I am sun-burned: I may sit Enter JOHN and BORAcHIO. in a corner, and cry, heigh ho! for a husband. John. It is so: the count Claudio shall marry the D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. daughter of Leonato. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him, D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady? and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage? working-days: your grace is too costly to wear every Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that day.-But, I beseech your grace, pardon me; I was no dishonesty shall appear in me. born to speak all mirth, and no matter. John. Show me briefly how. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were how much I am in the favor of Margaret, the waitborn in a merry hour. ing-gentlewoman to Hero. Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then John. I remember. there was a star danced, and under that was I born.- Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, Cousins, God give you joy! appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber-window. Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told John. What life is in that, to be the death of this you of? marriage? Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle.-By your grace's Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go pardon. [Exit BEATRICE. you to the prince, your brother: spare not to tell him, D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the reLeon. There's little of the melancholy element in her. nowned Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily hold my lord: she is never sad, but when she sleeps; and up) to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero. not ever sad then, for I have heard my daughter say, John. What proof shall I make of that? she hath often dreamed of unhappiness, and waked Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex herself with laughing. Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a for any other issue? husband. John. Only to despite them I will endeavour any Leon.! by no means, she mocks all her wooers thing. out of suit. Bora. Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Pedro and the count Claudio, alone: tell them, that Leon. 0 lord! my lord, if they were but a week you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal married, they would talk themselves mad. both to the prince and Claudio, (as in love of your broD. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go ther's honour who hath made this match, and his friend's to church? reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the Claud. To-morrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches, semblance of a maid,) that you have discovered thus. till love have all his rites. They will scarcely believe this without trial: offer them Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence instances, which shall bear no less likelihood than to a just seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have see me at her chamber-window, hear me call Margaret all things answer our2 mind. Hero; hear Margaret term me Borachio4; and bring D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a them to see this the very night before the intended breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall wedding: for in the mean time I will so fashion the not go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake matter, that Hero shall be absent, and there shall one of Hercules' labours, which is, to bring signior appear such seeming proofs5 of Hero's disloyalty, that Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the preparaaffection, the one with the other. I would fain have it tion overthrown. a match; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will will but minister such assistance as I shall give you put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and direction. thy fee is a thousand ducats. Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my nights' watching. cunning shall not shame me. Claud. And I, my lord. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? [Exeunt. Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help SC E Is Gar my cousin to a good husband. SCENE LEONATOS Garden. D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest Enter BENEDICK, a Boy following6. husband that I know. Thus far can I praise him: he is Bene. Boy! of a noble strain3, of approved valour, and confirmed Boy. Signior. honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring it that she shall fall in love with Benedick;-and I, with hither to me in the orchard. your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in Boy. I am here already, sir. despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he Bene. I know that; [Exit Boy.] but I would have shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, thee hence, and here again. I do much wonder, that Cupid is no longer an archer: his glory shall be ours, one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath will tell you my drift. [Exeunt. laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the 1 i. e., gets married. 2 In f. e. my; some eds. read " answer mind." 3 Lineage. 4 Claudio: in f. e. 5 truth: in f. e. 6 with a Boy: in f.e. SCENE IIT. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 109 argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such The frauds of men were6 ever so, a man is Claudio. I have known, when there was no Since summer first was leavy. music with him but the drum and the fife; and now Then sigh not so, &c. had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: I have D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot to Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights D. Pedro. Ha? no, no: faith, thou singest well awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was enough for a shift. wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest Bene. [Behind.]7 An he had been a dog that should man, and a soldier; and now is he turn'd orthographer: have howled thus, they would have hanged him; and, I his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief! I had as strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be could have come after it. sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; but D. Pedro. Yea, marry; dost thou hear, Balthazar? I'11 take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of I pray thee, get us some excellent music, for to-morrow me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber is fair, yet I am well: another is wise, yet I am well: window. another virtuous, yet I am well: but till all graces be Balth. The best I can, my lord. in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt BALTHAZAR Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I 11 none; and Musicians.] Come hither, Leonato: whatwas it you virtuous, or Ill never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never told me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was in look on her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or love with signior Benedick? not I for an angel; of good discourse, an excellent Claud. [Aside to Pedro.] 0! ay:-stalk on, stalk on; musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please the fowl sits. [Aloud.] I did never think that lady God. Ha! the prince and monsieur Love! I will would have loved any man. hide me in the arbour. [Retires behind the trees1. Leon. No, nor I neither: but most wonderful, that Enter Don PEDRO, LEONATO, and CLAUDIO. she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is, Bene. [Behind.]8 Is't possible? Sits the wind in that As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony! corner? D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to Claud. 0, very well, my lord: the music ended, think of it, but that she loves him with an enraged We 11 fit the hid2-fox with a penny-worth. affection: it is past the infinite of thought. Enter BALTHAZAR, with Musicians.3 D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. D.Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we ll hear that song again. Claud.'Faith, like enough. Balth. 0! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice Leon. 0 God! counterfeit? There was never counterTo slander music any more than once. feit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, discovers it. To put a strange face on his own perfection.- D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? I pray thee, sing. and let me woo no more. Claud. [Aside.] Bait the hook well: this fish will bite. Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you,Since many a wooer doth commence his suit you heard my daughter tell you how. To her he thinks not worthy; yet he woos, Claud. She did, indeed. Yet will he swear, he loves. D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you! You amaze me: D. Pedro.. Nay, pray thee, come: I would have thought her spirit had been invincible Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, against all assaults of affection. Do it in notes. Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord,; especially Balth. Note this before my notes; against Benedick. There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. Bene. [Behind.]9 I should think this a gull, but that D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, speaks; sure hide himself in such reverence. Note notes, forsooth, and nothing! [Music. Claud. [Aside.] He hath ta'en the infection: hold it up. Bene. [Behind.]4 Now, divine air! now is his soul D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to ravish'd!-Is it not strange, that sheeps' guts should Benedick? hale souls out of men's bodies?-Well, a horn for my Leon. No, and swears she never will: -that's her money, when all's done. torment. THIE ~SONGu.,~Claud. T is true indeed; so your daughter says: Balth. SigSh no more. ladies, sigh no more, Shall I, says she, "that have so oft encountered him Men were deceivers ever; with scornh write to him that I love him?" OMeZ foot in.sea, adecd eioe on shore; Leon. This says she; now, when she is beginning to To one thing csa, ontnt nevser. write to him; for she'11 be up twenty times a night and Thene sigh not nso, there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ a Buet let them go, sheet of paper full.''-My daughter tells us all. And be you blithe and bonny, Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember Converting all your sounds of woe a pretty jest your daughter told us of. Into, Hey onny, nonny. Leon. 0!-when she had writ it, and was reading,'7~ "/7~~ ^ -it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the Sing no more ditties, sing no mo, sheets?Or5 dumps so dull and heavy; Claud. That. I Withdraws: in f. e. 2 kid: in f. e. 3 with Music: in f. e. 4 Aside: in f. e. s Of: in f. e. 6 fraud of men was: in f. e. 7 8 9 Aside: in fe.e. 10Notinf. e. 110 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT III. Leon. O she tore the letter into a thousand half- Leon. Nay, that Is impossible: she may wear her pence; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest heart out first. to write to one that she knew would flout her:-" I D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your measure him," says she, iby my own spirit; for I daughter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick well, should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love and I could wish he would modestly examine himself, him, I should." to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady. Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, cries1;- Claud. [Aside.] If he do not dote upon her upon this, "0 sweet Benedick! God give me patience! I will never trust my expectation. Leon. She doth indeed: my daughter says so; and D. Pedro. [Aside.] Let there be the same net spread the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my for her: and that must your daughter and her gentledaughter is sometimes afeard she will do a desperate women carry. The sport will be, when they hold one outrage to herself. It is very true. an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter: D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely by some other, if she will not discover it. a dumb show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. Claud. To what end? He would but make a sport [Exeunt Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO. of it, and torment the poor lady worse. Bene. [Advancing from the Arbour.] This can be no D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms-deed2 to trick: the conference was sadly6 borne.-They have the hang him. She's an excellent sweet lady, and out of truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: all suspicion she is virtuous. it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me! Claud. And she is exceeding wise. why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the Leon. 0! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so love come from her: they say, too, that she will rather tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood die than give any sign of affection.-I did never think hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just to marry.-I must not seem proud. Happy are they cause, being her uncle and her guardian. that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. D. Pedro. I would, she had bestowed this dotage on They say, the lady is fair;'t is a truth, I can bear them me; I would have daff'd3 all other respects, and made witness: and virtuous;'t is so, I cannot reprove it: and her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and wise, but for loving me; by my troth, it is no addition hear what a' will say. to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will Leon. Were it good, think you? be horribly in love with her. I may chancehave some Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die; for she says, odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because she will die if he love her not, and she will die ere she I have railed so long against marriage; but doth not'make her love known, and she will die if he woo her, the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his age, rather than she will'bate one breath of her accustomed that he cannot endure in his youth. Shall quips, and crossness. sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tender man from the career of his humour? No; the world of her love,'t is very possible he'11 scorn it; for the must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. I did not think I should live till I were married.Claud. He is a very proper man. Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady: D. Pedro. He hath indeed, a good outward happi- I do spy some marks of love in her. ness. Enter BEATRICE. Claud. Before God, and in my mind, very wise. Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that in to dinner. are like wit. Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Leon. And I take him to be valiant. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the you take pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I managing of quarrels you may say4 he is wise: for either would not have come. he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the message! them with a most5 Christian-like fear. Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep knife's point, and not7 choke a daw withal.-You have peace: if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a no stomach, signior: fare you well. [Exit. quarrel with fear and trembling. Bene. Ha! " Against my will I am sent to bid you D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear come in to dinner"-there's a double meaning in that. God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests'" I took no more pains for those thanks, than you took he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall pains to thank me — that's as much as to say, any we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love? pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks.-If I Claud. Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out do not take pity of her, I am a villain: if I do not with good counsel, love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE T.-LEONATO'S Garden. There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice Proposing8 with the prince and Claudio: Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA. Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour; Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse curses: in f. e. 2 alms: in f. e. 3 Doffd. 4 Quarto reads "see." 5 From the quarto. 6 Gravely. 7Notinf.e. Conversing. SCENE II. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOT-IING. 1l1 Is all 6f her: say, that thou overheards't us; And never gives to truth and virtue that And bid her steal into tie pleached bower, Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun, Urs. Sure, sure such carping is not commendable. Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites, Hero. No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions Made proud by princes, that advance their pride As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable. Against that power that bred it.-There will she hide But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, her She would mock me into air: 0! she would laugh me To listen our purpose. This is thy office; Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. Therefore, let Benedick, like cover'd fire. Marg. I'11 make her come, I warrant you, presently. Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: [Exit. It were a better death than die with mocks, Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, Which is as bad as die with tickling. As we do trace this alley up and down, Urs. Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say. Our talk must only be of Benedick: Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick, When I do name him, let it be thy part And counsel him to fight against his passion: To praise him more than ever man did merit. And, truly, I;11 devise some honest slanders My talk to thee must be how Benedick To stain my cousin with. One doth not know, Is sick in love with Beatrice: of this matter How much an ill word may empoison liking. Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, Urs. 0! do not do your cousin such a wrong. That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin: She cannot be so much without true judgment, Enter BEATRICE, stealing in behind.1 (Having so swift and excellent a wit, For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse Close by the ground, to hear our conference. So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Hero. He is the only man of Italy, Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, Always excepted my dear Claudio. And greedily devour the treacherous bait: Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, So angle we for Beatrice; who even now Speaking my fancy: signior Benedick, Is couched in the woodbine coverture. For shape, for bearing, argument and valour Fear you not my part of the dialogue. Goes foremost in report, through Italy. Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.- Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; [Aloud.2 When are you married, madam? I know, her spirits are as coy and wild Hero. Why, in a day4;-to-morrow. Come, go in As haggards3 of the rock.I'11 show thee some attires, and have thy counsel, Urs. But are you sure Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? Urs. [Aside.] She's lim'd, I warrant you: we have Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. caught her, madam. Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? Hero. [Aside.] If it prove so, then loving goes by Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it haps: But I persuaded them if they lov'd Benedick, Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. To wish him wrestle with affection, [Exeunt HEo and URSULA And never to let Beatrice know of it. Beat. [Advancing.] What fire is in mine ears? Can Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman this be true? Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn, so much? As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? Contempt. farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! Hero. 0 God of love! I know, he doth deserve No glory lives but in the lack5 of such. As much as may be yielded to a man; And, Benedick, love on: I will requite thee, But nature never framed a woman's heart Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice: If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, To bind our loves up in a holy band; Misprising' what they look on; and her wit For others say thou dost deserve, and I Values itself so highly, that to her Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. All matter else seems weak. She cannot love, SCENE.A Room in LEoN' House. Nor take no shape nor project of affection,SEE Rom L S H se. She is so self-endeared. Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and LEONATO, Urs. Sure, I think so; D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be conAnd, therefore, certainly, it were not good summate, and then go I toward Arragon. She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. Claud. I'11 bring you thither, my lord, if you'11 Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw vouchsafe me. man, D. Pedro. Nay; that would be as great a soil in the How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featurd, new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac'd, coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold She'd swear the gentleman should be her sister: with Benedick for his company; for from the crown of If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick, his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed; twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the little If low, an agate very vilely cut: hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds: sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what If silent, why, a block moved with none. his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. So turns she every man the wrong side out, Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 1 Enter BEATRICE, behind: in f. e. 2 Not inf. e. 3 Wild hawks. 4every day: in f. e. 5 behink the hack: in f. e 112 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT m. Leon. So say I: methinks you are sadder. D. Pedro. What Is the matter? Claud. I hope he be in love. John. [To CLAUDIO.] Means your lordship to be D. Pedro. Hang him, truant! there Is no true drop of married to-morrow? blood in him, to be truly touched with love. If he be D. Pedro. You know, he does. sad he wants money. John. I know not that, when he knows what I know. Bene. I have the tooth-ache. Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, disD. Pedro. Draw it. cover it. Bene. Hang it! John. You may think, I love you not: let that Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after- appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now wards. will manifest. For rhy brother, I think, he holds you D. Pedro. What! sigh for the tooth-ache! well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm? ensuing marriage; surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill Bene. Well, every one can master a grief. but he bestowed! that has it. D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. John. I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him; shortened, (for she has been too long a talking of) the unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; lady is disloyal. as to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-mor- Claud. Who? Hero? row,' or in the shape of two countries at once; as a John. Even she: Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every German from the waist downward, all slops2, and a man's Hero. Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he Claud. Disloyal? have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedno fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. ness: I could say, she were worse: think you of a Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till is no believing old signs: a' brushes his hat o' morn- farther warrant; go but with me to-night, you shall ings; what should that bode? see her chamber-window entered, even the night before D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? her wedding-day: if you love her then, to-morrow wed Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with her; but it would better fit your honour to change him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath already your mind. stuff'd tennis-balls. Claud. May this be so? Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the D. Pedro. I will not think it. loss of a beard. John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not D. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet: can you that you know. If you will follow me, I will show you smell him out by that? enough; and when you have seen more, and heard Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's more, proceed accordingly. in love. Claud. If I see any thing to-night, why I should not D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, where I Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face? should wed, there will I shame her. D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I hear what they say of him. I will join with thee to disgrace her. Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight4, and D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. let the issue show itself. Conclude, conclude3, he is in love. D. Pedro. 0 day untowardly turned! Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. Claud. 0 mischief strangely thwarting! D. Pedro. That would I know too: I warrant, one John. 0 plague right well prevented! So will you that knows him not. say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt. Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite SCENE 11.-A Street. of all dies for him. D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- Enter DOGBERRY and VERGES, with the Watch. wards. Dogb. Are you good men and true? Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache.-Old Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should sufsignior, walk aside with me: I have studied eight or fer sal-ation, body and soul. nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby- Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for horses must not hear. them, if they should have any allegiance in them, [Exeunt BENEDICK and LEONATO. being chosen for the prince's watch. D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour DogBeatrice. berry. Claud. IT is even so. Hero and Margaret have by Dogb. First, who think you the most desartless man this played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two to be constable? bears will not bite one another when they meet. 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal, for Enter JOHN. they can write and read. John. My lord and brother, God save you. Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath D. Pedro. Good den, brother. blessed you with a good name: to be a well-favoured John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you. man is the gift of fortune, but to write and read comes D. Pedro. In private? by nature. John. If it please you; yet count Claudio may hear, 2 Watch. Both which, master constable,for what I would speak of concerns him. Dogb. You have: I knew it would be your answer. The remainder of the sentence to the period, is from the quarto. 2 loose breeches. 3 from the quarto. 4 from the quarto: the folios read " night." SCENE II. MITOCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 113 Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, all to bed. let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit you, watch about signior Leonato's door: for the wedman for the constable of the watch: therefore, bear ding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil toyou the lantern. This is your charge. You shall night. Adieu; be vigilant, I beseech you. comprehend all vagrom men: you are to bid any man [Exeunt DOGBERRY /and VERGES. stand, in the prince's name. Enter BORACHIO and CONRADE. 2 Watch. FHow, if an will not stand? Bora. What, Conrade! Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him Watch. [Behind and aside.l] Peace! stir not. go: and presently call the rest of the watch together, Bora. Conrade, I say! and thank God you are rid of a knave. Con. Here, man; I am at thy elbow. Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought, there none of the prince's subjects. would a scab follow. Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with inone but Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and now the prince's subjects.-You shall also make no noise forward with thy tale. in the stre-ts; for, for the watch to babble and talk is Bora. Stand thee close, then, under this penthouse, most tolerable, and not to be endured. for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk: we know utter all to thee. what belongs to a watch. Watch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters; yet stand D Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most close. quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John offend; only, have a care that your bills be not stolen. a thousand ducats. Wrell, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid Con. Is it possible that any villainy should be so those that are drunk get them to bed. dear? 2 WTatch. How, if they will not? Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were possible Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are sober; any villainy should be so rich; for when rich villains if they make you not then the better answer, you may have need of poor ones; poor ones may make what say, they are not the men you took them for. price they will. X 2 Watch. Well, sir. Con. I wonder at it. Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such knowest that the fashion of'a doublet, or a hat, or a kind of men, the less you meddle ar make with them, cloak. is nothing to a man. why, the more is for your honesty. Con. Yes, it is apparel. 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not Bora. I mean, the fashion. lay hands en him? Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. Dogb. Truly, by your office you may; but, I think, Bora. Tush! I may as well say, the fool Is the fool. they that touch pitch will be defiled. The most peace- But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion able way for. you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him is? show himself what he is, and steal out of your com- Watch. [Aside.] I know that Deformed; a' has been pany. a vile thief this seven year: a' goes up and down like Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, a gentleman. I remember his name. partner. Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody? Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will; Con. No: It was the vane on the house. much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must this fashion is? how giddily a' turns about all the hot call to the nurse, and bid her still it. bloods between fourteen and five and thirty? some2 Watch. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will not time, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the hear it? reechy2 painting; sometime, like god Bel's priests in Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the child the old church window; sometime, like the shaven wake her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when his cod-piece seems as massy as his club? he bleats. Con. All this I see, and I see that the fashion wears Verg.'T is very true. out more apparel than the man. But art thou not Dogb. This is the end of the Charge. You,; constable, thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted are to present the prince's own person: if you meet out of thy tale into telling ne of the fashion? the prince in the night, you may stay him. Bora. Not so, neither; butlow, that I have to-night Verg. Nay, by 7r lady, that, I think, a' cannot. wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man that name of Hero: she leans me out at her mistress' knows the statutes, he may stay him: marry, not chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night. without the prince be willing: for, indeed, the watch -I tell this tale vilely:-I should first tell thee, how ought to offend no man. and it is an offence to stay a the prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and man against his will. placed, and possessed by my master Don John, saw Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so. afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter. Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an Con. And thought they3 Margaret was Hero? there be any matter of weight chances, call up me. Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but Keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good the devil, my master, knew she was Margaret, and night. Come, neighbour. partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly I Aside: in f. e. a Smoked. 3 From the quarto; the folios,' thy." 8 114 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT I. by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that Marg. Clap us into — Light o7 love;"' that goes Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; without a burden: do you sing it, and I'11 dance it. swore he would meet her, as he was appointed, next Beat. Yea, " Light o' love," with your heels!-then, morning at the temple, and there, before the whole if your husband have stables enough, you'11 see he congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night, shall lack no barns. and send her home again without a husband. Marg. 0, illegitimate construction! I scorn that 1 Watch. [Coming forward.l] We charge you in the with my heels. princess name, stand. Beat.'T is almost five o'clock, cousin:'t is time you 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable. We were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill.-Heigh have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery, ho! that ever was known in the commonwealth. Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them: I know Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.4 him, a wears a lock. Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's no Con. Masters, masters! more sailing by the star. 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I Beat. What means the fool, trow? warrant you. Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their Con. Masters,- heart's desire! 1 Watch. Never speak: we charge you, let us obey Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an you to go with us. excellent perfume. Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, Beat. I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell. being taken up of these men's bills. Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, of cold. we 11 obey you. [Exeunt. Beat. 0, God help me! God help me! how long SCENE IV.-A Room in LEONATO's House. have you profess'd apprehension? Enter HERo MA T ad U. Marg. Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA become me rarely? Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in desire her to rise. your cap.-By my troth, I am sick. Urs. I will, lady. Marg. Get you some of this distilled carduus beneHero. And bid her come hither. dictus,5 and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing Urs. Well. [Exit URSULA. for a qualm. Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato were better. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I 11 wear this. Beat. Benedictus! why benedictus? you have some Marg. By my troth, it's not so good; and I warrant, moral in this benedictus. your cousin will say so. Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another. meaning; I meant plain holy-thistle. You maythink, I'11 wear none but this. perchance, that I think you are in love: nay, by'r lady, Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the I am not such a fool to think what I list: nor I list hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a most not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, rare fashion, i faith. I saw the duchess of Milan's if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are gown, that they praise so. in love, or'that you will be in love, or that you can be Hero. 0! that exceeds, they say. in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and now is Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect he become a man: he swore he would never marry: and of yours: cloth o' gold, and cuts, and laced with sil- yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats his meat without ver, set with pearls down the sleeves, side sleeves,2 grudging; and how you may be converted. I know not, and skirts round, under-borne with a bluish tinsel; but, rethinks, you look with your eyes. as other women but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, do. yours is worth ten on't. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is Marg. Not a false gallop. exceeding heavy! Re-enter URSULA. Marg. T will be heavier soon by the weight of a Urs. Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, signior man. Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town, Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? are come to fetch you to church. Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your Ursula. [Exeunt. lord honourable without marriage? I think, you would have me say, saving your reverence,-a husband: an SCENE V Another Room in LEOATO House. bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'1 offend Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES. no body. Is there any harm in it-the heavier for a Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour? husband? None, I think, an it be the right husband, Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with and the right wife; otherwise't is light, and not heavy: you, that decerns you nearly. ask my lady Beatrice else; here she comes. Leon. Brief, I pray you; for, you see, it is a busy Enter BEATRICE. time with me. Hero. Good morning, coz. Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the sick Leon. What is it, my good friends? tune? Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt, 1 Not in f. e. 2 Long, full sleeves. 3 A popular old tune, mentioned also in Two Gentlemen of Verona. 4 A play upon the similarity of sound between H and ache. 5 Blessed thistle: "so worthily named." says Cogan's Haven of Health, 1589, "for the singular virtues that it hath." SCENE I. CMUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 115 as, God help, I would desire they were; but, in faith, is to be worshipped: all men are not alike; alas, good honest as the skin between his brows. neighbour! Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. living, that is an old man, and no honester than I. Dogb. Gifts, that God gives. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neigh- Leon. I must leave you. hour Verges. Dogb. One word, sir. Our watch, sir, have, indeed, Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are have them this morning examined before your worship. the poor Duke's officers; but, truly, for mine own part, Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart me: I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto to bestow it all of your worship. you. Leon. All thy tediousness on me? ha! Dogb. It shall be suffigance. Dogb. Yea, an't were a thousand pound more than Leon. Drink some wine ere you go. Fare you well. t is; for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, Enter a Messenger. as of any man in the city, and though I be but a poor Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your man, I am glad to hear it. daughter to her husband. Verg. And so am I. Leon. I'll wait upon them: I am ready. Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. [Exeunt LEONATO and Messenger. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your Dogb. Go, good partner, go: get you to Francis worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant Seacoal; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the knaves as any in Messina. gaol: we are now to examination these men. Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as Verg. And we must do it wisely. they say, whlen the age is in, the wit is out. God help Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you here Is us! it is a world to see!-Well said, i' faith, neighbour that shall drive some of them to a non corn: only get Verges:-,well, God's a good man; an two men ride of the learned writer to set down our excommunication, a horse, one must ride behind.-An honest soul, i' faith, and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt. sir: by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but, God ACT IV. There, Leonato; take her back again: SCEUNE I.-Thle inside of a Church. ^Give not this rotten orange to your friend; Enter Don PEDRO, JOHN, LEONATO, Friar, CLAUDIO, She's but the sign and semblance of her honour.BENEDICK, HERO, BEATRICE, &C. Behold, how like a maid she blushes here: Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief: only to the 0, what authority and show of truth plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their Can cunning sin cover itself withal! particular duties afterwards. Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady? To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, Claud. No. All you that see her, that she were a maid, Leon. To be married to her; friar, you come to By these exterior shows? But she is none: marry her. She knows the heat of a luxurious bed; Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. count? Leon. What do you mean, my lord? Hero. I do. Claud. Not to be married, Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment, Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. why you should not be conjoined, I charge you on your Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, souls to utter it. Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, 4Claud. Know you any, Hero? And made defeat of her virginity, — Hero. None, my lord. Claud. I know what you would say: if I have known Friar. Know you any, count? her, Leon. I dare make his answer; none. You 11 say, she did embrace me as a husband, Claud. 0, what men dare do! what men may do! And so extenuate the'forehand sin: what men daily do,' not knowing what they do! No, Leonato, Bene. How now! Interjections? Why then, some I never tempted her with word too large; be of laughing, as. ha! ha! he!2 But, as a brother to his sister, showed Claud. Stand thee by, Friar.-Father, by your leave: Bashful sincerity, and comely love. Will you with free and unconstrained soul Hero. And seemed -I ever otherwise to you? Give me this maid, your daughter? Claud. Out on thy3 seeming! I will write against it, Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. You seem to me as Dian in her orb, Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown; worth But you are more intemperate in your blood May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. That range4 in savage sensuality. Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankful- Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wild?' ness.- Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you? 1 The rest of the speech is from the quarto. 2 A quotation from the Accidence. 3 thee: in f. e. The change was suggested also by Pope. 4 rage: in f. e. 5 wide: in f. e. 116 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT iV. D. Pedro. What should I speak? Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not? I stand dishonourd, that have gone about Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly To link my dear friend to a common stale. thing Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream? Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are The story that is printed in her blood?true. Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes; Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. For did I think thou wouldst not. quickly die, Hero. True? 0 God! Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Claud. Leonato, stand I here? Myself would, on the hazard2 of reproaches, Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother? Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one? Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own? Chid I for that at frugal nature's frown3? Leon. All this is so; but what of this, my lord? 0, one too much by thee! Why had I one? Claud. Let me but move one question to your Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? daughter, Why had I not with charitable hand And, by that fatherly and kindly power Took up a beggars issue at my gates; That you have in her, bid her answer truly. Who smirched thus, and mir'd with infamy, Leon. I charge thee do sol, as thou art my child. I might have said, "No part of it is mine, Hero. 0 God, defend me! how am I beset!- This shame derives itself from unknown loins?" What kind of catechizing call you this? But mine and mine I lov'd, and mine I praised, Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. And mine that I was proud on; mine so much, Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name That I myself was to myself not mine, With any just reproach? Valuing of her; w-hy, she-0! she is fallen Claud. Marry, that can Hero: Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. Hath drops too few to wash her clean again, What man was he talk'd with you yesternight And salt too little, which may season give Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? To her soul-tainted' flesh! Now: if you are a maid, answer to this. Bene. Sir, sir, be patient. Hero. I talked with no man at that hour, my lord. For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden.-Leonato, I know not what to say. I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour, Beat. 0, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night, Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window; I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, Leon. Confirmnd, confirmed? 0, that is stronger Confess'd the vile encounters they have had made, A thousand times in secret. Which was before barred up with ribs of iron! John. Fie, fie! they are not to be nam'd, my lord, Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie, Not to be spoke of: Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness) There is not chastity enough in language, Wash'd it with tears? Hence! from her; let her die. Without offence to utter them. Thou pretty lady Friar. Hear me a little; I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. For I have only been silent so long, Claud. 0 Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, And given way unto this cross5 of fortune, If half thy outward graces had been plac'd By noting of the lady: I have marked About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart! A thousand blushing apparitions But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! In angel whiteness, beat away those blushes; For thee I11 lock up all the gates of love And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, To burn the errors that these princes hold To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, Against her maiden truth.-Call me a fool; And never shall it more be gracious. Trust not my reading, nor my observation, Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? Which with experimental seal doth warrant [HERO swoons. The tenour of my book; trust not my age, Beat. Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you My reverend calling6, nor divinity, down? If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here John. Come, let us go. These things, come thus to Under some blighting7 error. light, Leon. Friar, it cannot be. Smother her spirits up. Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, [Exeunt Don PEDRO, JOHN. and CLAUDIO. IS, that she will not add to her damnation Bene. How doth the lady? A sin of perjury: she not denies it. Beat. Dead, I think:-help, uncle! Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse Hero! why, Hero!-Uncle!-Signior Benedick!- That which appears in proper nakedness? friar! Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? Leon. 0 fate! take not away thy heavy hand: Hero. They know, that do accuse me: I know none. Death is the fairest cover for her shame If I know more of any man alive, That may be wished for. Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, Beat. How now. cousin Horo? Let all my sins lack mercy!-O, my father! Friar. Have comfort, lady. Prove you that any man with me conversed Leon. Dost thou look up? At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 1 From the quarto. 2 rearward: in f. e. s frame: in f. e. 4 foul-tainted: in f. e. 8 course: in f. e. 6 reverence, calling: in f e 7 biting: in f. e. SOENE I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 117 Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, Leon. Being that I flow in grief, Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. The smallest twine may lead me. Friar. There is some strange misprision in the Friar. IT is well consented: presently away, princes. For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day, And if their wisdoms.be misled in this, Perhaps, is but prolonged: have patience, and The practice of it lives in John the bastard, endure. [Exeunt Friar, HERO, and LEONATO. Whose spirits toil in fraud and' villainies. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her, Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. These, hands shall tear her: if they wrong her honour, Bene. I will not desire that. The proudest of them shall well hear. of it. Beat. You have no reason; I do it freely. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is Nor age so eat up my invention, wronged. Nor fortune made such havoc of my rreans, Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, that would right her! But they shall find, awaked in suich a cause2 Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship? Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. Ability in means, and choice of friends Bene. May a man do it? To quit me of them throughly. Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Friar. Pause a while, Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you. And let my counsel sway you in this case. Is not that strange? Your daughter, here, the princes3 left for dead; Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. It were Let her awhile be secretly kept in, as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as And publish it, that she is'dead indeed: you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not: I confess Maintain a mourning ostentation; nothing, nor I deny nothing.-I am sorry for my cousin. And on your family's old monument Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. That appertain unto a burial. Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do? will make him- eat it, that says I love not you. Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf Beat. Will you not eat your word? Change slander to remorse; that is some good: Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I But not for that dream I on this strange course protest, I love thee. But on this travail look for greater birth. Beat. Why, then, God forgive me! She dying, as it must be so maintaind, Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice? Upon the instant that she was accus'd Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd about to protest, I loved you. Of every hearer; for it so falls out, Bene. And do it with all thy heart. That what we have we prize not to the worth, Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that Whiles we enjoy it, but being lost and lackd4, none is left to protest. Why, then we rack the value; then we find Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. The virtue, that possession would not show us, Beat. ill Claudio. Whiles it was ours.-So will it fare with Claudio: Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. When he shall hear she died upon his words, Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. Into his study of imagination, Beat. I am gone, though I am here:-there is no And every lovely organ of her life love in you.-Nay, I pray you, let me go. Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, Bene. Beatrice,More moving, delicate, and full of life, Beat. In faith, I will go. Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Bene. We l11 be friends first. Than when she liv'd indeed: —then shall he mourn Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight (If ever love had interest in his liver) with mine enemy. And wish he had not so accused her; Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy. No though he thought his accusation true. Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that Let this be so, and doubt not but success hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman?Will fashion the event in better shape O0 that I were a man!-What! bear her in hand until Than I can lay it down in likelihood. they come to take hands, and then with public accusaBut if all aim but this be levelld false, tion, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,-O God, The supposition of the lady's death that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the Will quench the wonder of her infamy: market-place. And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her Bene. Hear me BeatriceAs best befits her wounded reputation, Beat. Talk with a man out at a window! —-a proper In some reclusive and religious life, saying. Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. Bene. Nay, but BeatriceBene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you: Beat. Sweet Hero!-she is wronged, she is slanAnd though you know, my inwardness and love dered, she is undone. Is very much unto the prince and Claudio Bene. BeatYet, by mine honour, I will deal in this Beat. Princes, and counties! Surely, a princely testiAs secretly and justly, as your soul mony, a goodly count, count confect; a sweet gallant, Should with your body. surely! 0, that I were a man for his sake! or that I 1 frame of: in f. e. 2 kind: in f. e. 3princess: in quarto 4 lack'd and lost: in f. e. 118 IMUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT V. had any friend would be a man for my sake! But examine: you must call forth the watch that are their manhood is melted into courtesy, valour into compli- accusers. ment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest2 way.-Let the ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only watch come forth.-Masters, I charge you, in the tells a lie and swears it.-I cannot be a man with prince's name,-accuse these men. wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love prince's brother, was a villain. thee. Dogb. Write down-prince John a villain.-Why, Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swear- this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. ing by it. Bora. Master constable,Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy hath wronged Hero? look, I promise thee. Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. Sexton. What heard you him say else? Bene. Enough! I am engaged, I will challenge him. 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By this hand, ducats of Don John, fQr accusing the lady Hero wrongClaudio shall render me a dear account. As you hear fully. of me, so think of me. Go; comfort your cousin: I Dogb. Flat burglary as ever was committed. must say she is dead; and so, farewell. [Exeunt. Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. e SCENE I. A Prison. Sexton. What else, fellow? BaA YrsIon. 1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Sexton, in gowns; and his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, the Watch, with CONRADE and BORACHIO. and not marry her. Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared? Dogb. 0 villain! thou wilt be condemned into everVerg. O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton. lasting redemption for this. Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Sexton. What else? Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. 2 Watch. This is all. Verg. Nay, that Is certain; Nwe have the exhibition Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can to examine. deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be away: Hero was in this manner accused, in this very examined? let them come before master constable. manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me.-What died. Master constable, let these men be bound, and is your name, friend? brought to Leonato's: I will go before, and show him Bora. Borachio. their examination. [Exit. Dogb. Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah? Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Verg. Let them be bound. Conrade. Bora. Hands off, coxcomb!3 Dogb. Write down master gentleman Conrade.- Dogb. God's my life! where's the sexton? let him Masters, do you serve God? write down the prince's officer coxcomb.-Come bind Con. Bora. Yes, sir, we. hope.1 them.-Thou naughty varlet. Dogb. Write down-that they hope they serve God: Con. Away! you are an ass; you are an ass. -and write God first: for God defend but God should Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou go before such villains!-Masters, it is proved already not suspect my years?-0, that he were here to write that you are little better than false knaves, and it will me down an ass!-but, masters, remember, that I am go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not for yourselves? that I am an ass.-No, thou villain, thou art full of Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, I will go about with him.-Come you hither, sirrah: a which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as word in your ear, sir: I say to you, it is thought you pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one are false knaves. that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, Bore. Sir, I say to you, we are none.- go to; and a fellow that hath had leases4; and one that Dogb. Well, stand aside.- Fore God, they are both hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him. in a tale. Have you writ down, that they are none? Bring himn away. 0, that I had been writ down an Sexton. Master constable: you go not the way to ass! [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Before LEONATO'S House. Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine: Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO. Bring me a father that so lov'd his child, Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, And It is not wisdom thus to second grief And bid him speak to me5 of patience; Against yourself. Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, And let it answer every strain for strain; Which falls into mine ears as profitless As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel; In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: 1 This speech, and half of the one following, to the word "I Masters," is from the quarto. 2 Readiest: in f. e. 3 in f. e: Verg. Let them be in the hands-Con. Off coxcomb! losses: in f. e. 5 The words " to me": not in f. e. ~~~i!~~~~i! i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~! all!-~A~~~~~~~~~~ -, E' I NA AII ", Ti-ld~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~mi~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i~~~~~~~~~i ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~P 1~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ii~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~lij~~~~~~~~~~IT ailii~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~j ~~ ~ i ii ill~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I fiit:U~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:;liiiir~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Oiet iii i! I -i-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~' ~iel j~~i~:l i- Ij/jiJ~~ -.Z —Zh: 2 (i:\j;I i l;~i5Z ITi 5~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~j DO I11,]"1VR E, E'o,Ou U D N B RC10 i; i jI';vichAdoAbot othn- Ac ]V Sene-2 SCENE I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 119 If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard; Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. Call sorrow joy;' cry hem, when he should groan; D. Pedro. Yon say not right, old man. Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk Leon. My lord, my lord; With candle-wasters;2 bring him you to me, I 11 prove it on his body, if he dare; And I of him will gather patience. Despite his nice fence, and his active practice, But there is no such man; for, brother, men His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief Claud. Away! I will not have to do with you. Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd ml Their counsel turns to passion, which before child: Would give preceptial medicine to rage. If thou killst me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Fetter strong madness in a silken thread Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed: Charm ache with air, and agony with words. But that Is no matter; let him kill one first:No, no; It is all men's office to speak patience Win me and wear me,-let him answer me.To those that wring under the load of sorrow, Come, follow me, boy! come, sir boy, come, follow me. But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency, Sir boy, I l11 whip you from your foining fence; To be so moral when he shall endure Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: Leon. BrotherMy griefs cry louder than advertisement. Ant. Content yourself. God knows, I loved my niece; Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. And she is dead; slander'd to death by villains, Leon. I pray thee, peace! I will be flesh and blood; That dare as well answer a man, indeed, For there was never yet philosopher, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue. That could endure the tooth-ache patiently, Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!However they have writ the style of gods, Leon. Brother AntonyAnd made a push3 at chance and sufferance. Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know them; Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; yea, Make those that do offend you suffer too. And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple: Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monggring boys, so. That lie, and cog, and flout; deprave and slander, My soul doth tell me Hero is belied, Go antickly, and show an outward hideousness, And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, And all of them, that thus dishonour her. How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO. And this is all! Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio hastily. Leon. But, brother AntonyD. Pedro. Good den, good den. Ant. Come,'t is no matter: Claud. Good day to both of you. Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. Leon. Hear you. my lords,- D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. patience. Leon. Some haste, my lord!-well, fare you well, My heart is sorry for your daughters death; my lord.- But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing Are you so hasty now?-well, all is one. But what was true, and very full of proof. D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old Leon. My lord, my lord! man. D. Pedro. I will not hear you. Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, Leon. No? Some of us would lie low. Come, brother, away.-I will be heard.Claud. Who wrongs him? Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it. Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou, dissem- [Exeunt LEONATO and ANTONIO. bler thou.- Enter BENEDICK. Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, D. Pedro. See, see! here comes the man we went I fear thee not. to seek. Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, Claud. Now, signior, what news? If it should give your age such cause of fear. Bene. Gosd day, my lord. In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: you are almost come Leon. Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me: to part almost a fray. I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool; Claud. We had like to have had our two noses As, under privilege of age. to brag snapped off with two old men without teeth. What I have done being young, or what would do, D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What t4iinikst Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head, thou? Had we fought, I doubt, we should have been Thou hast so wronged mine innocent child and me too young for them. That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by, Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I And with grey hairs, and bruise of many days, came to seek you both. Do challenge thee to trial of a man. Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child: for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have Thy slander hath gone through and through her it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy wit? heart, Bene. It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it? And she lies buried with her ancestors, D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? 0! in a tomb where never scandal slept, Claud. Never any did so, though very many have Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villainy. been beside their wit.-I will bid thee draw, as we do Claud. My villainy? the minstrels5; draw to pleasure us. 1 And sorrow, wag! in f. e. 2 Ben Jonson calls a book-worm, a candle-waster. This would make the text mean, pedantic speeches. pish: often spelt as in the text. 4 Put me aside. 5 Draw their instruments from their cases 120 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT V. D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale.- D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he goes Art thou sick, or angry? in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit Claud. What! courage, man! What though care Claud. He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill ape a doctor to such a man. care. D. Pedro. But, soft you; let me be: pluck up, my Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my brother was you charge it against me.-I pray you, choose another fled? subject. Enter DOGBERRY. VERGES, and the Watch, with Claud. Nay then, give him another staff: this last CONRADE and BORACHIO. was broke cross. Dogb. Come, you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more. she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance. I think he be angry indeed. Nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.' looked to. Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? D. Pedro. How now! two of my brother's men Claud. God bless me from a challenge! bound? Borachio, one? Bene. You are a villain.-I jest not:-I will make Claud. Hearken after their offence. my lord. it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men you dare.-Do me right, or I will protest your coward- done? ice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false report; fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you.' moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied cheer. a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things; and, D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast? to conclude, they are lying knaves. Claud. I' faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done? calf's-head and capers,2 the which if I do not carve thirdly, I ask thee, what's their offence? sixth and most curiously, say my knife's naught.-Shall I not lastly, why they are committed? and, to conclude; what find a woodcock too?3 you lay to their charge? Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well: it goes easily.- Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division D. Pedro. I'11 tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. the other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: "True," D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that said she, "a fine little one:"' No," said I, " a great you are thus bound to your answer? this learned wit:" "Right," says she, "a great gross one:" "Nay, constable is too cunning to be understood. What's said I, " a good wit:" " Just," said she, " it hurts no- your offence? body:" " Nay," said I, "the gentleman is wise:" Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no farther to mine: Certain." said she, 4! a wise gentleman:" " Nay," said answer: do you hear me and let this count kill me. I I, "he hath the tongues:" " That I believe," said she, have deceived even your very eyes: what your wis"for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which doms could not discover, these shallow fools have he forswore on Tuesday morning: there's a double brought to light; who, in the night, overheard me contongue; there's two tongues." Thus did she, an hour fessing to this man, how Don John your brother, together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet at last incensed me to slander the lady Hero; how you were she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Italy. in Hero's garments; how you disgraced her, when Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said you should marry her. My villainy they have upon she cared not. record, which I had rather seal with my death, than D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead upon mine an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him and my master's false accusation; and, briefly, I dedearly. The old man's daughter told us all. sire nothing but the reward of a villain. Claud. All, all; and moreover, who4saw him when D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through he was hid in the garden. your blood? D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. horns on the sensible Benedick's head? D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? Claud. Yea, and text underneath " Here dwells Bora. Yea: and paid me richly for the practice of it. Benedick the married man!" D. Pedro. He is composed and fram'd of treachery.Bene. Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I And fled he is upon this villainy. will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you Claud. Sweet Hero! now thine image doth appear break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God be In the rare semblance that I loved it first. thanked, hurt not.-My lord, for your many courtesies Dogb. Come; bring away the plaintiffs: by this time I thank you: I must discontinue your company. Your our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of the matbrother, the bastard, is fled from Messina: you have, ter. And masters, do not forget to specify, when time among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my and place shall serve, that I am an ass. lord Lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet; and till Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, and then, peace be with him. [Exit BENEDICK. the sexton too. D. Pedro. He is in earnest. Re-enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, and the Sexton. Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'11 warrant Leon. Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes, you, for the love of Beatrice. That when I note another man like him, D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee? I may avoid him. Which of these is he? Claud. Most sincerely. Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me. 1 " Large belts were worn with the girdle before, but for wrestling, the buckle was turned behind, to give the adversary a fairer grasp at the girdle. The action was therefore a challenge."-Holt White. 2 a capon: in f. e. 3 An allusion to a popular belief that a woodcock had no brains. 4 God-with a period at the end of the speech: in f. e. SCENE II. MUCH ADO A BOUT NOTHING. 121 Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath hast be wished, God prohibit it.-Come, neighbour. kill'd [Exeunt DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Watch. Mine innocent child? Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Bora. Yea, even I alone. Ant. Farewell, my lords: we look fur you to-morLeon. No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself: row. Here stand a pair of honourable men, D. Pedro. We will not fail. A third is fled, that had a hand in it.- Claud. To-night I 11 mourn with Hero. I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death: [Exeunt Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO. Record it with your high and worthy deeds. Leon. Bring you these fellows on. We'11 talk with'T was bravely done, if you bethink you of it. Margaret, Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd3 fellow. Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself; [Exeunt. Impose me to what penance your invention SCEE Gard Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not, SENE II.-LEONATO'S Garden. But in mistaking. Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET) meeting. D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I; Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve And yet, to satisfy this good old man, well at my hands by helping me to the speech of I would bend under any heavy weight Beatrice. That he'11 enjoin me to. Marg. Will you, then, write me a sonnet in praise Leon. I cannot bid you cause' my daughter live; of my beauty? That were impossible; but, I pray you both, Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man Possess the people in Messina, here, living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, How innocent she died: and, if your love thou deservest it. Can labour aught in sad invention, Marg. To have no man come over me? why shall I Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, always keep below stairs? And sing it to her bones: sing it to-night.- Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth; To-morrow morning come you to my house, it catches. And since you could not be my son-in-law, Marg. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils, Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter, which hit, but hurt not. Almost the copy of my child that's dead, Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt And she alone is heir to both of us: a woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice. I give Give her the right you should have given her cousin, thee the bucklers. And so dies my revenge. Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our Claud. 0 noble sir! own. Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me. Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in I do embrace your offer, and dispose the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons For henceforth of poor Claudio. for maids. Leon. To-morrow, then, I will expect your coming: Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, To-night I take my leave.-This naughty man hath legs. [Exit MARGARET. Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Bene. And therefore will come. Who, I believe, was pact2 in all this wrong, The god of love, [Singing.] Hir'd to it by your brother. That sits above, Bora. No, by my soul, she was not; And knows me, and knows me, Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me; How pitiful I deserve -4 But always hath been just and virtuous, I mean, in singing; but in loving, Leander the good In any thing that I do know by her. swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a Dogb. Moreover, sir, which, indeed, is not under whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, white and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of and over, as my poor self, in love. Marry, I cannot one Deformed: they say, he wears a key in his ear, and show it in rhyme; I have tried: I can find out no a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God's rhyme to " lady" but " baby,") an innocent rhyme; for name; the which he hath used so long, and never paid, " sCorn1" "horn," a hard rhyme; for " school," " fool," that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing a babbling rhyme-very ominous endings. No, I was for God's sake. Pray you, examine him upon that not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in point, festival terms.Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Enter BEATRICE. Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful Sweet Beatrice wouldst thou come when I called thee? and reverend youth, and I praise God for you. Beat. Yea, signior; and depart when you bid me. Leon. There's for thy pains. Bene. 0! stay but till then. Dogb. God save the foundation! Beat. " Then is spoken; fare you well now:-and Leon. Go: I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for; which is, thank thee. with knowing what hath passed between you and Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship; Claudio. which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself for Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee. the example of others. God keep your worship; I wish Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is your worship well: God restore you to health. I humbly but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore give you leave to depart, and if a merry meeting may I will depart unkissed. 1 bid: in f. e. 2 Knight adheres to the old reading pack'd, an old form of the word in the text. 3 Wicked. 4 The beginning of a song by William Elderton. 122 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT V. Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right Midnight, assist our moan; sense, so forcible is thy wit. But, I must tell thee Help us to sigh and groan, plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge, and either I Heavily, heavily: must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a Graves, yawn, and yield your dead, coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of Till death be uttered 3 my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? Heavily, heavily. Beat. For them all together; which maintained so Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night! politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good Yearly will I do this rite. part to intermingle with them. But for which of my D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters: put your torches good parts did you first suffer love for me? out. Bene. Suffer love! a good epithet. I do suffer love, The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day, indeed, for I love thee against my will. Before the wheels of Phcebus, round about Beat. In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well. yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates. Claud. Good morrow, masters: each his way can Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. tell.4 [Exeunt Torch-bearers.5 Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's not D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weed; one wise man among twenty that will praise himself. And then to Leonato's we will go. Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speed, in the time of good neighbours. If a man do not Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe! erect, in this age, his own tomb ere he dies, he shall [Exeunt. live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and CEE A in L T the widow weeps. SCENE IV.-A Room in LEONATO S House. Beat. And how long is that, think you? Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK; BEATRICE) Bene. Question:-why an hour in clamour, and a URSULA, Friar, and HERO. quarter in rheum: therefore is it most expedient for Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impe- Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd diment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his own her virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising Upon the error that you heard debated: myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. But Margaret was in some fault for this, And now tell me how doth your cousin? Although against her will, as it appears Beat. Very ill. In the true course of all the question. Bene. And how do you? Ant. Well, I- am glad that all things sort so well. Beat. Very ill too. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There- will To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Enter URSULA. Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder s And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd. old1 coil at home: it is proved, my lady Hero hath been The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily To visit me.-You know your office, brother; abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is You must be father to your brother's daughter, fled and gone. Will you come presently? And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? Ant. Which I will do with confirmed countenance. Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with Friar. To do what, signior? thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. Bene. To bind me, or undo me; one of them.SCETE III.E TThe Inside of a Churc. Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, SCENE III.-The Inside of a Church. I in Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants, with Leon. That eye my daughter lent her:'t is most true. music and tapers. Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me, Atten. It is, my lord. From Claudio. and the prince. But what's your will? Claud. [Reads.] Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: EPITAPH. But, for my will, my will is, your good will Done to death by slanderous tongues May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd Was, the Hero that here lies: In the state of honourable marriage:Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. Gives her fame which never dies. Leon. My heart is with your liking. So the life, that died with shame Friar. And my help. Lives in death with glorious fame. Here come the prince, and Claudio6. Hang thou there upon the tomb, Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO, with Attendants. Praising her when I am dumb. D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. Leon. Good morrow. prince; good morrow, Claudio: SONG. We here attend you. Are you yet determined Pardon, goddess of the night, To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? Those that slew thy virgin bright2; Claud. I'll hold my mind were she an Ethiop. For the which, with songs of woe, Leon. Call her forth, brother: here's the friar ready. Round about her tomb we go. [Exit ANTONIO. Used in the colloquial emphatic sense, for "great." 2 knight: in f. e. 3 Done awaywith. 4 each his several way: in f. e. 5 Not in f. e. 6 This line is from the quarto. SCENE IV. MUCOH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 123 D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's Bene. It is no6 matter, —Then, you do not love me? the matter, Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. That you have such a February face, Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleSo full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness? man. Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull.- Claud. And I 711 be sworn upon't that he loves her; Tush! fear not, man, we 1lI tip thy horns with gold, For here Is a paper, written in his hand, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, As once Europa did at lusty Jove, Fashion'd to Beatrice. When he would play the noble beast in love. Hero. And here Is another, Bene.- Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; Writ in my cousin's hand, stoln from her pocket, And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow, Containing her affection unto Benedick. And got a calf in that same noble feat, Bene. A miracle! here Is our own hands against our Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. hearts.-Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked. take thee for pity. Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckon- Beat. I would not deny you; —-but, by this good day, ings. I yield upon great persuasion, and, partly, to save your Which is the lady I must seize upon? life, for 1 was told you were in a consumption. Leon. This same is she and I do give you her. Bene. Peace! I will stop your mouth. Claud. Why. then she s mine.-Sweet, let me see D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the married your face. man? - Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Bene. I'11 tell thee what, prince; a college of witBefore this friar, and swear to marry her. crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar: thou think I care for a satire or an epigram? No: if I am your husband, if you like of me. a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear nothing Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife: handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to [Unmasking. marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. world can say against it; and therefore never flout at Claud. Another Hero? me for what I have said against it, for man is a giddy Hero. Nothing certainer. thing, and this is my conclusion.-For thy part, One Hero died belied'; but I do live, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee: but, in that And, surely as I live, I am a maid. thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! love my cousin. Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd. Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have denied Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy When after that the holy rites are ended, single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look Mean time, let wonder seem familiar, exceeding narrowly to thee. And to the chapel let us presently. Bene. Come, come, we are friends.-Let Is have a Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice? dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our Beat. I answerto that name. [Unmasking.] What own hearts, and our wives' heels. is your will? Leon. We'll have dancing afterward. Bene. Do not you love me? Bene. First, of my word; therefore play, music!Beat. Why,2 no more than reason. Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: Bene. Why, then, your uncle, and the prince, and there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with Claudio, horn. Have been deceived, for3 they swore you did. Enter a Messenger. Beat. Do not you love me? Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, Bene. Troth, no4 more than reason. And brought with armed men back to Messina. Beat. Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I ll devise Are much deceived; for they swore5, you did. three brave punishments for him.-Strike up, pipers. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. [Dance of all the actors.7 Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. 1 defiled: in f e. 2 No, no: in f.e. 3 Not in f. e. f.e. have: Troth no, no. did swear: in f. e. 6 T is no such: in f. e. Dance: f. e. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. DRAMATIS PERSONE. FERDINAND, King of Navarre. COSTARD, a Clown. BIRON, MOTH, Page to Armado. LONGAVILLE, Lords, attending on the King. A Forester. DUMAINE, BOYET, } Lords, attending on the Princess PRINCESS of France. MERCADE, of France. ROSALINE, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, a Spaniard. MARIA, Ladies, attending on the Princess. SIR NATHANIEL, a Curate. KATHARINE, HOLOFERNES, a Schoolmaster. JAQUENETTA, a country wench. DULL, a Constable. Officers and others, attendants on the King and Princess. SCENE, Navarre. ACT I. SCENE I.-Navarre. A Park, with a Palace in it. But there are other strict observances; As, not to see a woman in that term, Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE. Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, And, one day in a week to touch no food, Live registered upon our brazen tombs, And but one meal on every day beside, And then grace us in the disgrace of death; The which, I hope, is not enrolled there: When, spite of cormorant devouring time, And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy And not be seen to wink of all the day, That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, When I was wont to think no harm all night, And make us heirs of all eternity. And make a dark night, too, of half the day, Therefore, brave conquerors!-for so you are, Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there. That war against your own affections, 0! these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, And the huge army of the world's desires,- Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. Our late edict shall strongly stand in force. King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. Navarre shall be the wonder of the world: Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please. Our court shall be a little Academe, I only swore to study with your grace, Still and contemplative in living art. And stay here in your court for three years' space. You three, Biron, Dumaine and Longaville; Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. Have sworn for three years term to live with me, Biron. By yea, and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, What is the end of study, let me know? That are recorded in this schedule here: [Showing it.' King. Why, that to know which else we should not Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names, know. That his own hand may strike his honour down, Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from That violates the smallest branch herein, common sense? If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep them too. Biron. Come on, then: I will swear to study so, Long. I am resolved:'t is but a three years' fast. To know the thing I am forbid to know; The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: As thus,-to study where I well may dine, Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits When I to feast expressly am forbid; Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite' the wits. Or study where to meet some mistress fine, Dum. My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified. When mistresses from common sense are hid; The grosser manner of this world's delights Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves: Study to break it, and not break my troth. To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, If study's gain be this, and this be so, With all these living in philosophy. Study knows that which yet it doth not know. Biron. I can but say their protestation over; Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, That is, to live and study here three years. And train our intellects to vain delight. 1 Not in f. e. 2 From the quarto% 1598. scENE I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 125 Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but' that most vain, such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain: devise." As painfully to pore upon a book, This article, my liege, yourself must break: To seek the light of truth; while truth the while For, well you know, here comes in embassy Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look: The French king's daughter with yourself to speak,Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile. A maid of grace. and complete majesty,So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, About surrender up of Aquitain Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: Study me how to please the eye indeed Therefore, this article is made in vain, By fixing it upon a fairer eye; Or vainly comes th' admired princess rather. Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite And give him light that it was blinded by. forgot. Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, Biron. So study evermore is overshot: That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks: While it doth study to have what it would, Small have continual plodders ever won, It doth forget to do the thing it should; Save base authority from others' books. And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, T is won, as towns with fire: so won, so lost. That give a name to every fixed star, King. We must of force dispense with this decree: Have no more profits of their shining nights, She must lie here on mere necessity. Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn Too much to know is to know nought but fame; Three thousand times within this three years' space; And every godfather can give a name. For every man with his affects is born, King. How well he's read, to reason against reading! Not by might master'd, but by special grace. Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! If I break faith, this word shall plead6 for me, Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the I am forsworn on mere necessity.weeding. So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes. Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a And he, that breaks them in the least degree, breeding. Stands in attainder of eternal shame. Dum. How follows that? Suggestions7 are to others, as to me; Biron. Fit in his place and time. But. I believe, although I seem so loth, Dum. In reason nothing. I am the last that will last keep his oath. Biron. Something, then, in rhyme. But is there no quick recreation granted? King. Biron is like an envious sneaping2 frost, King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is That bites the first-born infants of the spring.haunted Biron. Well, say I am: why should proud summer With a refined traveller of Spain; boast A man in all the world-new fashions flaunted,8 Before the birds have any cause to sing That hath a mint of phrases in his brain: Why should I joy in any abortive birth? One, whom the music of his own vain tongue At Christmas I no more desire a rose, Doth ravish like enchanting harmony; Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; A man of complements whom right and wrong But like of each thing that in season grows. Have chose as umpire of their mutiny: So you, by study now it is too late, This child of fancy, that Armado hight, Climb o'er the house-top to unlock the gate. For interim to our studies, shall relate King. Well, set you out: go home, Biron: adieu! In high-born words the worth of many'a knight Biron. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. with you: How you delight, my lords, I know not, I, And, though I have for barbarism spoke more But, I protest, I love to hear him lie. Than for that angel knowledge you can say, And I will use him for my minstrelsy.9 Yet confident I Ill keep to what I swore, Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, And bide the penance of each three years' day. A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. Give me the paper: let me read the same; Long. Costard, the swain, and he shall be our sport; And to the strictest decrees I ll write my name. And so to study three years is but short. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from Enter DULL, with a letter. and COSTARD. shame! Dull. Which is the duke's own person? Biron. [Reads.] Item, " That no woman shall come Biron. This, fellow. What wouldst? within a mile of my court."-Hath this been pro- Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am claimd? his grace's tharborough0~; but I would see his own Long. Four days ago. person in flesh and blood. Biron. Let s see the penalty. [Reads.] "On pain Biron. This is he. of losing her tongue." —Who devis'd this penalty? Dull. Signior Arm-Arm-commends you. There's Long. Marry, that did I. villainy abroad: this letter will tell you more. Biron. Sweet lord, and why? Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. Long. To fright them hence with that dread King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. penalty. Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God Biron. A dangerous law against garrulity.5 for high words. [Reads.] Item, " If any man be seen to talk with a Long. A high hope for a low hearing": God grant woman within the term of three years, he shall endure us patience! 1 From the quarto; the folio reads: and. 2 Snipping, or nipping. 3 Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate: in f. e. 4 I 11 keep what I have swore: in f. e. 5 gentility: in f. e. 6 speak: in f. e. 7 Temptations. 8 world's new fashions plantsd: in f. e. 9 As a minstrel to tell me stories. 1o Third borough, a peace officer. 11 having: in f. e. 126 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT I. Biron. To hear, or forbear hearing. ment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony Dull, a man Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; of good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation." or to forbear both. Dull. Me, an't shall please you: I am Antony Dull Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause King. I For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel to chime in in' the merriness. called) which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain, Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaque- I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury: and shall, netta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. manner.2 Thine, in all complements of devoted and heart-burnBiron. In what manner? ing heat of duty, Cost. In manner and form following, sir; all those "DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.0 three: I was seen with her in the manor house, sitting Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but the with her upon the form, and taken following her into best that ever I heard. the park; which, put together, is, in manner and form King. Ay, the best for the worst.-But, sirrah, what following. Now, sir, for the manner,-it is the man- say you to this? ner of a man to speak to a woman; for the form,-in Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. some form. King. Did you hear the proclamation? Biron. For the following, sir? Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little Cost. As it shall follow in my correction; and God of the marking of it. defend the right! King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to King. Will you hear this letter with attention? be taken with a wench. Biron. As we would hear an oracle. Cost. I was taken with none, sir: I was taken with Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after a damsel. the flesh. King. Well, it was proclaimed damsel. King. [Reads.]':Great deputy, the welkin's vice- Cost. This was no damsel neither, sir: she was a gerent, and sole dominator of- Navarre, my soul's virgin. earth's God, and body's fostering patron,-" King. It is so varied, too, for it was proclaimed virgin. Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken King. " So it is,-" with a maid. Cost. It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is; in King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. telling true, but so,- Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. King. Peace! King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you Cost. -be to me, and every man that dares not shall fast a week with bran and water. fight. Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and King. No words. porridge, Cost. -of other men's secrets, I beseech you. King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper.King. " So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melan- My lord Biron, see him delivered o'er: choly, I did commend the black-oppressing humour to And go we, lords, to put in practice that the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving air; Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. [Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE. The time when? About the sixth hour; when beasts Biron. I ll lay my head to any good man's hat, most graze, birds best peck. and men sit down to that These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. nourishment which is called supper. So much for the Dull. Sirrah, come on.5 time when. Now for the ground which; which, I Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir: for true it is, I was mean, I walked upon: it is ycleped thy park. Then taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; for the place where; where, I mean, I did encounter and therefore, welcome the sour cup of prosperity! that obscene and most preposterous event, that draweth Affliction may one day smile again, and till then, set from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which thee down, sorrow! [Exeunt. here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest. But to the place, where:-it standeth north-north-east and S.- by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted Enter ARMADO and MOTH, his page. garden3: there did I see that low-spirited swain) that Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great base minnow of thy mirtht,- spirit grows melancholy? Cost. Me. Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. King.'!-that unlettered small-knowing soul,' Arm. Why? sadness is one and the self-same thing, Cost. Me. dear imp. King. " -that shallow vessel4,7 Moth. No, no; O lord! sir, no. Cost. Still me. Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, King. " —which, as I remember, hight Costard,: my tender juvenal? Cost. O! me. Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, King. — sorted and consorted, contrary to thy my tough senior. established proclaimed edict and continent canon, Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? witwithith- th-buithith this I passion to say ]Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal? wherewith.77 Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent Cost. With a wench. epitheton appertaining to thy young days, which we King. "-with a child of our grandmother Eve, may nominate tender. a female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a. Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title woman. Him I (as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me to your old time, which we may name tough. on) have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punish- Arm. Pretty, and apt. 1 climb in: In f. e. 2 The law French phrase, mainour, with the thing stolen in hand. 3 The fantastic figures in the beds of the formal gardens of the period. 4 vassal: in f. e. 5 f. e. give this speech to BIRON. SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 127 Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my say- to have a love of that colour, methinks, Samson had ing apt; or I apt, and my saying pretty? small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit. Arm. Thou pretty, because little. Moth. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. Moth. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt? Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. M1oth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? under such colours. Arm. In thy condign praise. Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. Moth. I'will praise an eel with the same praise. Mroth. My father's wit, and my mothers tongue, Arm. What, that an eel is ingenious? assist me! Moth. That an eel is quick. Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers. Thou poetical! heatest my blood. 3Moth. If she-be made of white and red, Moth. I am answered, sir. Her faults will ne'er be known; Arm. I love not to be crossed. For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, Moth. [Aside,] He speaks the mere contrary: And fears by pale white shown: crosses' love not him? Then, if she fear, or be to blame, Arm. I have promised to study three years with the By this you shall not know; duke. For still her cheeks possess the same, M3oth. You may do it in an hour, sir. Which native she doth owe'. Arm. Impossible. A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of Moth. How many is one thrice told? white and red. Arm. I am ill at reckoning: it fitteth the spirit of Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and a tapster, the Beggar?5 Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. M1oth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad Arm. I confess both: they are both the varnish of some three ages since, but, I think, now It is not to be a complete man. found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the writing, nor the tune. gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. may example my digression by some mighty precedent. sloth. Which the base vulgar do call three. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park Arm. True. with the rational hind Costard: she deserves well. Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Moth. [Aside.] To be whipped; and yet a better Now, here is three studied ere you l11 thrice wink: love than my master. and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and Arm. Sing, boy: my spirit grows heavy in love. study three years in two words, the dancing horse2 will Moth. And that Is great marvel, loving a light tell you. wench. Arm. A most fine figure! Arm. I say, sing. Moth. [Aside.] To prove you a cypher. Moth. Forbear, till this company be past. Arm. I will hereupon confess I am in love; and, as [Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA. it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Cosbase wench.,If drawing my sword against the humour tard safe: and you must let him take no delight, nor of affection would deliver me from the reprobate no penance; but a' must fast three days a week. For thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she is him to any French courtier for a new devised courtesy. allowed for the day'-woman. Fare you well. I think Fcorn to sigh: methinks, I should out-swear Arm. I do betray myself with blushing.-Maid. Cupid. Comfort me, boy. What great men have Jaq. Man. been in love? Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. Moth. Hercules, master. Jaq. That's hereby. Arm. Most sweet Hercules!-More authority, dear Arm. I know where it is situate. boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be Jaq. Lord, how wise you are! men of good repute and carriage. Arm. I will tell thee wonders. Moth. Samson, master: he was a man of good Jaq. With that face? carriage, great carriage; for he carried the town-gates Arm. I love thee. on his back, like a porter, and he was in love. Jaq. So I heard you say. Arm. 0 well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! Arm. And so farewell. I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst Jaq. Fair weather after you. me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. Samson's love, my dear Moth? [Exeunt DULL and JAQUENETTA. Moth. A woman, master. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere Arm. Of what complexion? thou be pardoned. Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it one of the four. on a full stomach. Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows, Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? for they are but lightly rewarded. Moth. As I have read, sir, and the best of them too. Arm. Take away this villain: shut him up. Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but Moth. Come, you transgressing slave: away! 1 Coins; so called from the crosses on them. 2 Bankes' horse, Marocco, exhibited in London about the close of the sixteenth century, and repeatedly alluded to in the writings of the time. He is said to have ascended St. Paul's steeple. Bankes took his horse to the continent, and both are said to have been burnt, at Rome, for witchcraft. 3 pathetical: in f. e. 4 Possess. 5 It is printed in Vol. I., of Percy's Reliques. 6 Dey, or dairy. 128 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT n. Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being is a great argument of falsehood) if I love; and how loose. can that be true love, which is falsely attempted? Love Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt is a familiar; love is a devil: there is no evil angel but to prison. love. Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of deso- excellent strength: yet was Solomon so seduced, and lation that I have seen, some shall see- he had a very good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard lMoth. What shall some see? for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they look Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will not upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello words; and therefore I will say nothing: I thank God he regards not: his disgrace is to be called boy, but I have as little patience as another man, and therefore his glory is, to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust, rapier! I can be quiet. [Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD. be still, drum! for your armigerl is in love; yea, he Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, loveth. Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, for, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, I am sure, I shall turn sonnet-maker.2 Devise wit, write which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, (which pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I.-Another part of the Park. A Pavilion Of Jaues Falconbridge, solemnized andTents at a distance. In Normandy, saw I this Longaville. and'Tents at a distance. A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd; Enter the PRINCESS of France, ROSALINE, MARIA, Well fitted in the arts; glorious in arms: KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, and other Attendants. Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your clearest3 The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, spirits. If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil, Consider whom the king your father sends, Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will; To whom he sends, and what's his embassy: Whose edge hath power to cut whose will still wills Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, It should none spare that come within his power. To parley with the sole inheritor rin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so? Of all perfections that a man may owe, iLar. They say so most that most his humours know. Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight Pri'n. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. Than Aquitain, a dowry for a queen. Who are the rest? Be now as prodigal of all dear grace, Kath. The young Dumaine, a well-accomplished As nature was in making graces dear. youth, When she did starve the general world beside, Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd: And prodigally gave them all to you. Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill, Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise: And shape to win grace though he had no wit. Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, I saw him at the Duke Alen9on's once; Not uttered by base sale of chapmen's tongues. And much too little of that good I saw I am less proud to hear you tell my worth Is my report to his great worthiness. Than you much willing to be counted wise Ros. Another of these students at that time In spending your wit in the praise of mine. Was there with him: if I have heard a truth, But now to task the tasker.-Good Boyet, Biron they call! him; but a merrier man, You are not ignorant, all-telling fame Within the limit of becoming mirth, Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, I never spent an hour's talk withal. Till painful study shall out-wear three years His eye begets occasion for his wit; No woman may approach his silent court: For every object that the one doth catch, Therefore to us seem'th it a needful course The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, Before we enter his forbidden gates, Which his fair tongue (conceit s expositor) To know his pleasure; and in that behalf, Delivers in such apt and gracious words, Bold of your worthiness, we single you That aged ears play truant at his tales, As our best moving fair solicitor. And younger hearings are quite ravished, Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, So sweet and voluble is his discourse. On serious business, craving quick despatch Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love, Importunes personal conference with his grace. That every one her own hath garnished Haste, signify so much; while we attend, With such bedecking ornaments of praise? Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will. Lord. Here comes Boyet. Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit. Re-enter BOYET. Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.- Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? Who are the votaries, my loving lords, Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach; That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? And, he, and his competitors in oath, 1 Lord. Longaville is one. Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady, Prin. Know you the man? Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, Mar. I know him, madam: at a marriage feast, He rather means to lodge you in the field, Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir Like one that comes here to besiege his court, I manager: in f. e. 2 sonneteer: in f. e. The folio has: sonnet. 3 dearest: in f. e. SCENE I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 129 Than seek a dispensation for his oath, Than Aquitain, so gelded as it is. To let you enter his unpeopled house: Dear princess, were not his requests so far Here comes Navarre. [The ladies mask. From reason's yielding, your fair self should make Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAINE, BIRON, and A yielding,'gainst some reason in my breast, Attendants. And go well satisfied to France again. King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Na- Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong, varre. And wrong the reputation of your name, Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and welcome I In so unseeming to confess receipt have not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. yours, and welcome to the wide' fields too base to be King. I do protest I never heard of it; mine. And, if you prove it, I 11 repay it back, King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. Or yield up Aquitain. Prin. I will be welcome then. Conduct me thither. Prin. We arrest your word. King. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath. Boyet, you can produce acquittances Prin. Our lady help my lord! he'11 be forsworn. For such a sum from special officers King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. Of Charles his father. Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else. King. Satisfy me so. King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not come, Prin. Were my lord so; his ignorance were wise, Where that and other specialties are bound: Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping: King. It shall suffice me: at which interview,'T is deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, All liberal reason I will yield unto. And sin to break it. Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold: As honour, without breach of honour, may To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. Make tender of to thy true worthiness. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, You may not come, fair princess, within4 my gates; And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper. But here without you shall be so received, King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. [Reads.2 As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, Prin. You will the sooner that I were away, Thotlgh so denied free' harbour in my house. For you'11 prove perjured, if you make me stay. Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell: Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? To-morrow shall we visit you again. Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your Biron. I know you did. grace! Ros. How needless was it, then, King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! To ask the question? [Exeunt KING and his train. Biron. You must not be so quick. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. Ros. IT is qlong of you, that spur me with such Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; I would be questions. glad to see it. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast,'t will Biron. I would, you heard it groan. tire. Ros. Is the fool sick? Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. Biron. Sick at the heart. Biron. What time o' day? Ros. Alack! let it blood. Ros. The hour that fools should ask. Biron. Would that do it good? Biron. Now fair befal your mask! Ros. My physic says, ay. Ros. Fair fall the face it covers! Biron. Will you prick It with your eye? Biron. And send you many lovers! Ros. ATo point,6 with my knife. Ros. Amen, so you be none. Biron. Now, God save thy life. Biron. Nay, then will I begone. Ros. And yours from long living. King. Madam, your father here doth intimate Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Stands back.7 The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that Being but the one half of an entire sum same? [Coming forward.8 Disbursed by my father in his wars. Boyet. The heir of Alengon, Rosaline her name. But say, that he. or we, (as neither have) Dum. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid [Exit. A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which, Long. I beseech you a word. What is she in the One part of Aquitain is bound to us, white? [Coming forward.9 Although not valued to the money's worth. Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the If, then, the king your father will restore light. But that one half which is unsatisfied, Long. Perchance, light in the light. I desire her We will give up our right in Aquitain, name. And hold fair friendship with his majesty. Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that, But that, it seems, he little purposeth, were a shame. For here he doth demand to have repaid Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, Boyet. Her mothers, I have heard. On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, Long. God's blessing on your beard! To have his title live in Aquitain; Boyet. Good sir, be not offended. Which we much rather had depart3 withal, She is an heir of Falconbridge. And have the money by our father lent, Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 1 Some mod. eds. read: wild. 2 Not in f. e. 3 Part and depart were used indifferently. 4 So the quarto; the folio: in. 6 fair: in f.. 6 Non point: Fr. 7 Retiring: in f. e. 8 9 Not in f. o. 9 130 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. AOT m. She is a most sweet lady. Prin. Your reason? Boyet. Not unlike, sir: that may be. [Exit LONG. Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire Biron. What Is her name, in the cap? To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire: [Coming forward.' His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed, Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed: Biron. Is she wedded, or no? His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be: Biron. O! you are welcome, sir. Adieu. All senses to that sense did make their repair, Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. To feel only looking on fairest of fair. [Exit BIRoN.-Ladies unmask. Methought, all his senses were locked in his eye, Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord: As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; Not a word with him but a jest. Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where3 they were Boyet. And every jest but a word. glass'd, Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board. His facets own margin did quote such amazes, Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry! That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. Boyet. And wherefore not ships? I'11 give you Aquitain, and all that is his, No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish Prin. Come to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'dthe jest? Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. hath disclos'd. [Offering to kiss her. I only have made a mouth of his eye, Mar. Not so, gentle beast. By adding a tongue, which I know will not lie. My lips are no common, though several2 they be. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and spealfst Boyet. Belonging to whom? skilfully. Mar. To my fortunes and me. iMar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, him. agree. Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father This civil war of wits were much better used is but grim. On Navarre and his book-men, for here't is abused. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) Mar. No. By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Boyet. What then, do you see? Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Prin. With what? Boyet. You are too hard for me. [Exeunt. Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. ACT III. SCENE I.-Another part of the Same. complements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without these and Enter ARMAno and MOTH. make them men of note, (do you note, men?) that most SONG. See, my love. are affected to these. Arm. Warble, child: make passionate my sense of Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience? hearing. Moth. By my pains of observation. Moth. Concolinel — (Amato bene.)5 [Singing. Arm. But 0,-but 0,Arm. Sweet air!-Go, tenderness of years: take this Moth. The hobby-horse is forgot. key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festi- Arm. Callest thou my love hobby-horse? nately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, love. and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forMoth. Master, will you win your love with a French got your love? brawl? Arm. Almost I had. Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French? Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart. Moth. No, my complete master; but to jig off a Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. tune at the tongue's end, canary7 to it with your feet, Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I humour it with turning up your eyelids; sigh a note, will prove. and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if you Arm. What wilt thou prove? swallowed love with singing love: sometime through Moth. A man, if I live: and this, by, in, and withthe nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love; out, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your your heart cannot come by her: in heart you love her, eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin belly's doub- because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart let,'like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy like a man after the old painting; and keep not too her. long in,one tune, but a snip and away. These are Arm. I am all these three. 1 Not in f. e. 2 A play upon the legal meaning of the words common, unenclosed land; and several, that which is private property. Severell, is said by Dr. James, to have in Warwickshire, the local meaning of belonging to a few proprietors in common. 3 So the quarto; the folio has: whence. 4 5 Not in f. e. 6 Fr. Branle; a dance in which the parties joined hands and danced around a couple, who kissed in turn all of the opposite sex to themselves, then took their places in the circle, and were succeeded by a second couple, and so on, till all had had their share. 7 The name of a lively, grotesque dance. 8 f. e.: penny. The original word of the folio is penne. SCENE I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 131 Moth. And three times as much more, and yet To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose:'1 nothing at all. Let me see, a fat P envoy ay, that Is a fat goose. Arm. Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a Arm. Come hither, come hither. How did this arletter. gument begin? lMoth. A messenger' well sympathised: a horse to Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin. be ambassador for an ass. Then call'd you for the l'envoy. Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou? Cost. True, and I for a plantain: thus came your Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the argument in; horse, for he is very slow-gaited: but I go. Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought, Arm.'The way is but short. Away! And he ended the market." Moth. As swift as lead, sir. Arm. But tell me j how was there a Costard broken Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious? in a shin? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? Moth. I will tell you sensibly. lMoth. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no. Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak Arm. I say, lead is slow. that Venvoy. 3Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so: I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun? Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:- Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. I shoot thee at the swain. Arm. Sirrah Costard, marry,'" I will enfranchise lMoth. Thump then, and I flee. [Exit. thee. Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and fair2 of Cost. O! marry me to one Frances?-I smell some grace!'envoy, some goose, in this. By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face: Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at Moist-eyed3 melancholy, valour gives thee place. liberty, enfreedoming thy person: thou wert immured, My herald is returned. restrained, captivated, bound. Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD. Cost. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, Moth. A wonder, master! here's a Costard4 broken and let me be loose. in a shin. Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee free'3 from Arm. Some enima, some riddle: come,-thy lVenvoy; durance and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing -begin. but this: bear this significant [Giving a letter.]l4 to the Cost. No egma. no riddle, no l'envoy! no salve in country maid Jaquenetta. T rere is remuneration; for them all,5 sir: 0, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no thb best ward of mine honour is rewarding my depenVenvoy, no l'envoy: no salve, sir, but a plantain. dents. Moth, follow. [Exit. Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly sloth. Like the sequel, I.-Signior Costard, adieu. thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes [Exit. me to ridiculous smiling. 0, pardon me, my stars! Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my inconyl5 Doth the inconsiderate take salve for'envoy, and the Jewl!word Venvoy for a salve? Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not l'envoy 0! that Is the Latin word for three farthings: three a salve?6 farthings, remuneration.-" What's the price of this Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue, or discourse, to inklel7? A penny.-No, Ill give you a remuneration:" make plain why, it carries it.-Remuneration!-why, it is a fairer Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. name than French crown. I will never buy and sell I will example it: out of this word. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Enter BIRON. Were still at odds, being but three. Biron. 0, my good knave Costard! exceedingly There's the moral: now the Venvoy. well met. Mloth. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again. Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, a man buy for a remuneration? Were still at odds, being but three. Biron. What is a remuneration? SMoth. Until the goose came out of door, Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. [Showing it.'8 And stay'd the odds by making7 four. Biron. 0! why then, three-farthing-worth of silk. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with Cost. I thank your worship. God be wi' you. my l'envoy. Biron. O, Stay, slave! I must employ thee: The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, Were still at odds, being but three. Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Cost. When would you have it done, sir? Staving the odds by making four. Biron. 0! this afternoon. A good Venvoy.8 Cost. Well, I will do it, sir. Fare you well. M3oth. Ending in the goose; would you desire more? Biron. 0! thou knowest not what it is. Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain9 a goose Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. that's flat.- Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.- Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. message: ii n f. e. 2 free: in f.. 3 most rude: in f. e. 4 Head. 5 the male: in f. e. Tyrwhitt, also suggested the word in the text. 6 A play on the Latin salutation, salve. 7 adding: in f. e. 8 f. e. give this line as well as the next to Maoth. 9 Selling a bargain, says Capell, consisted in drawing a person in, by some stratagem, to proclaim himself a fool by his own lips.-Knight. 10 A cheating game, played with a stick and a belt or string, so arranged that a spectator would think he could make the latter fast by placing a stick through its intricate folds, whereas the operator could detach it at once.-Halliwell's Glossary.'1 An allusion to a proverb"Three wonmen and a goose make a market." 12 13 14 Not in f. e. 15 Sweet, pretty. 16 Used as a term of endearmenzet; also in Mid. Sum. Nts. Dream, where Thisbe calls Pyramuiszs "most lovely Jew." 17A species of tape. s1 Not: inf. e.. 132 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT IV. Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, It is but this.- Dread prince of plackets, king of cod-pieces, The princess comes to hunt here in the park, Sole imperator, and great general And in her train there is a gentle lady; Of trotting paritors,4 (0 my little heart!) When tongues speak sweetly, thenthey name her name, And I to be a corporal of his field, And Rosaline they call her: ask for her, And wear his colours like a tumblers hoop! And to her white hand see thou do commend What? I love! I sue! I seek a wife! This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon: go. A woman, that is like a German clock, [Gives him money. Still a repairing, ever out of frame, Cost. Guerdon.-O, sweet guerdon! better than And never going aright; being a watch, remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better.' Most But being watched that it may still go right? sweet guerdon! —I will do it, sir, in print2.-Guerdon Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all; -remuneration! [Exit. And, among three, to love the worst of all; Biron. 0!-And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have A witty' wanton with a velvet brow, been love's whip; With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; A very beadle to a humorous sigh: Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, A critic, nay, a night-watch constable, Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard: A domineering pedant o'er the boy, And I to sigh for her! to watch for her! Than whom no mortal so magnificent! To pray for her! Go to it is a plague This whimpled3, whining, purblind, wayward boy; That Cupid will impose for my neglect This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Of his almighty dreadful little might. Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan: Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.-Another part of the Same. When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart; Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, As I for praise alone now seek to spill BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Prin. Was that theking, that spurred his horse so hard Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty Against the steep uprising of the hill? Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. Lords o'er their lords? Prin. Whoever a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind. Prin. Only for praise; and praise we may afford Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch; To any lady that subdues a lord. On Saturday we will return to France.- Enter COSTARD. Then forester, my friend, where is the bush, Prin. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. That we must stand and play the murderer in?6 Cost. God dig-you-den8 all. Pray you, which is the For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; head lady? A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, have no heads. And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say, no? Cost. The thickest, and the tallest? it is so; truth 0, short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe! is truth. For. Yes, madam, fair. An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, Prin. Nay, never paint me now: One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true. Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? [Giving him money. Cost. I have a letter, from monsieur Biron to one Fair payment for foul words is more than due. lady Rosaline. [Giving it.9 For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. Prin. 0, thy letter, thy letter! he's a good friend Prin. See, see! my beauty will be saved by merit. of mine. O heresy in faith,' fit for these days! Stand aside, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve; A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.- Break up"~ this capon. [Handing it to him." But come, the bow:-now mercy goes to kill, Boyet. I am bound to serve.And shooting well is then accounted ill. This letter is mistook; it importeth none here: Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: It is writ to Jaquenetta. Not wounding, pity would not let me do It; Prin. We will read it, I swear. If wounding, then it was to show my skill, Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. Boyet. [Reads.] " By heaven, that thou art fair, is And, out of question, so it is sometimes: most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth Glory grows guilty of detested crimes; itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair; 1 A tract published in 1598, " A Health to the gentlemanly profession of Serving-Men," has a story of a servant who got a remuneration of three farthings from one of his master's guests, and a guerdon of a shilling from another. 2 Exactly. 3 Veiled. 4Apparitors; officers of the ecclesiastical court, who carried out citations, often, of course, for offences instigated by " Dan Cupid." 5 whitely: in f. e. 6 Shooting deer, with the cross-bow, was a favourite amusement of ladies of rank, in Shakespeare's time. 7 fair: in f. e. 8 Give you good even. 9 Not in f. e. 1o Carve. l1 Not in f. e, A-= —~-~ —- ~ ~ - ~ ___~__- -- -'' —-_ -- SX'1 -- t - -= rmX0=~i~-_ \'-~-I~-~ I id~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~J F'''.Giuliani ~ ~ ~ ~ "~lr"lnq Love's Lahor Lost. Act 1v. Scene CD x~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Il Love' Labo Lost Act V. Scne S. SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 133 beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have Finely put on, indeed!commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnani- Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet and she mous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon strikes at the brow. the pernicious and indubitate beggar Penelophon: Boyet. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; her now? which to anatomize in the vulgar, (0 base and ob- Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, scure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame: that was a man when king Pepin of France was a he came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who little boy, as touching the hit it? came? the king; Why did he come? to see; Why did Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that he see? to overcome; To whom came he? to the was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was a beggar; What saw he? the beggar; Whom overcame little wench, as touching the hit it. he? the beggar. The conclusion is victory: on whose Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, side? the king's: the captive is enriched: on whose Thou canst not hit it, my good man. side? the beggars. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, whose side? the king's?-no, on both in one, or one An I cannot: another can. in both. I am the king, for so stands the comparison; [Exeunt Ros. and KATH. thou the beggar for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall Cost. By my troth, most pleasant: how both did I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy fit it! love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? did hit it. titles; for thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I Boyet. A mark! 0! mark but that mark: a mark, profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, says my lady. and my heart on thy every part. Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it' Thine, in the dearest design of industry, may be. "DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.7 Mar. Wide o' the bow hand: i' faith, your hand is out. " Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar Cost. Indeed, an must shoot nearer, or he 711 never'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey: hit the clout. Submissive fall his princely feet before, Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike your And he from forage will incline to play: hand is in. But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin.Food for his rage, repasture for his den."' Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited grow foul. this letter? Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir: chalWhat vane? what weather-cock? did you ever hear lenge her to bowl. better? Boyet. I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style. good owl. [Exeunt BOYET and MARIA. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here Lord, lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! in court; 0' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit! A phantasm, a Monarcho,2 and one that makes sport When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it To the prince, and his book-mates. were, so fit. Prin. Thou, fellow, a word. Armado o' the one side,-0, a most dainty man! Who gave thee this letter? To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan! Cost. I told you: my lord. To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it? will swear; Cost. From my lord to my lady. Looking babies in her eyes, his passion to declare.5 Prin. From which lord, to which lady? And his page o' t' other side, that handful of small' wit! Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. Sola, sola! [Shouting within. Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter.-Come, lords, [Exit COSTARD. away.Here, sweet, put up this:'t will be thine another day. SCENE II.-The Same. [Exeunt PRINCESS and Train. Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL. Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?3 Nath. Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the Ros. Shall I teach you to know? testimony of a good conscience. Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. Hol. The deer was, as you know, sanguis,-in Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. blood; ripe as the pomewater,7 who now hangeth like Finely put off! a jewel in the ear of cealo,-the sky, the welkin, the Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but if thou marry, heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. terra.-the soil, the land, the earth. Finely put on! Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, Boyet. And who is your deer? I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.8 Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come Hol. Sir Nathaniel, hand credo. not near. Dull.'T was not a haud credo,'t was a pricket.9 These verses are usually given to Boyet, as his own, instead of being an appendage to Armado's epistle. An Englishman, who, according to Nash, (Have with you to Saffron Walden, 1596,) "quite renounst his naturall English accents and gestures, and wrested himself wholly to the Italian puntilios." He asserted himself to be sovereign of the world, and from this " phantastick humor" obtained the title of'Ionarcho. 3 A play upon shooter and suitor, showing that the pronunciation of the two was similar. 4 Clout and pin, terms in archery; the clout or pin, held up the mark aimed at. 5 This line is not in f. e. 6 Not in f. e. 7 A kind of apple. 8 A stagfise years old. 9 A stag two years old. 134 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT IV. Hol. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of HI ol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a insinuation, as it were, in via, in way of explication; foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, to objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: show, as it were, his inclination,-after his undressed, these are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion —to in- mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in those sert again my haud credo for a deer. in whom it is acute and I am thankful for it. Dull. I said, the deer was not a hand credo:'t was Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my a pricket. parishioners: for their sons are well tutored by you, Hol. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus!- and their daughters profit very greatly under you: you 0, thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou are a good member of the commonwealth. look! Hol. liehercle! if their sons be ingenious, they shall Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are want no instruction: if their daughters be capable, I bred in a book; will put it to them; but, vir sapit, qui pauca loquitur. He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink: A soul feminine saluteth us. His intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD. not to think,l Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person.8 Only sensible in the duller parts2; and such barren Hol. Master person,-quasi pers-on. An if one plants should be pierced, which is the one? Are set before us, that we thankful should be Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest Which we, having3 taste and feeling, are for those to a hogshead. parts that do fructify in us more than he: Hol. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conFor as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, ceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl or a fool, enough for a swine:'t is pretty; it is well. So, were there a patch set on learning, to set him in a Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me school: this letter: it was given me by Costard, and sent me But, omne bene. say I; being of an old father's mind, from Don Armado: I beseech you, read it. Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Hol. Fauste, precor gelidci quando pecus omne sub Dull. You two are book men: can you tell by your wit. umbrd What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five Ruminat, —and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan!9 I weeks old as yet? may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice: Hol. Doctissime,4 good man Dull; Dictynna, good -Venegia, Venegia, man Dull. Chi non te vede, non te pregia."~ Dull. What is Dietynna? Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. thee not, loves thee not.-Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.Hol. The moon was a month old when Adam was Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, no more; as Horace says in his-What, my soul, verses? And raught5 not to five weeks, when he came to five- Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. score. Hol. Let me hear a staff a stanza, a verse: lege, The allusion holds in the exchange. domine. Dull. IT is true indeed: the collusion holds in the Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to exchange. love? Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! holds in the exchange. Though to myselfforsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the exchange, Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers for the moon is never but a month old; and I say be- bowed. side. that It was a pricket that the princess kill'd. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, Hol. Sir Nathaniel. will you hear an extemporal Where all those pleasures live, that art would cornepitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour the prehend: ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess killd, a If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice. pricket. Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee comNath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it mend; shall please you to abrogate scurrility. All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder; Ilol. I will something affect the letter, for it argues Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire. facility. [Reads. Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful The preyful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing thunder, pricket; Which, not to anger bent, is music, and swueet fire. Some say, a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore Celestial, as thou art, 0! pardon, love, this wrong, with shooting. That sings heaven's praise with stuch an earthly The dogs did yell; put 1 to sore, then sorel jumps from tongue! thicket; I- ol. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a hooting. accent: let me supervise the canzonct. Here are only If sore be sore, then l to sore makes fifty sores; 0 sore I! numbers ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one more 1. golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the Nath. A rare talent! manl: and why, indeed, Naso, but for smelling out the Dull. If a talent be a claw,6 look how he claws him odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? with a talent, [Aside.7 j Imitating" is nothing: so doth the hound his master 1 "not to think": not in f. e. 2 The whole of this passage, commencing with' 0, thou monster," &c., is printed as prose in f. e. 3 of: in f. e. 4 Dictynna: in f. e. 5 Reached. 6 Talon was often written talent. 7 Not in f. e. 8 Parson was sometimes called person. " He is called parson, persona, because by his person the church, which is an invisible body, is represented."-Blackstone. 9 John Baptist Mantuanus; his eclogues were translated by GeorgeTurberville, 1567. o1 A proverb: quoted in Howell's Letters. imitari: in f. e. SCENE III. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 135 the ape his keeper, the trained' horse his rider. But King. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not damosella, virgin, was this directed to you? To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the As thine eye-beams, wehen their fresh rays have smote strange queen's lords. The dew of night3 that on my cheeks down flows: Hol. I will overglance the superscript. " To the Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.'7 Through the transparent bosom of the deep, I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; nomination of the party writing to the person written Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep: unto:' Your ladyship's, in all desired employment, No drop but as a coach doth carry thee; Biron."' Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. with the king: and here he hath framed a letter to a Do but behold the tears that swell in me, sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally; or And they thy glory through my grief will show: by the way of progression, hath miscarried.-Trip and But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep go, my sweet: deliver this paper into the royal hand My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. of the king; it may concern much. Stay not thy com- 0 queen of queens, how far thou dost' excel, pliment; I forgive thy duty: adieu. No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.-Sir, God save your How shall she know my griefs? I'1 drop the paper. life! Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? Cost. Have with thee, my girl. Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper. [Exeunt COST. and JAQ. What, Longaville! and reading? listen, ear. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, [Steps aside. very religiously; and, as a certain father saith Biron. [Aside in the tree.]5 Now, in thy likeness, one Hol. Sir, tell me not of the father; I do fear colour- more fool appear! able colours. But, to return to the verses: did they Long. Ay me! I am forsworn. please you, sir Nathaniel? Biron. [Aside.] Why, he comes in like a perjure, Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. wearing papers.6 Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain King. [Aside.] In love, I hope. Sweet fellowship pupil of mine; where. if before repast it shall please in shame! you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my Biron. [Aside.] One drunkard loves another of the privilege I have with the parents of the aforesaid child name. or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where I will Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savour- Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort: not by ing of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your two that I know. society. Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, Nath. And thank you too; for society (saith the The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity. text) is the happiness of life. Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move. Hol. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes 0 sweet Maria, empress of my love! it.-Sir, [To DULL,] I do invite you too: you shall not These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. say me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at Biron. [Aside.] O! rhymes are guards7 on wanton their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt. Cupid's hose: Disfigure not his slop.' SCENE III.-Another part of the Same. l n i CEN -Another part of the Same. Long. This same shall go.- [He reads the sonnet. Enter BIRON, with a paper. Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am cours-'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, ing myself: they have pitch'd a toil2; I am toiling in Persuade my heart to this false peljury? a pitch-pitch that defiles. Defile? a foul word. Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so, they say, the fool A woman Iforswore; but I will prove, said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! Thou being a goddess, Iforswore not thee. By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; it kills me, I a sheep. Well proved again o' my side! Thy grace, being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. I will not love; if I do, hang me: i' faith, I will not. Vows are but breath. and breath a vapour is: O! but her eye,-by this light, but for her eye, I Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, would not love her! yes, for her two eyes. Well, I Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is: do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. If broken, then, it is no fault of mine. By heaven, I do love. and it hath taught me to rhyme, If by me broke, what fool is not so wise, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, To lose an oath, to win a paradise? and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein', which makes sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and flesh a deity; the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest A green goose, a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. lady! By the world, I would not care a pin, if the God amend us! God amend us! we are much out o' other three were in. Here comes one with a paper: the way. God give him grace to groan! [Gets up into a tree. Enter DUMAINE, ith a paper. EnIter the KING, with a paper. Long. By whom shall I send this?-Company! stay. King. Ay me! [Steps aside. Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven!-Proceed, sweet Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid"~; an'old infant play. Cupid: thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, the left pap.-In faith, secrets!- And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 1'tired: in f. e. 2 An enclosure, into which game were driven. 3 night of dew: in f. e. 4 dost thou: in f. e. 5 Aside: in f. e. 6 Papers stating their offence, were affixed to perjurers at the time of their punishment.-HIolinshed. 7 Trimmings. 8 shape: in f. e. 9 The liver was supposed to be the seat of the affections. 10 An old name for hide and go seek. 136 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT IV. More sacks to the mill! O heavens! I have my wish: And marked you both, and for you both did blush. Dumaine transformed? four woodcocks in a dish. I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion, Dum. 0 most divine Kate! Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion: Biron. [Aside.] 0 most profane coxcomb! Ay me! says one; 0 Jove! the other cries; Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye! One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes: Biron. [Aside.] By earth, she is most' corporal; there You would for'paradise break faith and troth; you lie. [To LONG. Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber quoted. And Jove for your love wrild infringe an oath. Biron. [Aside.] An amber-colour'd raven was well [To DUMAINE. noted. What will Biron say, when that he shall hear Dum. As upright as the cedar. Faith infringed, with such zeal did swear? Biron. [Aside.] Stoops2. I say: How will he scorn! how will he spend his wit! Her shoulder is with child. How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it! Dum. As fair as day. For all the wealth that ever I did see, Biron. [Aside.] Ay, as some days; but then no sun I would not have him know so much by me. must shine. Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.Dum. 0, that I had my wish! [Coming down from the tree. Long. [Aside.] And I had mine! Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me. King. [Aside.] And I mine too, good lord! Good heart! what grace hast thou, thus to reprove Biron. [Aside.] Amen, so I had mine. Is not that These worms for loving, that art most in love? a good word? Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she There is no certain princess that appears: Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. You ll not be perjured, It is a hateful thing: Biron. [Aside.] A fever in your blood? why, then Tush! none but minstrels like of sonneting. incision But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not, Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision! All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? Dum. Once more I 11 read the ode that I have writ. You found his mote; the king your mote did see; Biron. [Aside.] Once more I'll mark how love can But I a beam do find in each of three. vary wit. O! what a scene of foolery have I seen, Dum. On a day, alack the day! Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! Love, whose month is ever May, 0 me! with what strict patience have I sat, Spied a blossom, passing fair, To see a king transformed to a gnat! Playing in the wanton air: To see great Hercules whipping a gig,' Through the velvet leaves the wind, And profound Solomon to tune a jig, All unseen,'gan passage find; And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, That the lover, sick to death And critic Timon laugh at idle toys! Wished himself the heaven's breath. Where lies thy grief? O! tell me, good Dumaine: Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow, And gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? Air, vould I might triumph so! And where my lieges? all about the breast:But alack! my hand is sworn, A caudle, ho! Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: King. Too bitter is thy jest. Vow. alack! for youth unmeet, Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view? Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Biron. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you: Do not call it sin in me, I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin That I am forsworn for thee; To break the vow I am engaged in; Thou for whom great3 Jove would swear I am betrayed, by keeping company Juno but an Ethiop were; With men, like men of strange6 inconstancy. And deny himself for Jove, When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? Turning mortal for thy love. Or groan for love? or spend a minute's time This will I send, and something else more plain, In pruning me? When shall you hear that I That shall express my true love's lasting4 pain. Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 0, would the King, Biron, and Longaville, A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill A leg, a limb?- [Going.' Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note; King. Soft! Whither away so fast? For none offend, where all alike do dote. A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? Long. [Advancing.] Dumaine, thy love is far from Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go. charity, Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD. That in love's grief desir'st society: Jaq. God bless the king You may look pale, but I should blush, I know King. What, peasant8, hast thou there? To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. Cost. Some certain treason. King. [Advancing.] Come, sir, blush you: as his King. What makes treason here? your case is such; Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. You chide at him, offending twice as much: King. If it mar nothing neither, You do not love Maria; Longaville The treason and you go in peace away together. Did never sonnet for her sake compile, Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read: Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart Our parson misdoubts it; it was treason, he said. His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. King. Biron, read it over. [BIRON reads the letter. I have been closely shrouded in this bush, Where hadst thou it? 1 not: in f. e. 2 Stoop: in f. e. 3 This word is not in f. e. 4 fasting: in f e. 5 A kind of top. 6 Tieck, suggests such. 7 Not in f. e. 8 present: in f. e. SCENE m. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 137 Jaq. Of Costard. The hue of dungeons; and the shade2 of night; King. Where hadst thou it? And beauty's best becomes the heavens well. Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou light. tear it?! if in black my lady's brows be deck'd, Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy: your grace needs It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, not fear it? [Tearing it.' Should ravish doters with a false aspect; Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore And therefore is she born to make black fair. let Is hear it. Her favour turns the fashion of these days; Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. For native blood is counted painting now, [Picking up the pieces. And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead! [To COSTARD.] Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. you were born to do me shame.- Dum. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black. Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess. Long. And since her time are colliers counted bright. King. What'? King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack. Biron. That you three fools lacked me, fool, to make Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. up the mess. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, He, he, and you, and you my liege, and I, For fear their colours should be washed away. Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. King.'T were good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you 0! dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. plain, Dum. Now the number is even. Ill find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. Biron. True, true; we are four.- Biron. I 11 prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. Will these turtles be gone? King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. King. Hence, sirs; away! Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors Long. Look, here Is thy love: my foot and her face stay. [Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA. see. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, 0! let us embrace. Biron. 0! if the streets were paved with thine eyes, As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; Dum. 0 vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies Young blood doth yet obey an old decree: The street should see as she walk'd over head. We cannot cross the cause why we were born; King. But what of this? Are we not all in love? Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. Biron. 0! nothing so sure; and thereby all forKing. What, did these rent lines show some love of sworn. thine? King. Then leave this chat: and, good Biron, now Biron. Did they? quoth you. Who sees the hea- prove venly Rosaline, Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. That, like a rude and savage man of Inde Dum. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil. At the first opening of the gorgeous east Long. 0! some authority how to proceed; Bows not his vassal head; and, stricken blind, Some tricks, some quillets3, how to cheat the devil. Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? Dum. Some salve for perjury. What peremptory, eagle-sighted eye Biron. 0!'t is more than need.Dares look upon the heaven of her brow. Have at you, then, affection's men at arms.That is not blinded by her majesty? Consider, what you first did swear unto;King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now? To fast,-to study,-and to see no woman: My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon Flat treason gainst the kingly state of youth. She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young, Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron. And abstinence engenders maladies. 0! but for my love, day would turn to night. And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty In that each of you hath forsworn his book, Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; Can you still dream, and pore and thereon look? Where several worthies make one dignity, For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. Have found the ground of study's excellence, Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,- Without the beauty of a woman's face? Fie, painted rhetoric! 0! she needs it not: From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: To things of sale a seller's praise belongs; They are the ground, the books, the Academes, She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, Why, universal plodding prisons up Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: The nimble spirits in the arteries, Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, As motion, and long-during action, tires And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. The sinewy vigour of the traveller. O! It is the sun, that maketh all things shine! Now, for not looking on a woman's face, King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. You have in that forsworn the use of eyes, Biron. Is ebony like her? 0 wood divine! And study, too, the causer of your vow; A wife of such wood were felicity. For where is any author in the world, 0! who can give an oath? where is a book? Teaches such learning4 as a woman's eye? That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, If that she learn not of her eye to look: And where we are, our learning likewise is: No face is fair, that is not full so black. Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,' King. 0 paradox! Black is the badge of hell, Do we not likewise see our learning there? 1 Not in f. e. 2 scowl: in f. e. 3 From quodlibets. 4 beauty: in f. e. 5 Between this and the next line, f. e. insert: With ourselves. 138 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v. O! we have made a vow to study, lords, IElse none at all in aught proves excellent. And in that vow we have forsworn our books: Then, fools you were these women to forswear, For when would you, my liege, cr you or you, Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools In leaden contemplation have found out For wisdom's sake a word that all men love Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes Or for love's sake a word that loves all men, Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with? Or for men's sake, the authors of these women, Other slow arts entirely keep the brain, Or women's sake, by whom we men are men, And therefore, finding barren practisers, Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves, Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil; Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. But dlve, first learned in a lady's eyes, It is religion to be thus forsworn; Lives not alone immured in the brain, For charity itself fulfils the law. But with the motion of all elements And who can sever love from charity? Courses as swift as thought in every power, King. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field! And gives to every power a double power, Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, Above their functions and their offices. lords! It adds a precious seeing to the eye; Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advis'd, A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; In conflict that you get the sun of them. A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, Long. Now to plain-dealing lay these glozes by. When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd: Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, King. And win them too: therefore, let us devise Than are the tender horns of cockled snails: Some entertainment for them in their tents. Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. Biron. First. from the park let us conduct them For valour is not love a Hercules, thither; Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Then, homeward, every man attach the hand Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical. Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; We will with some strange pastime solace them, And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods Such as the shortness of the time can shape; Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs; King. Away, away! no time shall be omitted, O! then his lines would ravish savage ears, That will be time, and may by us be fitted. And plant in tyrants mild humanity.1 Biron. Allons! aliens!-Sow'd cockle reaped no From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: corn; They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; And justice always whirls in equal measure: They are the books, the arts, the Academes, Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn That show, contain, and nourish all the world, I If so, our copper buys no better treasure. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Another part of the Same. |nebour; neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhominable, (which he would call abominable,) it insinuateth one of Enter HOLOFERNES; Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL. insania5: ne intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic. Hol. Satis quod sUfficit. Nath. Laus Deo, bone intelligo. Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at Hol. Bone? - bone, for bene: Priscian a little dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant scratched; It will serve. without scurrility, witty without affection2, audacious Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD. without impudency, learned without opinion, and Nath. Videsne quis venit? strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam Hol. Video, et gaudeo. day with a companion of the kings, who is intituled. Arm. Chirrah [! To MOTH. nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. Hol. Quare Chirrah, not sirrah? Hol. Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour is lofty, Arm. Men of peace, well encountered. his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye am- Hol. Most military sir, salutation. bitious, his gait majestical, and his general behaviour Moth. They have been at a great feast of languages, vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical3. He is too picked, and stolen the scraps. too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too pere- Cost. O! they have lived long on the alms-basket grinate, as I may call it. of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. for a word; for thou art not so long by the head as [Draws out his table-book. honorificabilitudinitatibus6: thou art easier swallowed Hol. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity than a flap-dragon7. finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such Moth. Peace! the peal begins. fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-devise4 Arm. Monsieur, [To HOL.] are you not lettered? companions; such rackers of orthography, as to speak Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn-book.dout, fine, when he should say, doubt; det, when he What is a, b, spelt backward with the horn on his should pronounce, debt-d, e, b, t, not d, e, t: he head. clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur Hol. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. 1 humility: in f. e. 2 Affectation. 3 On the style of Terence's Thraso. 4 Nice to excess. 5 It insinateth one of insanie: in f. e. G Taylor, the Water Poet, says Knight, used this word with still another syllable, honorificica, &c. 7 A snall substance, floating on a glass of liquor, which it was a feat for a toper to swallow ignited. SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 139 lMoth. Ba! most silly sheep, with a horn.-You Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to hear his learning. present them? Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant? Hol. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant genMoth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat tieman, Judas Maccabeus; this swain, (because of his them; or the fifth, if I. great, limb or joint,) shall pass for Pompey the great; Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i.- the page, Hercules. Moth. The sheep: the other two concludes it; o, u. Arm. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterranean, for that worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the end a sweet touch, a quick venew' of wit! sn snap, quick of his club. and home: it rejoiceth my intellect; true wit! Hol. Shall I have audience? he.shall present HerMIoth. Offer'd by a child to an old man; which is cules in minority; his enter and exit shall be strangling wit-old. a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose. Hol. What is the figure? what is the figure? Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the auMoth. Horns. dience hiss, you may cry, " Well done, Hercules! now Hol. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig. thou crushest the snake!" that is the way to make an Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it. whip about your infamy circum circa. A gig of a Arm. For the rest of the Worthies?cuckold's horn! Hol. I will play three myself. Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman. shouldst have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there is Arm. Shall I tell you a thing? the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou half- Hol. We attend. penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion.! Arm. We will have, if this fadge3 not, an antick an the heavens were so pleased, that thou wert but my I beseech you, to follow. bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me. Iol. Via!-Goodman Dull, thou hast spoken no Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as word all this while. they say. Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. Hol. O! I smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem. Hol. Allons! we will employ thee. Arm. Arts-man, preambula: we will be singled from Dull. I'11 make one in a dance, or so; or I will the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the large play on the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance house2 on the top of the mountain? the hay. Hol. Or mons, the hill. Hol. Most dull, honest Dull. To our sport, away! Arm. At your sweet pleasure for the mountain. [Exeunt. Hol. I do, sans question. SCENE II.-Another part of the Same. Before Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and P P affection, to congratulate the princess at her pavilione cesss on. in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, and call the afternoon. MARIA, with presents.4 Hol. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, liable, congruent. and measurable for the afternoon If fairings come thus plentifully in: the word is well cull'd chose; sweet and apt, I do A lady wall'd about with diamonds!assure you, sir; I do assure. Look you, what I have from the loving king. Arm. Sir. the:king is a noble gentleman, and my Ros. Madam, came.nothing else along with that? familiar, I do assure you, my very good friend.-For Prin. Nothing but this? yes; as much love in rhyme, what is inward between us, let it pass.-I do beseech As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, thee, remember thy courtesy;-I beseech thee, apparel Writ on both sides the leaf, margin and all, thy head:-and among other important and most serious That he was fain to seal on Cupid7s name. designs,-and of great import indeed, too.-but let that Ros. That was the way to make his god-head wax;5 pass:-for I must tell thee, it will please his grace (by For he hath been five thousand years a boy. the world) sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. and with his royal finger, thus dally with my exere- Ros. You'11 ne'er be friends with him: a' kill'd your ment, with my mustachio: but, sweet heart, let that sister. pass. By the world, I recount no fable: some certain Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to And so she died: had she been light, like you, Armado; a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, world; but let that pass.-The very all of all is,-but, She might a' been a grandam ere she died; sweet heart, I do implore secrecy,-that the king would And so may you, for a light heart lives long. have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse6, of this delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick, light word? or fire-work. Now, understanding that the curate and Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. your sweet self are good at such eruptions, and sudden Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out. breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted Kath. You I11 mar the light by taking it in snuff; you withal, to the end to crave your assistance. Therefore I'11 darkly end the argument. Hol. Sir, you shall present before her the nine Wor- Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. thies.-Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertain- Kath. So do not you, for you are a light wench. ment of time some show in the posterior of this day, Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you, and therefore light. to be rendered by our assistance,-the king's command, Kath. You weigh me not?-O! that's you care not and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentle- for me. man,-before the princess, I say, none so fit as to Ros. Great reason; for, past cure is still past care. present the nine Worthies. Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well played. 1 A hit in fencing. 2 charge-house: in f. e. s Fit, agree. 4 These two words not in f. e. 5 Grow. 6 A tern of endearment. 140 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT V. But Rosaline, you have a favour too: When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, Who sent it? and what is it? Toward that shade I might behold addrest Ros. I would you knew: The king and his companions: warily An if my face were but as fair as yours, I stole into a neighbour thicket by, My favour were as great: be witness this. And overheard what you shall overhear; Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron. That by and by disguis'd they will be here. The numbers true; and, were the numbering too, Their herald is a pretty knavish page, I were the fairest goddess on the ground: That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage: I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. Action, and accent, did they teach him there; 0! he hath drawn my picture in his letter." Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear:" Prin. Any thing like? And ever and anon they made a doubt Ros. Much, in the letters, nothing in the praise. Presence majestical would put him out; Prin. Beauteous as ink: a good conclusion. L For, quoth the king, " an angel shalt thou see; Kath. Fair as a text R' in a copy-book. Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously." Ros.'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your The boy replied, "An angel is not evil; debtor, I should have feared her, had she been a devil." My red dominical, my golden letter: With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder, O, that your face were not so full of O's! Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. Prin. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows! One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and swore But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Du- A better speech was never spoke before: maine? Another, with his finger and his thumb, Kath. Madam, this glove. Cry'd " Via! we will do t, come what will come: Prin. Did he not send you twain? The third he caper'd, and cried,' All goes well:" Kath. Yes, madam; and, moreover, The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. Some thousand verses of a faithful lover: With that, they all did tumble on the ground, A huge translation of hypocrisy, With such a zealous laughter so profound, Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. That in this spleen ridiculous appears, lMar. This, and these pearls to me sent Longaville: To check their folly, passion's sudden6 tears. The letter is too long by half a mile. Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us? Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart, Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,The chain were longer and the letter short? Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess, Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance; Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. And every one his love-suit7 will advance Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. Unto his several mistress; which they'11 know That same Biron I'll torture ere I go. By favours several which they did bestow. 0! that I knew he were but in by the week!2 Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd; How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek, For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd, And wait the season, and observe the times And not a man of them shall have the grace, And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.And shape his service wholly to my behests, Hold Rosaline; this favour thou shalt wear, And make him proud to make me proud that jests! And then the king will court thee for his dear: So potently3 would I o'ersway his state, Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, That he should be my fool, and I his fate. So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd. And change you8 favours, too; so shall your loves As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatchd, Woo contrary, deceivd by these removes. Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school, Ros. Come on then: wear the favours most in sight. And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. Kath. But in this changing what is your intent? Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs: As gravity's revolt to wantonness. They do it but in mockery, merriment; lMar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, And mock for mock is only my intent. As foolery in the wise when wit doth dote; Their several counsels they unbosom shall Since all the power thereof it doth apply To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal, To prove by wit worth in simplicity. Upon the next occasion that we meet, Enter BOYET. With visages display'd, to talk, and greet. Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? Boyet. 0! I am stabb'd' with laughter. Where Is Prin. No; to the death, we will not move a foot: her grace? Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; Prin. Thy news, Boyet? But, while't is spoke, each turn away her face. Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare! Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's Arm, wenches, arm! encounterers4 mounted are heart, Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis'd, And quite divorce his memory from his part. Armed in arguments: you'11 be surpris'd. Prin. Therefore I do it; and, I make no doubt, Muster your wits; stand in your own defence, The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown; Prin. Saint Dennis to saint Cupid! What are they, To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own: That charge the breach5 against us? say, scout, say. So shall we stay, mocking intended game; Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour, [Trumpets sound within. 1 B: in f. e. 2 For a certainty. 3 portent-like * in f. e. 4 encounters: in f. e. 5 their breath: in f. e 6 solemn: in f. e. 7 Lovefeat. 8 So the quarto; the folio: your. SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 141 Boyet. The trumpet sounds: be masked, the maskers King. Will you not dance? How come you thus come. [The ladies mask. estranged? Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE, Ros. You took the moon at full, but now she schanged. in Russian habits, and masked; MOTH, Musicians, King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. and Attendants. The music plays: vouchsafe some motion to it. Moth. "All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!" Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. Biron.' Beauties no richer than rich taffata. King. But your legs should do it. Moth. "A holy parcel of the fairest dames, Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by [The Ladies turn their backs to him. chance, That ever turn'd their backs to mortal views!" We'11 not be nice. Take hands:-we will not dance. Biron. " Their eyes," villain, " their eyes." King. Why take we hands then? Moth. " That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! Ros. Only to part friends.Out-" Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. Boyet. True: " out," indeed. King. More measure of this measure: be not nice. Moth. " Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. vouchsafe King. Prize you yourselves? What buys your cornNot to behold" — pany? Biron. " Once to behold," rogue. Ros. Your absence only.:Moth. " Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, King. That can never be.' -- with your sun-beamed eyes"- Ros. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu. Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet; Twice to your visor, and half once to you! You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes. King. If you deny to dance, let Is hold more chat. Moth. They do not mark me; and that brings me Ros. In private, then. out. King. I am best pleased with that. [They converse apart. Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with Ros. What would these strangers? know their minds, thee. Boyet. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar: there are three. If they do speak our language, 7t is our will Biron. Nay, then, two treys, (an if you grow so nice) That some plain man recount their purposes. Metheglin, wort, and malmsey.-Well run, dice! Know what they would. There Is half a dozen sweets. Boyet. What would you with the princess? Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu. Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Since you can cog3, I'11 play no more with you. Ros. What would they, say they? Biron. One word in secret. Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Prin. Let it not be sweet. Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone. Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. Prin. Gall? bitter. King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles, Biron. Therefore meet. [They converse apart. To tread a measure with her on this grass. Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? Boyet. They say, that they have measur'd many a Mar. Name it. mile, Dum. Fair lady,To tread a measure2 with you on this grass. Mar. Say you so? Fair lord.Ros. It is not so: ask them how many inches Take that for your fair lady. Is in one mile? if they have measur'd many, Dum. Please it you, The measure then of one is easily told. As much in private, and I'11 bid adieu. Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles, [They converse apart. And many miles, the princess bids you tell, Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue? How many inches do fill up one mile. Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. Kath. 0, for your reason! quickly, sir; I long. Boyet. She hears herself. Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, Ros. How many weary steps, And would afford my speechless visor half. Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman.-Is not veal a Are numbered in the travel of one mile? calf? Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you: Long. A calf, fair lady? Our duty is so rich, so infinite, Kath. No, a fair lord calf. That we may do it still without accompt. Long. Let Is part the word. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, Kath. No; I'11 not be your half: That we like savages, may worship it. Take all, and wean it: it may prove an ox. Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! mocks. Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. (Those clouds removed) upon our watery eyne. Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. Ros. 0, vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. Kath. Bleat softly then: the butcher hears you cry. King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one [They converse apart. change. Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. As is the razor's edge invisible, Ros. Play, music, then! nay, you must do it soon. Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen; [Music plays. Above the sense of sense, so sensible Not yet;-no dance:-thus change I like the moon. Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, 1 Dyce, gives this speech to Boyet, as do most mod. eds. 2 A formal, slowo dance. 3 To cog, was to load dice, to cheat, to deceive. 142 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT V. Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter And utters it again when God4 doth please. things. He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares Ros. Not one word more, my maids: break off, At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; break off. And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! Have not the grace to grace it with such show. King Farewell, mad wenches: you have simple wits. This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve: [Exeunt KING, Lords, MOTH, Music, and Attendants. Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.- Al can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he, Are these the breed of wits so wonderd at? That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy: Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, puff'd out. That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, In honourable terms: nay, he can sing fat. A mean most meanly; and, in ushering, Prin. O, poverty in wit, killed by pure flout'! Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet; Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night, The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. Or ever, but in visors, show their faces? This is the flower that smiles on every one, This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. To show his teeth as white as whales bone5: Ros. 0! they were all in lamentable cases! And consciences, that will not die in debt, The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, Mar. Dumaine was at my service, and his sword: That put Armado's page out of his part! No point, quoth I: my servant straight was mute. Enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE, Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart; MARIA, KATHARINE, and Attendants. And trow you, what he call'd me? Biron. See where he comes!-Behaviour, what wert Prin. Qualm, perhaps. thou, Kath. Yes, in good faith. Till this man6 showed thee? and what art thou now? Prin. Go, sickness as thou art! i ing. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps2, day! But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. Prin. Then wish me better: I will give you leave. Mar. Dumaine is mine, as sure as bark on tree. King. We come to visit you, and purpose now Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses give ear. To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it, then. Immediately they will again be here Prin. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow: In their own shapes; for it can never be, Nor God, nor I, delight in perjurd men. They will digest this harsh indignity. King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke; Prin. Will they return? The virtue of your eye must break my oath. Boyet. They will, they will, God knows; Prin. You nick-name virtue; vice you should have And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows: spoke, Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair, For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be understood. As the unsullied lily, I protest, Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud: A world of torments though I should endure, Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, I would not yield to be your house's guest; Are angels vailing clouds3, or roses blown. So much I hate a breaking cause to be Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. If they return in their own shapes to woo? King. 0! you have liv'd in desolation here, Ros. Good madam, if by me you 11 be advised, Unseen, unvisited; much to our shame. Let's mock them still, as well, known, as disguised. Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear: Let us complain to them what fools were here, We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game. Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; A mess of Russians left us but of late. And wonder, what they were, and to what end King. How, madam! Russians? Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd, Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord; And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Should be presented at our tent to us. Ros. Madam, speak true.-It is not so, my lord: Boyet. Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand. My lady (to the manner of these days) Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. In courtesy gives undeserving praise. [Exeunt PRINCESS Ros. KATH. and MARIA. We four, indeed, confronted were with four Enter the KING BIRON, LONGAVILLE. and DUMAINE In Russian habit: here they stayed an hour, in their proper habits. And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the princess? They did not bless us with one happy word. Boyet. Gone to her tent: please it your majesty, I dare not call them fools; but this I think, Command me any service to her thither? When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. Biron. This jest is dry to me.-Fair, gentle sweet, Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet, [Exit. With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas, By light we lose light: your capacity 1 kingly-poor flout: in f. e. 2 By act of Parliament of 1571, all persons not noble, were ordered to wear woollen caps. 3 Lowering the clouds twhich hid them. 4 So the quarto; the folio: Jove. 5 The tooth of the walrus, formerly called the whale. 6 The old eds have: madman; which Dyce would retain. SCENE ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 143 Is of that nature, that to your huge store King. Madam, I was. Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. Prin. And were you well advised? Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my King. I was, fair madam. eye,- Prin. When you then were here B'iron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. What did you whisper in your lady's ear? Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, King. That more than all the world I did respect her. It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will reject Biron. O! I am yours, and all that I possess. her. Ros. All the fool mine? King. Upon mine honour, no. Biron. I cannot give you less. Prin. Peace! peace! forbear: Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore? Your oath once broke, you force2 not to forswear. Biron. Where? when? what visor? why demand King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine. you this? Prin. I will; and therefore keep it.-Rosaline, Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case, What did the Russian whisper in your ear? That hid the worse, and showed the better face. Ros. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear King. We are descried: they'11 mock us now down- As precious eye-sight, and did value me right. Above this world; adding thereto moreover, Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. That he would wed me, or else die my lover. Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your high- Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord ness sad? Most honourably doth uphold his word. Ros. Help! hold his brows! he ll swoon. Why King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth, look you pale?- I never swore this lady such an oath. Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. Ros. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain, Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per- You gave me this: but take it, sir, again. jury. King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give: Can any face of brass hold longer out?- I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me; Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear.Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; What! will you have me, or your pearl again? Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain.And I will wish Ihee never more to dance I see the trick on't:-here was a consent, Nor never more in Russian habit wait. Knowing aforehand of our merriment, O! never will I trust to speeches penned, To dash it like a Christmas comedy. Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue; Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, Nor never come in visor to my friend; Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick, Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song; That smiles his cheek in years, and knows the trick Taffata phrases, silken terms precise, To make my lady laugh when she Is disposed, Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, Told our intents before; which once disclosed, Figures pedantical: these summer flies The ladies did change favours, and then we, Have blown me full of maggot ostentation. Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. I do forswear them and I here protest Now, to our perjury to add more terror, By this white glove, (how white the hand, God We are again forsworn-in will, and error. knows) Much upon this it is:-and might not you [To BOYET. Ilenceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue? In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes: Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire3. And, to begin,-wench, so God help me, la! And laugh upon the apple of her eye? My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, Ros. Sans SANS, I pray you. Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? Biron. Yet I have a trick You put our page out: go, you are allowed, Of the old rage:-bear with me, I am sick; Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. I 711 leave it by degrees. Soft! let us see:- You leer upon me, do you? there Is an eye, Write C' Lord have mercy on us'i on those three; Wounds like a leaden sword. They are infected, in their hearts it lies; Boyet. Full merrily They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes: Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. These lords are visited; you are not free, Biron. Lo! he is tilting straight. Peace! I have For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. done. Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. Enter COSTARD. Biron. Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us. Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray. Ros. It is not so: for how can this be true, Cost. 0 Lord, sir, they would know, That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? Whether the three Worthies shall come in. or no. Biron. Peace! for I will not have to do with you. Biron. What, are there but three? Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. Cost. No, sir but it is vara fine, Biron. Speak for yourselves: my wit is at an end. For every one pursents three. Ki.ng. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans- Biron. And three times thrice is nine. gression Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir, I hope, it Some fair excuse. is not so. Prin. The fairest is confession. You cannot beg4 us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd? know what we know: 3 The inscription, written on houses infected with the plague. 2 Hesitate; an old use of the word. 3 Square. 4 Beg to have the custody of us as lunatics. 144 LOYE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT V. I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,- Cost.' I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the big,-" Biron. Is not nine. Dum. The great. Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it Cost. It is great, sir;-" Pompey surnamd the great; doth amount. That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. foe to sweat: Cost. 0 Lord! sir, it were pity you should get your And travelling along this coast I here am come by living by reckoning, sir. chance, Biron. How much is it? And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of Cost. 0 Lord! sir, the parties themselves, the actors, France." sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine own If your ladyship would say, " Thalns, Pompey," I part, I am, as they say, but to pursent one man,-e'en | had done. one poor man-Pompion the great, sir. Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies? Cost.'T is not so much worth; but, I hope, I was Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pom- perfect. I made a little fault in, " great." pion the great: for mine own part, I know not the Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand for him. best Worthy. Biron. Go, bid them prepare. Enter Sir NATHANIEL armed, for Alexander. Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir: we will take Nath. " When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's some care. [Exit COSTARD. commander King. Biron, they will shame us; let them not ap- By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering proach. might Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord; and't is some My Iscutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander." policy Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not: for it To have one show worse than the king's and his corn- stands too right. pany. Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tenderKing. I say, they shall not come. smelling knight. Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now. Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd.-Proceed, good That sport best pleases, that doth least know how: Alexander. Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Nath. " When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's Die in the zeal of them which it presents, commander " — Their form confounded makes most form in mirth; Boyet. Most true; It is right; you were so, Alisander. When great things labouring perish in their birth. Biron. Pompey the great,Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. Cost. Your servant, and Costard. Enter ARMADO. Biron. Take away the" conqueror, take away AliArm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy sander. royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. Cost. 0! sir, [To NATH.] you have overthrown Ali[ARMADO converses with the KING, and delivers sander the conqueror. You will be scraped out of the a paper to him. painted cloth4 for this: your lion, that holds his pollPrin. Doth this man serve God? axe sitting on a close-stool, will he give to Ajax5: he Biron. Why ask you? will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to Prin. A' speaks not like a man of God's making. speak? run away for shame, Alisander. [NATH. retires.] Arm. That s all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; There, an It shall please you; a foolish mild man; an for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantasti- honest man, look you, and soon dashed. He is a marcal; too, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it, vellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the but, for Alisander, alas! you see how't is;-a little peace of mind, most royal couplement! [Exit ARMADO. o'erparted.-But there are Worthies a coming will King. Here is like to be a good presence of Wor- speak their mind in some other sort. thies. He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pom- King. Stand aside, good Pompey. [Exit COSTARD.6 pey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's Enter HOLOFERNES armed, for Judas, and MOTH page, Hercules the pedant, Judas Maccabeus. armed, for Hercules. And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive, Hol. "Great Hercules is presented by this imp, These four will change habits, and present the other five. Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed Biron. There is five in the first show. canis; King. You are deceived;'t is not so. And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. the fool, and the boy:- Quoniam, he seemeth in minority, Abate throw at novum', and the whole world again Ergo, I come with this apology.Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [Exit MOTH. King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes Hol. Judas I am," amain. Dum. A Judas! Enter COSTARD armed, for Pompey. Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.Cost. I Pompey am, "- "Judas I am, yclep'd Maccabeus." Boyet. You lie, you are not he. Dum. Judas Maccabeus clipt is plain Judas. Cost. "I Pompey am,-" Biron. A kissing traitor.-How art thou prov'd Boyet. With libbard's2 head on knee. Judas? Biron. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be Hol. " Judas I am, — friends with thee. Dum. The more shame for you; Judas. 1 A game at dice, of which five and nine were the chief throws. 2 Panther's. 3 Alexander was wry-necked, and his body, says Plutarch, had a sweet odour. 4 Used for walls in place of tapestry. 5 The arms given to Alexander in the old history of the Nine Worthies, were "a lion sitting in a chair, holding a battle-axe." 6 Not in f. e. SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 145 Hol. What mean you, sir? Prin. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted. Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Hol. Begin, sir: you are my elder. Boyet. Loves her by the foot. Biron. Well followed: Judas was hang'd on an elder.1 Dum. He may not by the yard. Hol. I will not be put out of countenance. Arm. " This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,"Biron. Because thou hast no face. Re-enter COSTARD, in haste, unarmed. Hol. What is this? Cost. The party is gone: fellow Hector, she is gone; Boyet. A cittern2 head. she is two months on her way. Dum. The head of a bodkin. Arm. What meanest thou? Biron. A death's face in a ring. Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. poor wench is cast away: she s quick; the child brags Boyet. The pummel of Casar's faulchion. in her belly already: It is yours. Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask3. Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. Thou shalt die. Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd for Jaquenetta Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. that is quick by him, and hang'd for Pompey that is And now forward, for we have put thee in countenance. dead by him. Hol. You have put me out of countenance. Dum. Most rare Pompey! Biron. False: we have given thee faces. Boyet. Renowned Pompey! Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all. Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great PomBiron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. pey! Pompey the huge! Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. Dum. Hector trembles. And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay? Biron. Pompey is moved.-More Ates, more Ates! Dum. For the latter end of his name. stir them on! stir them on! Biron. For the ass to the Jude? give it him:- Dum. Hector will challenge him. Jud-as, away. Biron. Ay, if a' have no more manes blood in's Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. belly than will sup a flea. Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas! it grows dark, Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. he may stumble. Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern Prin. Alas poor Maccabeus, how hath he been man3: I'll slash; Ill do it by the sword.-I pray you, baited? let me borrow my arms again. Enter ARCMADO armed, for Hector. Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies! Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector Cost. I'l do it in my shirt. in arms. Dum. Most resolute Pompey! Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will 2Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. now be merry. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. What mean you? you will lose your reputation. Boyet. But is this Hector? Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will Bing. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd, not combat in my shirt. Long. His leg is too big for Hector's. Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the Dum. More calf, certain. challenge. Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small. Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. This cannot be Hector. Biron. What reason have you for't? Dum. He Is a god or a painter; for he makes faces. Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt. I Arm. "i The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, go woolward' for penance. Gave Hector a gift,-' Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for Dum. A gift4 nutmeg. want of linen; since when, I ll be sworn, he wore Biron. A lemon. none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that a' Long. Stuck with cloves.5 wears next his heart for a favour. Dum. No, cloven. Enter Monsieur MERCADE, a Messenger. Arm. Peace! Mer. God save you, madam. " The armipotent Mars of lances the almighty, Prin. Welcome, Mercade, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. A man so breathed, that certain he would fight, yea, Mer. I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring From morn till night, out of his pavilion. Is heavy in my tongue. The king your fatherI am that flower,- Prin. Dead, for my life! Dum. That mint. Mer. Even so: my tale is told. Long. That columbine. Biron. Worthies, away! The scene begins to cloud. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of against Hector. discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. [Exeunt Worthies. Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten: sweet King. How fares your majesty? chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he Prin. Boyet, prepare: I will away to-night. breathed, he was a man.-But I will forward with my King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. device. Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious lords, hearing.5 For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, 1 Such was an old popular belief often referred to. 2 Guitar-heads often had a face carved on them. 3 Po0wder-ftask. 4 Folio: a gilt. It is spoken of as a sort of charm, in Ben Jonson's "Gipsies Metamorphosed." 5 A common practice. 6 f. e. have the direction: BIRON whispers COSTARD. 7 Not in f. e. 8 The lquarter-staff was most in use in the North. 9 With the woollen outer garment next the skin. 10 146 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT V. Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe To some forlorn and naked hermitage, In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide Remote from all the pleasures of the world; The liberal opposition of our spirits: There stay, until the twelve celestial signs If over-boldly we have borne ourselves Have brought about their annual reckoning. In the converse of breath, your gentleness If this austere insociable life Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord! Change not your offer made in heat of blood; A heavy heart bears not a nimble1 tongue. If frosts and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, For my great suit so easily obtain'd. But that it bear this trial, and last love; King. The extreme parting time expressly forms' Then, at the expiration of the year, All causes to the purpose of his speed; Come challenge me, challenge9 by these deserts, And often, at his very loose3, decides And by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, That which long process could not arbitrate: I will be thine; and, till that instant0, shut And though the mourning brow of progeny My woful self up in a mourning house, Forbid the smiling courtesy of love Raining the tears of lamentation, The holy suit which fain it would convince; For the remembrance of my father's death. Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, If this thou do deny, let our hands part, Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it Neither intitled in the other's heart. From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, As to rejoice at friends but newly found. The sudden hand of death close up mine eye. Prin. I understand you not: my griefs are dull. Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me? And by these badges understand the king. Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank:" For your fair sakes have we neglected time, You are attaint with faults and perjury; Play'd foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies, Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, Even to the opposed ends of our intents; But seek the weary beds of people sick. And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,- Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? As love is full of unbefitting strangeness;6 Kath. A wife!-A beard, fair health, and honesty; All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain: With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye, Dum. 0! shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Full of stranger shapes, of habits, and of forms, Kath. Not so, my lord. A twelvemonth and a day Varying in subjects, as the eye doth roll I'11 mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: To every varied object in his glance: Come when the king doth to my lady come, Which party-coated presence of loose love Then, if I have much love, I 11 give you some. Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, Dum. I'11 serve thee true and faithfully till then. Have misbecome our oaths and gravities Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, Long. What says Maria? Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, Mar. At the twelvemonth's end, Our love being yours, the error that love makes I'11 change my black gown for a faithful friend. Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false, Long. I'11 stay with patience; but the time is long. By being once false for ever to be true Mar. The liker you: few taller are so young. To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you: Biron. Studies my lady? mistress look on me: And even that falsehood, in itself so base, Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. What humble suit attends thy answer there; Prin. We have receiv'd your letters full of love; Impose some service on me for thy love. Your favours, the ambassadors of love; Ros. Oft had I heard of you, my lord Biron, And, in our maiden council, rated them Before I saw you, and the world's large tongue At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; As bombast8, and as lining to the time. Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, But more devout than this. in our respects Which you on all estates will exercise," Have we not been; and therefore met your loves That lie within the mercy of your wit: In their own fashion, like a merriment. To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, jest. Without the which I am not to be won, Long. So did our looks. You shall this twelvemonth term, from day to day, Ros. We did not quote them so. Visit the speechless sick, and still converse King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, Grant us your loves. With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, Prin. A time, methinks, too short To enforce the pained impotent to smile. To make a world-without-end bargain in. Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much It cannot be; it is impossible: Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this.- Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. If for my love (as there is no such cause) Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, You will do aught, this shall you do for me: Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. I humble: in f. e. 2 parts of time extremely form: in f. e. 3 The technical term for the loosing of an arrow. 4 double: in f. e. strains: in f. e. 6 straying: in f. e. 7 a sin: in f. e. 8 Cotton wool, used for stuffing dresses. 9 has me: in f. e. o1 instances: in f. e. 1' Knight and Coleridge think that this speech of Rosaline's should be omitted. It is found in all the old eds. 12 execute: in f. e. SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 147 A jest's prosperity lies in the ear And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Do paint the meadows with delight, Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dire' groans, Mocks married men, for thus sings he; Will hear your idle scorns, continue them,2 Cuckoo And I will have you, and that fault withal; Cuckoo, cuckoo, —O word of fear! But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, Unpleasing to a married ear. And I shall find you empty of that fault, n. Right joyful of your reformation. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, I 1l jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. And maidens bleach their summer smocks, [To the KING. The cuckoo then, on every tree, King. No, madam; we will bring you on your way. Mocks married men, for thus sings he; Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Cuckoo Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear Might well have made our sport a comedy.Unpleasing to a married ear King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, I And then't will end. And then It will end. Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, Biron. That Is too long for a play. D BironThas oo long for a play. And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, Enter ARMADO. 1 L > Enter A. MADO. And Tom bears logs into the hall, Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me.- And milk cos fozn ho in pail, Prin. Was not that Hector? A coms 1 Prin. Was not that Hector? When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. When blood is np and w be Dum.' The worthy1n k Ig o Try 1Then nightly sings the staring owl, Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. the s I am a votary: I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold To-who Tu-whitt to-who, a merry note, the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most, t, Jo rry note, esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the Whe greasy Jo doth keel the pot. two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl IV and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of When all aloud the wind doth blow, our show. And coughing drowns the parson's saw, King. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. And birds sit brooding in the snow, Arm. Holla! approach. And Marian's nose looks red and raw; Enter lOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, and When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, others. Then nightly sings the staring owl, This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the To-who, one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo.Tu-wht to-who a merry note Ver, begin. While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. SONG. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, of Apollo. You, that way: we, this way. And lady-smocks all silver-white, [Exeunt. dear: in f. e. 2 then: in f, eo MID SUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. THESEUS, Duke of Athens. OBERON, King of the Fairies. EGEUS, Father to Hermia. TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies. LYSANDER, in love wh ermia PUCK, or Robin-Goodfellow. DEMETRIUS, j PEAS-BLOSSOM, PHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus. COBWEB.. QUINCE, a Carpenter. MOTH,a SNUG a Joiner. MUSTARD-SEED BOTTOM, a Weaver. PYRAMUS. FLUTE, a Bellows-mender. THISBE, SNOUT, a Tinker. WALL, Characters in the Interlude. STARVELING. a Tailor. MOONSHINE, HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons. LION, HERMIA, in love with Lysander. HELENA, in love with Demetrius. Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. SCENE: Athens, and a Wood not far from it. ACT I. Stand forth, Demetrius.-My noble lord, SCENE I.-Athens. A Room in the Palace of Stand forth, Demetrius-My noble lord, ns A R i t P o This man hath my consent to marry her.~T~HESEUS. ~ Stand forth, Lysander;-and, my gracious duke, Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and Attend- This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: ants. Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour And interchang'd love-tokens with my child: Draws on apace: four happy days bring in Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, Another moon; but, oh, methinks, how slow With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, And stoln the impression of her fantasy Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, Long withering out a young man's revenue. Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats (messengers Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth,) nights: With cunning hast thou filched my daughter's heart; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, And then the moon, like to a silver bow To stubborn hardness.-And, my gracious duke, New' bent in heaven, shall behold the night Be it so, she will not here, before your grace, Of our solemnities. Consent to marry with Demetrius, The. Go, Philostrate, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; As she is mine, I may dispose of her, Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth: Which shall be either to this gentleman, Turn melancholy forth to funerals, Or to her death, according to our law The pale companion is not for our pomp.- Immediately provided in that case. [Exit PHILOSTRATE. The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid. Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, To you your father should be as a god; And won thy love doing thee injuries; One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one But I will wed thee in another key, To whom you are but as a form in wax, With pomp, with triumph, and with revelry.2 By him imprinted, and within his power Enter EGEUS, with his daughter HERMIA, LYSANDER, To leave the figure, or disfigure it. and DEMETRIUS. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! Her. So is Lysander. The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with The. In himself he is; thee? But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, Ege. Full of vexation come T; with complaint The other must be held the worthier. Against my child, my daughter Hermia.- Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes! 1 now: in f. e. The change was also suggested by Rowe, and adopted generally. 2 revelling: in f. e. SCENE I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 149 The. Rather; your eyes must with his judgment look. DemetriuS, and Egeus, go along: Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I must employ you in some business I know not by what power I ant made bold, Against our nuptial, and confer with you Nor how it may concern my modesty, Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts; Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. But I beseech your grace, that I may know [Exeunt THES. HIP. EGE. DEM. and train. The worst that may befal me in this case, Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so If I refuse to wed Demetrius. pale? The. Either to die the death. or to abjure How chance the roses there do fade so fast? For ever the society of men. Her. Belike, for want of rain, which I could well Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires; Beteem3 them from the tempest of mine eyes. Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Lys. Ah me! for aught that I could ever read, Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, Could ever hear by tale or history, You can endure the livery of a nun, The course of true love never did run smooth; For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, But. either it was different in blood,To live a barren sister all your life, Her. 0 cross! too high to be enthralled to low4! Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years;Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, Her. 0 spite! too old to be engag'd to young! To undergo such maiden pilgrimage; Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of men:But earthly' happier is the rose distill'd Her. 0 hell! to choose love by another's eyes! Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, Making it momentany6 as a sound, Ere I will yield my virgin patent up Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Unto his lordship, to2 whose unwished yoke Brief as the lightning in the collied7 night, My soul consents not to give sovereignty. That, in a spleens, unfolds both heaven and earth, The. Take time to pause: and by the next new And ere a man hath power to say,-behold! moon, The jaws of darkness do devour it up: The sealing-day betwixt my love and me So quick bright things come to confusion. For everlasting bond of fellowship, Her. If, then, true lovers have been ever cross'd,l Upon that day either prepare to die It stands as an edict in destiny: For disobedience to your father's will, Then, let us teach our trial patience, Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would; Because it is a customary cross, Or on Diana's altar to protest, As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, For aye; austerity and single life. Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia;-and, Lysander, yield Lys. A good persuasion: therefore hear me, Hermia. Thy crazed title to my certain right. I have a widow aunt, a dowager Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; Of great revenue, and she hath no child: Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. From Athens is her house remote9 seven leagues; Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love, And she respects me as her only son. And what is mine my love shall render him; There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee, And she is mine, and all my right of her And to that place the sharp Athenian law I do estate unto. Demetrius. Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'st me, then, Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night, As well possess'd my love is more than his; And in the wood, a league without the town, My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, (Where I did meet thee once with Helena (If not with vantage,) as Demetrius'; To do observance to a morn of May) And, which is more than all these boasts can be, There will I stay for thee. I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. Her. My good Lysander! Why should not I then prosecute my right? I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow, Demetrius, I'11 avouch it to his head, By his best arrow with the golden head, Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, By the simplicity of Venus' doves, And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, And by that fire which burned the Carthage queen, Upon this spotted and inconstant man. When the false Trojan under sail was seen; The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, By all the vows that ever men have broke, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; In number more than ever women spoke; But, being over-full of self-affairs, In that same place thou hast appointed me, My mind did lose it.-But, Demetrius, come; To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. And come, Egeus: you shall go with me, Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. I have some private schooling for you both.- Enter HELENA. For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? To fit your fancies to your father's will, Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Or else the law of Athens yields you up Demetrius loves your fair'0: 0 happy fair! (Which by no means we may extenuate) Your eyes are lode-stars, and your tongue's sweet air To death, or to a vow of single life. — More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?- When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 1 earthlier: in f. e. Capel also suggested the change. 2 to is added in the second folio; Knight and others, omit it. 3 Bestow. a love: in f. e. Theobald suggested the change. 5 Folio, 1623: merit. Other eds.: friends; from the quartos. 6 So the quartos; the folio: momentary. 7 Black. 8 Fit of passion. 9 So the quartos; the folio: remov'd. o1 Features. 150 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT I. Sickness is catching; 0, were favour1 soENE.-The Same. A Room in a Cottage Your words I Id catch SCENE II.-The Same. A Room in a Cottage. Your words I'd catch, fair Hermia; ere I go, My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. STARVELING. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, Quin. Is all our company here? The rest I'11 give to be to you translated. Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by 0! teach me how you look, and with what art man, according to the scrip. You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interHel. 0, that your frowns would teach my smiles lude before the duke and duchess on his wedding-day such skill! at night. Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play Hel. 0, that my prayers could such affection move! treats on; then read the names of the actors, and so Her. The more I hate the more he follows me. go on to appoint." Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. Quin. Marry, our play is-The most lamentable Her. His fault, fair2 Helena, is none of mine. [mine! comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. Hel. None, but your beauty: would that fault were Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and Her. Take comfort: he no more shall see my face: a merry.-Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your Lysander and myself will fly this place.- actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves. Before the time I did Lysander see, Quin. Answer, as I call you.-Nick Bottom, the Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me: weaver. 0 then, what graces in my love must dwell, Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. That he hath turn'd a heaven into hell! Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold. Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love. Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, Bet. That will ask some tears in the true performing Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, of it: if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) will move stones 15 I will condole in some measure. Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. To the rest:-yet my chief humour is for a tyrant: I Her. And in the wood, where often you and I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, make all split. Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, " The raging rocks, There my Lysander and myself shall meet; " And shivering shocks, And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, " Shall break the locks To seek new friends and stranger companies. "Of prison-gates: Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us, "And Phibbus' car And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!- " Shall shine from far Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight And make and mar From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. " The foolish fates.7 [Exit HERM. This was lofty!-Now name the rest of the players.Lys. I will, my Hermia.-Helena, adieu: This is Ercles' vein,6 a tyrant's vein; a lover is more As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! [Exit LYs. condoling. Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be! Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. Through Athens I am thought as fair as she; Flu. Here, Peter Quince. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; Quin. You must take Thisby on you. He will not know what all but he do know; Flu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight? And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. So I, admiring of his qualities. Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman: I have Things base and vile, holding no quantity, a beard coming. Love can transpose to form and dignity. Quin. That's all one. You shall play it in a mask, Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and you may speak as small as you will. And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind: Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; too. I'11 speak in a monstrous little voice: —' Thisby, Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste: Thisby-Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear! thy Thisby And therefore is love said to be a child, dear, and lady dear!" Because in choice he is so oft beuil'd. Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus, and, Flute, As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, you Thisby. So the boy love is perjur'd every where; Bet. Well, proceed. For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine,; Star. Here, Peter Quince. And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt: Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. mother.-Tom Snout, the tinker. I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight; Snout. Here, Peter Quince. Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's Pursue her; and for this intelligence father.-Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part;-and, I If I have thanks, it is3 dear recompense: hope, here is a play fitted. But herein mean I to enrich my pain, Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, To have his sight thither, and back again. [Exit. if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 1 Beauty. 2 folly, in place of, fault, fair: in f. e. 3 a dear expense: in f. e. 4 so go on to a point: in f. e. 5 storms: in f. e. 6 II Greene's Groat's-worth of wit, a player says, "The twelve labours of Hercules have I terribly thundered on the stage.",__________________________ — SCENE i. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 151 Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing Quin. Why, what you will. but roaring. Bot. I will discharge it-in either your straw-colour Bot. Let me play the lion too. I will roar, that I beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain will do any man's heart good to hear me: I will roar, beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect that I will make the duke say, " Let him roar again: yellow. let him roar again.;' Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would all, and then you will play bare-faced.-But masters, fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would here are your parts; and I am to entreat you, request shriek; and that were enough to hang us all. you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night, All. That would hang us, every mother's son. and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright town, by moon-light: there will we rehearse; for if the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more we meet in the city, we shall be dog'd with company, discretion but to hang us, but I will aggravate my voice and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove: a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray I will roar you an It were any nightingale. you, fail me not. Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyra- Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse mus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall more obscenely, and courageously. see in a summer's day, a most lovely, gentlemanlike Quin. Take pains; be perfect; adieu.3 At the duke's man; therefore, you must needs play Pyramus. oak we meet. Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I Bot. Enough, hold, or cut bow-strings.2 [Exeunt. best to play it in? ACT II. SCENE I.-A Wood near Athens. Misleads night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, Enter a Fairy and PUCK at opposite doors. You do their work, and they shall have good luck. Puck. How now, spirit! whither wander you? Are not you he? Fai. Over hill, over dale, Puck. Fairy"1, thou speak'st aright Thorough bush, thorough brier, I am that merry wanderer of the night. Over park, over pale, I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, Thorough flood, thorough fire, When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, I do wander every where, Neighing in likeness of a filly foal: Swifter. than the moon's sphere; And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl, And I serve the fairy queen, In very likeness of a roasted crab; To dew her orbs3 upon the green: And, when she drinks against her lips I bob, The cowslips all4 her pensioners be: And on her withered dew-lap pour the ale. In their gold cups5 spots you see. The wisest aunt telling the saddest tale, Those be rubies, fairy favours, Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; In those freckles live their savours: Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, I must go seek some dew-drops here, And "tailor' cries, and falls into a cough; And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. And then the whole quire hold their hips, and laugh, Farewell, thou lob6 of spirits: I l be gone. And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear Our queen and all her elves come here anon. A merrier hour was never wasted there.Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night. But room, Fairy: here comes Oberon. Take heed, the queen come not within his sight; Fai. And here my mistress.-Would that he were For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, gone! Because that she, as her attendant, hath Enter OBERON) from one side, with his train, and A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king: TITANIA, from the other, with hers. She never had so sweet a changeling; Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. And jealous Oberon would have the child Tita. What, jealous Oberon! Fairies1, skip hence: Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild; I have forsworn his bed and company. But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy, Obe. Tarry, rash wanton. Am not I thy lord? Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy: Tita. Then, I must be thy lady; but I know And now they never meet in grove, or green, When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land, By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen, And in the shape of Corin sat all day, But they do square7; that all their elvesf for fear Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, Come from the farthest steep of India, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Call'd Robin Good-fellow. Are you not he, Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love, That frights the maidens of the villagery; To Theseus must be wedded? and you come Skims milk, and sometimes labours in the querns, To give their bed joy and prosperity. And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn; Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania. And sometimes makes the drink to bear no barm9; Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 1 In f. e. this half of the speech is given to Bottom. 2 A popular proverbial phrase. 3 The green circles known as fairy-rings. 4 tall: in f. e. 5 coats: in f. e. 6 Lubber. 7 Quarrel. 8 Hand-mill. 9 Yeast. 10 Not in f. e. 11 Fairy: in f. e. 152 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT I. Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. From Perigenia, whom he ravished? Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom.-Fairies, away! And make him with fair ZEgle break his faith We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. With Ariadne, and Antiopa? [Exit TITANIA, with her train. Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy: Obe. Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this And never, since the middle summer's spring,' grove, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, Till I torment thee for this injury.By paved fountain2, or by rushy brook, My gentle Puck, come hither: thou remember'st Or on the beached margin of the sea, Since once I sat upon a promontory, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, That the rude sea grew civil at her song, As ifi revenge, have suck'd up from the sea And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, Contagious fogs; which falling in the land, To hear the sea-maid's music. Have every pelting3 river made so proud, Puck. I remember. That they have overborne their continents: Obe. That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, The ploughman lost his sweat: and the green corn Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took Hath rotted, ere his youth attained a beard: At a fair vestal10 throned by the west, The fold stands empty in the drowned field, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, And crows are fatted with the murrain flock: As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud; But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft And the quaint mazes on the wanton green, Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon, For lack of tread are undistinguishable. And the imperial votaress passed on, The human mortals want their winter here: In maiden meditation, fancy-free. No night is now with hymn or carol blest; Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, It fell upon a little western flower, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, That rheumatic diseases do abound: And maidens call it love-in-idleness. And thorough this distemperature, we see Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once: The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; Will make or man or woman madly dote And on old Hyem's chin5, and icy crown, Upon the next live creature that is seen'. An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again, Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, Ere the leviathan can swim a league. The childing6 autumn, angry winter, change Puck. I'dl put a girdle round about the earth Their wonted liveries; and the'mazed world, In forty minutes. [Exit PUCK. By their increase, now knows not which is which. Obe. Having once this juice, And this same progeny of evils comes I'11 watch Titania when she is asleep, From our debate. from our dissension: And drop the liquor of it in her eyes: We are their parents and original. The next thing then she waking looks upon, Obe. Do you amend it then: it lies in you. (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, Why should Titania cross her Oberon? On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) I do but beg a little changeling boy, She shall pursue it with the soul of love; To be my henchman. And ere I take this charm off from her sight, Tita. Set your art' at rest: (As I can take it with another herb) Thy8 fairy land buys not the child of me. I'll make her render up her page to me. His mother was a votaress of my order: But who comes here? I am invisible, A.nd, in the spiced Indian air, by night, And I will over-hear their conference. [Retiring. Full often hath she gossip'd by my side, Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA following him. And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Marking th' embarked traders on the flood; Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia? When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive The one I'11 slay, the other slayeth me. And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind; Thou told'st me they were stol'n into this wood, Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait And here am I, and wood'3 within this wood, Following, (her womb, then ripe9 with my young squire) Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Would imitate, and sail upon the land, Hence! get thee gone, and follow me no more. To fetch me trifles, and return again Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. But yet you draw not iron, for my heart But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And for her sake I do rear up her boy, And I shall have no power to follow you. And for her sake I will not part with him. Dem. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay? Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. Tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you? If you will patiently dance in our round, Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. And see our moonlight revels, go with us; I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, 1 Beginning of midsummer. 2 Stream running over pebbles. 3 Petty. 4 A sort of table of cross lines cut in the turf, on which a gane was played with eighteen stones divided between two players, who moved these stones after the manner of chequers. Wet weather would of course produce the effect in the text. 5 Tyrwhitt reads: thin. 6 Teeming. 7 heart: in f. e. 8 The: in f. e. 9 rich: in f. e. 1This passage is supposed to refer to Queen Elizabeth. 11 it sees: in f. e. 12 I'll: in f. e. 13 Mad, crazed. SCENE II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 153 The more you beat me. I will fawn on you: N An r Pt f t Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, E nter TITANIA with her the d. Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,Enter TITANIA, with her train. Unworthy as I am, to follow you. Tita. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song; What worser place can I beg in your love, Then, for the third part of a minute, hence: (And yet a place of high respect with me,) Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds Than to be used as you use your dog? Some war with rear-mice3 for their leathern wings, Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, To make my small elves coats; and some keep back For I am sick when I do look on thee. The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep; Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much, Then to your offices, and let me rest. To leave the city, and commit yourself FAIRIES SONG. Into the hands of one that loves you not; 1 Fan. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, To trust the opportunity of night, Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen, And the ill counsel of a desert place, Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong; With the rich worth of your virginity. Come not near our fairy queen: Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. CHORUS. It is not night, when I do see your face, Philomel, tith melody, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Sing now your" sweet lullaby; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby For you, in my respect, are all the world. Never harm, Then how can it be said, I am alone Nor spell nor charm, When all the world is here to look on me? Come our lovely lady nigh; Dem. I 11 run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, So, good night, with lullaby. And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. II. Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here; Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd; Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase: Beetles black, approach not near; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Worm, nor snail, do no offence. Makes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed CHORUS. When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. Philomel. with melody, &c. Dem. I will not stay thy questions: let me go; 2 Fai. Hence, away! now all is well. Or, if thou follow me, do not believe One, aloof, stand sentinel. But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. [Exeunt Fairies. TITANIA sleeps. Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, Enter OBERON. You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: [Anointing TITANIA'S eye-lids. We cannot fight for love, as men may do; Do it for thy true love take; We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo, Love and languish for his sake: I 11 follow thee, and make a heaven of hell Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, To die upon the hand I love so well. Pard, or boar with bristled hair, [Exeunt DEM. and HEL. In thy eye that shall appear Obe. Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove, When thou wak'st, it is thy dear. Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.- Wake when some vile thing is near. [Exit. Re-enter PUCK. Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA. Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer. Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood; Puck. Ay, there it is. And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way: Obe. I pray thee, give it me. We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, And tarry for the comfort of the day. Where ox-lips, and the nodding violet grows: Her. Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed, Quite over-canopied with lush' woodbine, For I upon this bank will rest my head. With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both: There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. Lull'd in these bowers2 with dances and delight; Her. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, And there the snake throws her enamelled skin. Lie further off yet: do not lie so near. Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in: Lys. 0, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence; And with the juice of this I'11 streak her eyes, Love takes the meaning in love's confidence.6 And make her full of hateful fantasies. I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit, Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: So that but one heart we can make of it: A sweet Athenian lady is in love Two bosoms interchained with an oath; With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes; So then, two bosoms, and a single troth. But do it, when the next thing he espies Then, by your side no bed-room me deny, May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man For, lying so, Hermia. I do not lie. By the Athenian garments he hath on. Her. Lysander riddles very prettily. Effect it with some care, that he may prove Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, More fond on her, than she upon her love. If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy Puck. Fear not, my lord: your servant shall do so. Lie further off; in human modesty [Exeunt. Such separation as may well be said luscious: in f. e. 2 flowers: in f. e. 3 Bats. 4 in-our: in f. e. s conference: in f. e. 154 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT Il. Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, Where is Demetrius? 0, how fit a word So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend. Is that vile name to perish on my sword! Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end! Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so. Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I; What though he love your I-ermia? Lord! what though? And then end life, when I end loyalty! Yet Hermia still loves you: then, be content. Here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be The tedious minutes I with her have spent. pressed! [They sleep. Not Hermia, but Helena I love. Enter PUCK. Who will not change a raven for a dove? Puck. Through the forest have I gone, The will of man is by his reason sway'd, But Athenian found I none, And reason says you are the worthier maid. On whose eyes I might approve Things growing are not ripe until their season; This flower's force in stirring love. So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason; Night and silence! who is here? iAnd touching now the point of human skill. Weeds of Athens he doth wear:' Reason becomes the marshal to my will, This is he, my master said, And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook Despised the Athenian maid; Love's stories, written in love's richest book. And here the maiden, sleeping sound Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? On the dank and dirty ground. When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn? Pretty soul! she durst not lie Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. That I did never, no, nor never can, Churl, upon thy eyes I throw Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, All the power this charm doth owe. But you must flout my insufficiency? [Anointing his eyes.' Good troth, you do me wrong; good sooth, you do, When thou wak'st, let love forbid In such disdainful manner me to woo. Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. But fare you well: perforce I must confess, So awake when I am gone, I thought you lord of more true gentleness. For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. 0, that a lady, of one man refus'd, Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running. Should, of another, therefore, be abus'd! [Exit. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me sweet Demetrius. Lys. She sees not Hermia.-Hermia, sleep thou there; Dem. I charge thee, hence; and do not haunt me thus. And never may'st thou come Lysander near; Hel.! wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so. For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things Dem. Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go. The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; [Exit DEMETRIUS. Or, as the heresies, that men do leave, Hel. 0! I am out of breath in this fond chase. Are hated most of those they did deceive; The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy, Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies, Of all be hated, but the most of me; For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. And all my powers address their love and might, How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears: To honour Helen, and to be her knight. [Exit. If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. Her. Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best, No, no, I am as ugly as a bear, [Waking. For beasts that meet me, run away for fear; To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast. Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius Ah, me, for pity!-what a dream was here!,Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear. What wicked and dissembling glass of mine Methought a serpent ate my heart away, Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?- And you sat smiling at his cruel prey.But who is here?-Lysander on the ground? Lysander! what, removed? Lysander! lord! Dead, or asleep?-I see no blood, no wound.- What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word? Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. Alack! where are you? speak, an if you hear.; Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear. sake. [Waking. No?-then I will perceive you are not nigh: Transparent Helena! Nature here shows art2 Either death, or you, I'11 find immediately. [Exit. That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. ACT III. SCENE I.-The Same. TITAIA lying asleep. Bot Peter Quince,EeQ c SDBo FT SNOUQuin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom? Enter QUINCE) SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and Bot. There are things in this comedy of " Pyramus STARVELING. and Thisby," that will never please. First, Pyramus Bot. Are we all met? must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient cannot abide. How answer you that? place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our Snout. By'rlakin3, a parlous fear. stage, this hawthorn brake our Itiring-house; and Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, when we will do it in action, as we will do it before the all is done. duke. I Bot. Not a whit: I have a device to make all well. 1 This direction not in f. e. 2 Malone's reading " Nature shows her art." 3 By our lady kin. SCENE I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 155 Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby, dear.say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that But, hark, a voice! stay thou but here a while, Pyramus is not killed indeed: and, for the more And by and by I will to thee appear." [Exit. better assurance, tell them, that I, Pyramus, am not Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here. Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. This will put them [Exit. out of fear. This. Must I speak now? Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue, and it Quin. Ay, marry, must you; for you must undershall be written in eight and six.' stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is Bot. No, make it two more: let it be written in to come again. eight and eight. This. "Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, Star. I fear it, I promise you. Most hi-sky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,.Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves:'rue as truest horse, that yet would never tire, to bring in, God shield us! a lion among ladies, is a most I l11 meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb." dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild- Quin. Ninus' tomb, man. Why you must not speak fowl than your lion living, and we ought to look to it. that yet; that you answer to Pyramus. You speak all Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell he is your part at once, cues and all.-Pyramus, enter: your not a lion. cue is past; it is, " never tire." Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's head on.5 face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he This. 0! — As true as truest horse, that yet would himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the never tire." same defect:-" Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish Pyr. " If I were, fair Thisby, I were only thine." — you, or, I would request you, or, I would entreat you, Quin. 0 monstrous! 0 strange! we are haunted. not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. If you Pray, masters! fly, masters! help! think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life: [Exeunt Clowns, in confusion.6 no, I am no such thing: I am a man as other men Puck. I'Il follow you,I ll lead you about a round, are:" and there, indeed, let him name his name, and Through bog, through bushthrough brake, through tell them plainly he is Snug, the joiner. brier: Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard Sometime a horse I 711 be, sometime a hound, things: that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight. And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and'roar, and burn. Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we play our Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. [Exit. play? Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery of Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanack; them, to make me afeard. find out moonshine, find out moonshine. Re-enter SNOUT. Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. Snout. 0 Bottom! thou art changed: what do I see Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of the on thee? [Exit, frightened.7 great chamber window, where we play, open; and the Bot. What do you see? you see an ass's head of moon may shine in at the casement. your own, do you? Quin. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of Re-enter QUINCE. thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to disfigure, Quin. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art or to present, the person of moonshine. Then, there translated. [Exit, frightened.8 is another thing: we must have a wall in the great Bot. I see their knavery. This is to make an ass chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby (says the story;) of me, to fright me, if they could; but I will not stir did talk through the chink of a wall. from this place, do what they can. I will walk up and Snug. You can never bring in a wall.-What say down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am you, Bottom? not afraid. [Sings. Bot. Some man or other must present wall; and let The oosel-cock9, so black of hue, him have some plaster, or some lime2, or some rough- With orange-tawny bill, cast about him, to signify wall: and' let him hold his The throstle with his note so true, fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus The wren with little quill. and Thisby whisper. Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed? Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit [Waking. down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, Pyramus, you begin. When you have spoken your The plain-song cuckoo gray, speech, enter into that brake; and so every one ac- Whose note full many a man doth mark, cording to his cue. And dares not answer, nay; Enter PUCK behind. for indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swagger- who would give a bird the lie, though he cry " cuckoo, ing here, never so? So near the cradle of the fairy queen? Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: What, a play toward? I 711 be an auditor; Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note, An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape; Quin. Speak, Pyramus.-Thisby, stand forth. And thy fair virtue's force, perforce, doth move me, Pyr. " Thisby, the flowers have4 odious savours On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. sweet,7- Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little Quin. Odours, odours. reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and Pyr. -" odours savours sweet: love keep little company together now-a-days. The 1 alternate verses of these syllables. 2 loam: in f. e. 3or: in f. e. or: in f. e. 5 Not in f. e. 6 The last two words not in f. e. 7 6 Not in f. e. 9 Black-bird. 156 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT m. more the pity, that some honest neighbours will not Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. make them friends. Nay, I can gleek' upon occasion. Near to her close and consecrated bower, Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. While she was in her dull and sleeping hour. Bot. Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get A crew of patches, rude mechanicals out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go: Were met together to rehearse a play, Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. I am a spirit of no common rate; The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort The summer still doth tend upon my state, Who Pyramus presented in their sport, And I do love thee: therefore, go with me; Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake, I 11 give thee fairies to attend on thee; When I did him at this advantage take; And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, An ass's nowl3 I fixed on his head: And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep: Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy, That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.- As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard-seed. Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, Enter four Fairies. Rising and cawing at the gun's report, 1 Fai. Ready. Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky; 2 Fai. And I. So, at his sight, away his fellows fly, 3 Fai. And I. And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls: 4 Fai. Where shall we go? He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman: Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong, Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes; Made senseless things begin to do them wrong, Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries, For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries. Some, sleeves some, hats, from yielders all things catch. Their honey bags steal from the humble-bees I led them on in this distracted fear, And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs And left sweet Pyramus translated there; And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, When in that moment (so it came to pass,) To have my love to bed, and to arise; Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes. But hast thou yet latch'd4 the Athenian's eyes Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? 1 Fai. Hail, mortal. Puck. I took him sleeping, (that is finished too) 2 Fai. Hail! And the Athenian woman by his side, 3 Fai. Hail! That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 4 Fai. Hail! Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA. Bot.- cry your worship's mercy, heartily.-I be- Obe. Stand close: this is the same Athenian. seech, your worship's name. Puck. This is the woman; but not this the man. Cob. Cobweb. [They stand apart.5 Bot. I shall desire of you more acquaintance, good Dem. O! why rebuke you him that loves you so? master Cobweb. If I cut my finger, I shall make bold Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. with you.-Your name, honest gentleman? Her. Now, I but chide; but I should use thee worse, Peas. Peas-blossom. For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, your mother, and to master Peascod, your father. Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire of you more And kill me too. acquaintance too.-Your name, I beseech you, sir? The sun was not so true unto the day, 2I/us. Mustard-seed. As he to me. Would he have stol'n away Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your pa- From sleeping Hermia? I'11 believe as soon, tience well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef This whole earth may be bor'd, and that the moon hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I May through the centre creep, and so displease promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water Her brother's noon-tide with th' Antipodes. ere now. I desire of you more acquaintance, good It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him; master Mustard-seed. So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. Tita. Come, wait upon him: lead him to my bower. Dem. So should the murder'd look, and so should I, The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye, Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, Lamenting some enforced chastity. As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Tie up my lover's tongue, and bring him silently. Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he? [Exeunt. Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? SCENE 1. -Another Part of the wood. Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past the Enter OBERON. bounds Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd; Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? Then, what it was that next came in her eye, Henceforth be never number'd among men! Which she must dote on in extremity. O! once tell true, tell true, e'en for my sake; Enter PUCK. Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake, Here comes my messenger.-How now, mad spirit? And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? 0 brave touch! What night-rule2 now about this haunted grove? Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? I Joke, scoff. 2 Revel. 3 NVoll, head. 4 Fr. Lecher: to lick. s This direction not in f. e. SCENE II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 57 An adder did it: for with doubler tongue Dem. 0 Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. [Awaking. Dem. You spend your passion in a mispris'd flood:1 To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? I am not guilty of Lysander's blood, Crystal is muddy. 0! how ripe in show Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! Her. I pray thee, tell me, then, that he is well. That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow, Dem. And, if I could, what should I get therefore? Fanned with the eastern wind, turns to a crow, Her. A privilege, never to see me more.- When thou hold'st up thy hand. 0, let me kiss And from thy hated presence part I so; This impress2 of pure white, this seal of bliss! See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. Hel. 0 spite! 0 hell! I see you all are bent Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein: To set against me, for your merriment: Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. If you were civil and knew courtesy, So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow You would not do me thus much injury. For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; Can you not hate me, as I know you do, Which now in some slight measure it will pay, But you must join in souls to mock me too? If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down. If you were men, as men you are in show, Obe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken You would not use a gentle lady so: quite, [Coming forward. To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight: When I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. Of thy misprision must perforce ensue You both are rivals, and love Hermia, Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turned true. And now both rivals, to mock Helena. Puck. Then fate o'er-rules; that one man holding A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, troth, To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes A million fail, confounding oath on oath. With your derision! none of noble sort Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, Would so offend a virgin, and extort And Helena of Athens look thou find: A poor souls patience, all to make you sport. All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so, With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear. For you love Hermia; this, you know, I know: By some illusion see you bring her here: And here, with all good will, with all my heart, I'll charm his eyes against she do appear. In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; Puck. I go, I go; look how I go; And yours in Helena to me bequeath, Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. Whom I do love, and will do till my death. Obe. Flower of this purple die, Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Hit with Cupid's archery, Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia: I will none: Sink in apple of his eye. [Anointing his eyes. If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. When his love he doth espy, My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, Let her shine as gloriously And now to Helen is it home return'd, As the Venus of the sky,- There to remain. When thou wak'st, if she be by, Lys. Helen, it is not so. Beg of her for remedy. Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, Re-enter PUCK. Lest to thy peril thou aby it dear.Puck. Captain of our fairy band, Look, where thy love comes: yonder is thy dear. Helena is here at hand, Enter HERMIA. And the youth, mistook by me, Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, Pleading for a lover's fee. The ear more quick of apprehension makes; Shall we their fond pageant see? Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, Lord, what fools these mortals be! It pays the hearing double recompense. Obe. Stand aside: the noise they make Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; Will cause Demetrius to awake. Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. Puck. Then will two at once woo one; But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? That must needs be sport alone; Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go? And those things do best please me, Her. What love could press Lysander from my side? That befal preposterously. [They stand apart. Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide, Enter LYSANDER and HELENA. Fair Helena, who more engilds the night Lys. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Than all yon fiery oes3 and eyes of light. Scorn and derision never come in tears: Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know, Look, when I vow I weep, and vows so born, The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? In their nativity all truth appears. Her. You speak not as you think: it cannot be. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Hel. Lo! she is one of this confederacy. Bearing the badge of faith to prove them true? Now I perceive they have conjoined, all three, Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. To fashion this false sport in spite of me. When truth kills truth, 0, devilish-holy fray! Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid! These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er? Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: To bait me with this foul derision? Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. When we have chid the hasty-footed time Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. For parting us,-O! is all forgot? Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. All school days' friendship, childhood's innocence? 1 on a mispris'd mood: in f. e. 2 princess: in f. e. 3 Eyes. 158 MIDSTIMMER-NIGIT'S DREAM. ACT III. We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Hel. Yes,'sooth; and so do you. Have with our needles created both one flower, Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Dem. I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive, Both warbling of one song, both in one key, A weak bond holds you: I 11 not trust your word. As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Lys. What! should I hurt her, strike her, kill her Had been incorporate. So we grew together, dead? Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, Although I hate her, I 11 not harm her so. But yet an union in partition; Her. What! can you do me greater harm than hate? Two loving' berries moulded on one stem, Hate me! wherefore? O me! what means3 my love? So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; Am not I Hernia? Are not you Lysander? Two of the first, like coats in heraldry I am as fair now, as I was erewhile. Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. Since night, you lov'd me; yet, since night you left me: And will you rend our ancient love asunder. Why, then you left me (0, the gods forbid!) To join with men in scorning your poor friend? In earnest, shall I say? It is not friendly,'t is not maidenly: Lys. Ay, by my life; Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, And never did desire to see thee more. Though I alone do feel the injury. Therefore be out of hope, of question, doubt; Her. I am amazed at your passionate words. Be certain, nothing truer: It is no jest, I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me. That I do hate thee and love Helena. Hfel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, Her. 0 me!-you juggler! you canker-blossom!. To follow me, and praise my eyes and face, You thief of love! what, have you come by night, And made your other love, Demetrius, And stol'n my lovers heart from him? (Who even but now did spurn me with his foot) Hel. Fine, i7 faith! To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Deny your love, so rich within his soul, Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you! And tender me, forsooth, affection, Her. Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the game. I But by your setting on, by your consent? Now I perceive that she hath made compare What though I be not so in grace as you, Between our statures: she hath urged her height, So hung upon with love, so fortunate, And with her personage, her tall personage, But miserable most to love unlovd, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him.This you should pity, rather than despise. And are you grown so high in his esteem, Her. I understand not what you mean by this. Because I am so dwarfish, and so low? Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak; Make mouths upon me when I turn my back; How low am I? I am not yet so low, Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up: But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, If you had any pity, grace, or manners Let her not hurt me: I was never curst; You would not make me such an argument. I have no gift at all in shrewishness: But, fare ye well: It is partly mine own fault, I am a right maid for my cowardice: Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. Let her not strike me. You, perhaps, may think, Lys. Stay, gentle Helena: hear my excuse: Because she is something lower than myself, My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena! That I can match her. Hel. 0 excellent! Her. Lower! hark, again. Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. Dem. If she cannot entreat. I can compel. I evermore did love you, Hermia, Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat: Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you; Thy threats have no more strength than her weak Save that, in love unto Demetrius, prayers.- I told him of your stealth unto this wood. Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do: He follow'd you; for love, I follow'd him; I swear by that which I will lose for thee, But he hath chid me hence, and threatened me To prove him false, that says I love thee not. To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too: Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. And now, so you will let me quiet go, Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. To Athens will I bear my folly back, Dem. Quick, come,- And follow you no farther. Let me go: Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? [Holding him.' You see how simple and how fond I am. Lys. Away, you Ethiop! Her. Why, get you gone. Who is It that hinders you? Dem. No, no, he'll- Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. Seem to break loose; take on, as you would follow; Her. What, with Lysander? But yet come not. You are a tame man, go! Hel. With Demetrius. Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let Lys. Be not afraid: she shall not harm thee, Helena. loose, Dem. No, sir; she shall rot, though you take her part. Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. Hel. O! when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd. Her. Why are you grown so rude? what change is this, She was a vixen when she went to school; Sweet love? And, though she be but little, she is fierce. Lys. Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, out! Her. Little again? nothing but low and little?Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence! Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? Her. Do you not jest? Let me come to her. 1 lovely: in f. e. Not in f. e. news: inf. e. SCENE II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 59 Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf; Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, You minimus, of hindering knot-grass' made: Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, You bead, you acorn. Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams. Dem. You are too officious But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: In her behalf that scorns your services. We may effect this business yet ere day. [Exit OBERON. Let her alone; speak not of Helena; Puck. Up and down, up and down; Take not her part, for if thou dost intend I will lead them up and down: Never so little show of love to her, I am fear'd in field and town; Thou shalt aby2 it. Goblin, lead them up and down. Lys. Now she holds me not; Here comes one. Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, Enter LYSANDER. Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou Her. Follow? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl. now. [thou? [Exeunt LYS. and DEM. Puck. Here, villain! drawn and ready. Where art Her. You, mistress, all this coil is'long of you. Lys. I will be with thee straight. Nay, go not back. Puck. Follow me then Hel. I will not trust you, I, To plainer ground. [Exit LYS. as following the voice. Nor longer stay in your curst company. Enter DEMETRIUS. Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray; Dem. Lysander! speak again. My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit. Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. [Exit. Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head? Obe. This is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st, Puck. Thou coward! art thou bragging to the stars, [Coming forward. Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully.4 And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child; Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. I'1 whip thee with a rod: he is defil'd, Did you not tell me I should know the man That draws a sword on thee. By the Athenian garments he had on? Dem. Yea; art thou there? And so far blameless proves my enterprise, Puck. Follow my voice: we'11 try no manhood here. That I have'nointed an Athenian's eyes; [Exeunt. And so far am I glad it so did sort, Re-enter LYSANDER. As this their jangling I esteem a sport. Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on: Obe. Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight: When I come where he calls, then he is gone. Hie, therefore, Robin, overcast the night; The villain is much lighter heel'd than I: The starry welkin cover thou anon I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly; With drooping fog, as black as Acheron; That fallen am I in dark uneven way, And lead these testy rivals so astray, And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day! As one come not within another's way. [Lies down. Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, For if but once thou show me thy grey light, Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; I'11 find Demetrius. and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. And sometime rail thou like Demetrius; Re-enter PUCK and DEMETRIUS. And from each other look thou lead them thus, Puck. Ho! ho! ho! Coward, why com'st thou not? Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep, Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot With leaden legs and batty wings, doth creep. Thou run'st before me, shifting every place, Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye; And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, Where art thou now? To take from thence all error with his might, Puck. Come hither: I am here. And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt'by When they next wake all this derision this dear, Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision: If ever I thy face by day-light see: And back to Athens shall the lovers wend Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me With league, whose date till death shall never end. To measure out my length on this cold bed. Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, By day's approach look to be visited. I'11 to my queen, and beg her Indian boy; [Lies down and sleeps. And then I will her charmed eye release Enter HELENA. From monster's view and all things shall be peace. Hel. 0 weary night! 0, long and tedious night! Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, Abate thy hours: shine, comforts, from the east, For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, That I may back to Athens, by day-light, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; From these that my poor company detest. At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, Troop home to church-yards: damned spirits all, Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps. That in cross-ways and floods have burial Puck. Yet but three? Come one more; Already to their wormy beds are gone; Two of both kinds make up four. For fear lest day should look their shames upon, Here she comes, curst and sad. They wilfully themselves exile from light, Cupid is a knavish lad, And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. Thus to make poor females mad. Obe. But we are spirits of another sort. Enter HERMIA. I with the morning's love have oft made sport; Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, And, like a forester, the groves may tread Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers: 1 Formerly supposed to have the property of hindering the growth. 2 Abide, answer for. 3 Not in f. e. 4 So the quarto: the folio: willingly. 160 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT IV. I can no farther crawl, no farther go; True delight in the sight My legs can keep no pace with my desires. Of thy former lady's eye: Here will I rest me till the break of day. And the country proverb known, Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! That every man should take his own, [Sleeps.l In your waking shall be shown: Puck. On the ground sleep sound: Jack shall have Jill; I 711 apply to your eye, Nought shall go ill; Gentle lover, remedy. The man shall have his mare again, [Anointing2 LYSANDER'S eyes. And all shall be well. When thou wak'st, see thou tak'st [Exit PUCK.-DEM. HEL. ~C. sleep. ACT IV. SC:ENE I.-The Same. QSeeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, SCENE I.-The Same. I did upbraid her and fall out with her; Enter TITANIA and BOTTOM: Fairies attending: For she his hairy temples then had rounded OBERON behind unseen. With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, And that same dew, which sometime on the buds While I thy amiable cheeks do coy3, Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, Stood now within the pretty flow'rets' eyes, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. ike tears that did their own disgrace bewail. Bot. Where's Peas-blossom? When I had at my pleasure taunted her, Peas. Ready,,And she in mild terms begged my patience, Bot. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom. —Where Is I then did ask of her her changeling child, monsieur Cobweb? Which straight she gave me; and her fairy sent Cob. Ready. ahtear him to gaer in f hairy land Bot. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get your And now ave the boy, I will undo weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped hum- This hateful imperfection of eeyes: ble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good monsieur, And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too From off the head of this Athenian swain, much in the action, monsieur; and, good monsieur, That he, awaking when the other do, have a care the honey-bag break not: I would be loath May all to Athens back again repair, to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior.- And think no more of this night's accidents, Where's monsieur Mustard-seed? But as the fierce vexation of a dream. Must. Ready. But first I will release the fairy queen. Bot. Give me your nef monsieur Mustard-seed. Be, as thou wast wont to be; [Anointing her eyes. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. See. as thou wast wont to see; Must. What's your will? Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help a Hath such force and blessed power. Cobweb5 to scratch. I must to the barbers, monsieur; Now, my Titania! wake you, my sweet queen. for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about the face, Tita. My Oberon! what visions have I seen! and I am such a tender ass. if my hair do but tickle Methought, I was enamour'd of an ass. me, I must scratch. Obe. There lies your love. Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet Tita. How came these things to pass? love? 0, how mine eyes do loath his visage now! Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music: let's Obe. Silence, a while.-Robin, take off this head.have the tongs and the bones. Titania, music call; and strike more dead Tita. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. Than common sleep of all these five the sense. Bot. Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch Tita. Music, ho! music! such as charmeth sleep. your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great desire Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. eyes pege, Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek Obe. Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. with me, Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir Now thou and I are new in amity, me: I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. And will to-morrow midnight solemnly Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, Fairies, be gone, and be a while6 away. And bless it to all fair posterity. So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be Gently entwist: the female ivy so Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark: 0, how I love thee! how I dote on thee! [They sleep. I do hear the morning lark. Enter PUCK. Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, Obe. [Advancing.] Welcome, good Robin. Seest Trip we after the night's shade; thou this sweet sight? We the globe can compass soon, Her dotage now I do begin to pity; Swifter than the wandering moon. For meeting her of late behind the wood, Tita. Come, my lord; and in our flight, I Lies down: in f. e. 2 Squeezing the juice on. 3 Caress. 4 Fist. 5 A probable misprint for Peas-blossom. 6 all ways: in f. e. ......................................................................................~ ~~^.~.~..~.~. ~~.~~. xu ~~.rr —nrr~.................................................:~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i ii::~:~:~.i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i::I::r*:,:\~e.:.hC:~~~~~~~~Xi!"t remXc.Y c::~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~....~............................. SCENE I. MIDSUMMiER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 161 Tell me how it came this night, And I in fury hither followed them, That I sleeping here was found Fair Helena in fancy following me. With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt. But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, [Horns sound within. (But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train. Melted as the snow, seems to me now The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; As the remembrance of an idle gawd, For now our observation is performed: Which in my childhood I did dote upon; And since we have the vaward1 of the day, And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, My love shall hear the music of my hounds.- The object, and the pleasure of mine eye, Uncouple in the western valley: let them go!- Is only Helena. To her, my lord, Despatch, I say, and find the forester.- Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia: We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, But, like in sickness, did I loath this food And mark the musical confusion But, as in health, come to my natural taste, Of hounds and echo in conjunction. Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, And will for evermore be true to it. When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met. With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear Of this discourse we more will hear anon.Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, Egeus I will overbear your will, The skies, the fountains, every region near For in the temple, by and by with us, Seem'd all one mutual cry. I never heard These couples shall eternally be knit. So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. And, for the morning now is something worn, The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, Our purposed hunting shall be set aside. So flew'd, so sanded;2 and their heads are hung Away, with us, to Athens: three and three, With ears that sweep away the morning dew We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.Crook-kneed. and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls; Come, Hippolyta. Slow in. pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, [Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and train. Each under each. A cry more tuneable Dem. These things seem small, and undistinguishable, Was never hallood to, nor cheerd with horn Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly: Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye, Judge, when you hear.-But, soft! what nymphs are When every thing seems double. these? Hel. So methinks: Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep; And I have found Demetrius, like a jewel, And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is; Mine own, and not mine own. This Helena old Nedar's Helena: Dem. Are you sure I wonder of their being here together. That we are awake? It seems to me The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe That yet we sleep, we dream.-Do not you think The rite of May and, hearing our intent, The duke was here, and bid us follow him? Came here in grace of our solemnity.- Her. Yea; and my father. But speak, Egeus is not this the day Hel. And Hippolyta. That Hermia should give answer of her choice? Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Ege. It is, my lord. Dem. Why then, we are awake. Let's follow him; The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their And by the way let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt., horns. Bet. [Waking.] When my cue comes, call me, and [Horns, and shouts within. DEMETRIUS, LYSANDER, I will answer:-my next is, " Most fair Pyramus." HERMIA, and HELENA, wake and start up. -- Hey, ho!-Peter Quince! Flute, the bellowsThe. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past; mender! Snout. the tinker! Starveling! God s my Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? life! stolen hence, and left me asleep. I have had a Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel. most rare vision. I have had a dream,-past the wit The. I pray you all, stand up. of man to say what dream it was: man is but an ass, I know, you two are rival enemies: if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I How comes this gentle concord in the world, was-there is no man can tell what. Methought I That hatred is so far from jealousy, was, and methought I had —but man is but a patched3 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath Half sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear, not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue I cannot truly say how I came here: to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream But, as I think, (for truly would I speak,- was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this And now I do bethink me, so it is) dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it I came with Hermia hither: our intent hath no bottom, and I will sing it in the latter end of Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be the4 play, before the duke: peradventure, to make it Without the peril of the Athenian law. the more gracious, I shall sing it at Thisby's5 death. Ege. Enough, enough! my lord, you have enough. [Exit. I beg the law, the law, upon his head.-A s. A R i They would have stol'n away; they would, Demetrius, ENE Athens. A Qe. Thereby to have defeated you and me; Enter UINCE FLUTE, SNOUT) and STARVELING. You, of your wife, and me, of my consent, Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? is he come Of my consent that she should be your wife. home yet? Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is Of this their purpose hither, to this wood; transported. I Vanivard, the fore part. 2 Flew'd, the large chaps of a hound; sanded, their hues. 3 Party-coloured fool. a: in e. 5 her: in f e. 11 162 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT V. Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred. It Enter BOTTOM. goes not forward, doth it? Bot. Where are these lads? where are these hearts? Quin. It is not possible: you have not a man in all Quin. Bottom!-O most courageous day! 0 most Athens able to discharge Pyramus, but he. happy hour! Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handy- Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask craft man in Athens. me not whattfor, if I tell youI am no true Athenian. Quin. Yea, and the best person too; and he is a I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. very paramour for a sweet voice. Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. Flu. You must say, paragon: a paramour is, God Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, bless us! a thing of nought. that the duke hath dined. Get your apparel together; Enter SNUG. good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, pumps: meet presently at the palace; every man look and there is two or three lords and ladies more mar- o'er his part; for, the short and the long is, our play ried. If our sport had gone forward, we had all been is preferred. In any case let Thisby have clean linen, made men. and let not him that plays the lion pare his nails. for Flu. 0, sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most sixpence a-day during his life; he could not have dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlick, for we are to scaped sixpence a-day: an the duke had not given utter sweet breath, and I do not doubt but to hear him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I ll be them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more words: hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a-day away go; away! [Exeunt. in Pyramus, or nothing. ACT V. SCENE I. -The Same. An Apartment in the Palace What revels are in hand? Is there no play, SCENE IThe Same. An Apartment the alace To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? of THESEUS. ~of THu~ESEUS~. Call Philostrate. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, Lords, and Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. Attendants. The. Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? Hip.'T is strange, my Theseus, that these lovers What mask? what music? How shall we beguile speak of. The lazy time, if not with some delight? The. More strange than true: I never may believe Philost. There is a brief how many sports are ripe; These antic fables, nor these fairy toys. Make choice of which your highness will see first. Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains, [Giving a paper. Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend The. [Reads.] l The battle with the Centaurs, to be More than cool reason ever comprehends. sung The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, By an Athenian eunuch to the harp."' Are of imagination all compact: We ll none of that: that have I told my love, One sees more devils than vast hell can hold: In glory of my kinsman Hercules. That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.:~ The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, That is an old device; and it was play'd Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. And, as imagination bodies forth "T The thrice three Muses mourning for the death The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary."| Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing That is some satire, keen, and critical, A local habitation, and a name. Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. Such tricks hath strong imagination, A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus: That, if it would but apprehend some joy, And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth." It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Merry and tragical! Tedious and brief'! Or in the night, imagining some fear, That is, hot ice, and wondrous seething' snow. How easy is a bush supposed a bear? How shall we find the concord of this discord?' Hip. But all the story of the night told over, Philost. A play this is, my lord, some ten words long, And all their minds transfigured so together Which is as brief as I have known a play; More witnesseth than fancy's images But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, And grows to something of great constancy, Which makes it tedious; for in all the play But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. There is not one word apt, one player fitted: The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. And tragical, my noble lord, it is, Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and HELENA. For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. Joy, gentle friends; joy, and fresh days of love, Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, Accompany your hearts! Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears Lys. More than to us The passion of loud laughter never shed. Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed! [have The. What are they, that do play it? The. Come now; what masks, what dances shall we Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here, To wear away this long age. of three hours Which never labour'd in their minds till now; Between our after-supper, and bed-time? And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories Where is our usual manager of mirth? With this same play, against your nuptial. 1 strange: in f. e. 2 This is the reading of the quartos. In the folio, Lysander reads the " brief," and Theseus comments. SCENE I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 163 The. And we will hear it. To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. Philost. No, my noble lord: This grisly beast, which lion hight by name, It is not for you: I have heard it over, The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, And it is nothing, nothing in the world, Did scare away, or rather did affright: Unless you can find sport in their intents, And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall, Extremely stretched, and conn'd with cruel pain, Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain. To do you service. Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, The. I will hear that play: And finds his gentle Thisby's mantle slain: For never any thing can be amiss, Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade, When simpleness and duty tender it. He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; Go, bring them in;-and take your places, ladies. And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade, [Exit PHILOSTRATE. His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, And duty in his service perishing. At large discourse, while here they do remain." The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. [Exeunt PRES., THISBE, Lion, and Moonshine. Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind. The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. Dem. No wonder, my lord: Our sport shall be to take what they mistake: One lion may, when many asses do. And what poor duty cannot do, Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befal, Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; Where I have come, great clerks have purposed And such a wall, as I would have you think, To greet me with premeditated welcomes: That had in it a cranny, hole, or chink, Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Make periods in the midst of sentences, Did whisper often very secretly. Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, This lime, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, That I am that same wall: the truth is so; Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome; Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." And in the modesty of fearful duty The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard Of saucy and audacious eloquence, discourse, my lord. Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence! In least speak most, to my capacity. Enter PYRAMUS. Enter PHILOSTRATE. Pyr. " 0, grim-look'd night! 0, night with hue so Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest.' black! The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. 0 night, which ever art, when day is not! Enter the PROLOGUE. O night! 0 night alack, alack, alack! Prol. " If we offend, it is with our good will. I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot.That you should think, we come not to offend, And thou, O wall! 0 sweet, O lovely wall! But with good-will. To show our simple skill, That stand'st between her father's ground and mine; That is the true beginning of our end. Thou wall, O wall! O sweet, and lovely wall! Consider, then, we come but in despite. Show me thy chink to blink through with mine eyne. We do not come as minding to content you, [Wall holds up his fingers. Our true intent is. All for your delight, Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this! We are not here. That you should here repent you, But what see I? No Thisby do I see. The actors are at hand; and, by their show, Q wicked wall.! through whom I see no bliss; You shall know all, that you are like to know." Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!; The. This fellow doth not stand upon his points. The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; curse again. he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is Pyr. No, In truth, sir, he should not.-" Deceiving not enough to speak, but to speak true. me,7 is Thisbyes cue: she is to enter now, and I am to Hip. Indeed, he hath played on this prologue, like a spy her through the wall. You shall see it will fall child on a recorder2; a sound, but not in government. pat as I told you.-Yonder she comes. The. His speech was like a tangled chain, Enter THISBE. Nothing impair'd, but all disordered. This. " 0 wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, Who is next? For parting my fair Pyramus and me: Enter the PRESENTER', PYRAMUS, and THISBE, Wall, My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones; MIoonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show. Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." Pres.4 " Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show; Pyr. "I see a voice: now will I to the chink, But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. This man is Pyramus, if you would know; Thisby!" This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. This. " My love! thou art my love, I think." This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present Pyr. " Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace; Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder; And like Limander am I trusty still." And through walls chink, poor souls, they are content This. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. Pyr. "Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, This. "! As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." Presenteth moonshine; for, if you will know, Pyr. " 0! kiss me through the hole of this vile wall." By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn This. " I kiss the walls hole, not your lips at all." 1 Ready. 2 Flageolet. 3 Not in f. e. 4 This speech is given in f. e. to the Prologue. 164 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT V. Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straight- The. Well mouthed3, lion. way?" Dem. And then came Pyramus. This. "'Tide life,'tide death, I come without delay." Lys. And so the lion vanished. Wall. "Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so; Enter PYRAMUS. And, being done, thus wall away doth go." Pyr. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny [Exeunt Wall, PYRAMUS, and THISBE. beams; The. Now is the wall' down between the two neigh- I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright, hours. For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. to hear without warning. But stay; — spite! [Seeing THISBEs mantle.4 Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard. But mark, poor knight, The. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the What dreadful dole is here! worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Eyes, do you see? Hip. It must be your imagination, then, and not How can it be? theirs. 0 dainty duck! 0 dear! The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of Thy mantle good, themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here What! stained with blood? come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. Approach, ye furies fell! Enter Lion and Moonshine. 0 fates! come. come: Lion. " You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear Cut thread and thrum; The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!" May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, The. This passion on' the death of a dear friend, When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. would go near to make a man look sad. Then know, that 1, one Snug the joiner, am Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. A lion's fell,2 nor else no lion's dam: Pyr. " 0, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame, For, if I should as lion come in strife Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear? Into this place, t were pity on your life." Which is-no, no-which was the fairest dame, The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. That livd, lov that lo likd that look'd with cheer. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I Come, tears, confound; saw. Out, sword, and wound Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The pap of Pyramus: The. True, and a goose for his discretion. Ay, that left pap, Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry Where heart doth hop:his discretion, and the fox carries the goose. Thus die I, thus, thus, thus! [Stabs himself The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his Now am I dead, [as often6. valour, for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: Now am I fled; leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. My soul is in the sky: Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present;' Tongue, lose thy light! Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. Moon, take thy flight! [Exit Moonshine.7 The. He is not crescent, and his horns are invisible Now die, die, die, die, die." [Dies. within the circumference. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon present; Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead; he is Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be." nothing. The. This is the greatest error of all the rest. The The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet reman should be put into the lantern: how is it else the cover, and yet prove an ass. man i' the moon? Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for, comes back and finds her lover? you see, it is already in snuff. The. She will find him by starlight.-Here she Hip. I am aweary of this moon: would, he would comes, and her passion ends the play. change! Enter THISBE. The. It appears by his small light of discretton. Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one for that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief. reason, we must stay the time. Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, Lys. Proceed, moon. which Thisbe, is the better: he for a man, God warMoon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the rant us; she for a woman, God bless us. lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. eyes. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe. This. " Asleep, my love? Enter THISBE. What, dead, my dove? This. "This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is my 0 Pyramus! arise: love?" Speak, speak! Quite dumb? Lion. "Oh-." [The Lion roars.-THISBE runs off. Dead, dead? A tomb Dem. Well roared, lion. Must cover thy sweet eyes. The. Well run, Thisbe. This lily lip8, flip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines This cherry tip,9 with a good grace. [The Lion tears THIsBE7s mantle, These yellow cowslip cheeks, [and exit. Are gone, are gone. 1 mural: in f. e. 2 A lion fell: in f. e. B. Field suggested this correction also. 3 moused: in f. e. 4 This direction not in f. e. 5 and: in f. e. 6 This direction not in f. e. 7 in f. e.: this direction is given at the next line. 8 These lily lips: in f. e. 9 Nose. SCENE II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 165 Lovers, make moan: Shall disturb this hallowed house: His eyes were green as leeks. I am sent with broom before, 0! sisters three To sweep the dust behind the door. Come, come to me, Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train. With hands as pale as milk; Obe. Through the house give glimmering light, Lay them in gore, By the dead and drowsy fire; Since you have shore Every elf, and fairy sprite, With shears his thread of silk. Hop as light as bird from brier; Tongue, not a word:- And this ditty after me Come, trusty sword; Sing, and dance it trippingly. Come, blade, my breast imbrue: Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote, And farewell, friends.- To each word a warbling note: Thus Thisby ends: Hand in hand with fairy grace Adieu, adieu, adieu.7 [Dies. Will we sing, and bless this place. The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and wall too. THE SONG. Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted until the break of day, their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or torouh this house eac fairy stray. Through this house each fairy stray. hear a Bergomaskl dance between two of our company To the best bride-bed will we The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs Which by us shall blessed be no excuse. Never excuse, for when the players are And the issue there create all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he Ever shall be fortunate that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself So shall all the couples three in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; Ever true in loving be and so it is, truly, and very notably discharged. But And the blots of nature's hand come, your Borgomask: let your epilogue alone. Shall not in their isse stand: The iron tongue of [hath l A dance. Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.- Nor mark prodigious, such as are Lovers, to bed:'t is almost fairy time.Despised in nativity I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, Shall upon their children be,3 As much as we this night have overwatchd. With this field-dew consecrate. This palpable gross play hath well beguildEvery fairy take his gait The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.- And each several chamber bless A fortnight hold we this solemnity, Through this palace with sweet peace; In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Eeut.Ever shall it safely rest, SCENE II. And the owner of it blest. Trip away; make no stay; Enter PucK,2 with a broom on his shoulder. Meet me all by break of day. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, [Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and train. And the wolf behowls the moon; Puck. If we shadows have offended, Whilst the heavy ploughman snores Think but this and all is mended, All with weary task fordone. That you have but slumber'd here, Now the wasted brands do glow, While these visions did appear; Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, And this weak and idle theme, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, No more yielding but a dream, In remembrance of a shroud. Gentles, do not reprehend: Now it is the time of night, If you pardon, we will mend. That the graves, all gaping wide, And, as I'm an honest Puck, Every one lets forth his sprite, If we have unearned luck In the church-way paths to glide: Now to'scape the serpent's tongue, And we fairies, that do run We will make amends ere long, By the triple Hecate's team, Else the Puck a liar call: From the presence of the sun So, good night unto you all. Following darkness like a dream, Give me your hands, if we be friends, Now are frolic; not a mouse And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 1 So called, from the place in Italy it was derived from. 2 The rest of this direction not in f. e. Puck is thus represented in an old woodcut. 3 f. e. all have a period instead of a comma. 4 in safety. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. DRAMATIS PERSONAzL Duke of Venice. OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot. Prince of Morocco, S uitor t Pt. SALERIO, a Messenger. Prince of Arragon, LEONARDO Servant to Bassanio. ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice: BALTHAZAR, )Svant to Porta. BALTHAZ-n*c }* Servants to Portia. BASSANIo, his Friend. STEPHANO, GRATIANO, SALANIO, Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. PORTIA, a rich Heiress. SALARINO, NERISSA, her Waiting-woman. LORENZO, in love with Jessica. JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock. SHIYLOCK a Jew: TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend. Magnificoes of Venice Officers of the Court of LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown. Justice, Jailors, Servants, and other Attendants. SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont. ACT I. SCENE I.-Venice. A Street. Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, And, in a word, but even now worth this, Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad. To think on this and shall I lack the thought, It wearies me: you say, it wearies you; That such a thing bechanc'd would make me sad? But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, But, tell not me: I know, Antonio What stuff It is made of, whereof it is born, Is sad to think upon his merchandise. I am to learn; Ant. Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, That I have much ado to know myself. Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean, Upon the fortune of this present year: There, where your argosies1 with portly sail, Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, Salan. Why, then you are in love. Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, Ant. Fie, fie! Do overpeer the petty traffickers, Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, are sad, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Because you are not merry; and It were as easy Salan. Believe me, sir had I such venture forth, For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, The better part of my affections would Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind, Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads; And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; And every object that might make me fear And other of such vinegar aspect; Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, That they ll not show their teeth in way of smile, Would make me sad. Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. Would blow me to an ague, when I thought Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsWhat harm a wind too great might do at sea. man I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well: But I should think of shallows and of flats, We leave you now with better company. And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, Vailing her high top lower than her ribs, If worthier friends had not prevented me. To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. And see the holy edifice of stone I take it, your own business calls on you, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. [when? Would scatter all her spices on the stream, Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, Vessels of about two hundred tons. SCEE Ii. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 171 Enter Old GOBBOi with a Basket. and thy master agree? I have brought him a present. Gob. Master, young man, you; I pray you, which How agree you now? is the way to master Jew's? Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I have Laun. [Aside.] 0 heavens! this is my true begotten set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have father, who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel run some ground. My master s a very Jew: give him blind, knows me not:-I will try confusions' with him. a present! give him a halter: I am famish'd in his serGob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which vice: you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. is the way to master Jew's? Father, I am glad you are come: give me your present Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the next turn- to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new ing, but at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far as God at the very next turning; turn of no hand, but turn has any ground.-O rare fortune! here comes the man: down indirectly to the Jew's house. -to him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew Gob. By God's sonties2,'t will be a hard way to hit. any longer. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, and Followers. with him, dwell with him, or no? Bass. You may do so;-but let it be so hasted, that Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot?-[Aside.] supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. Mark me now; now will I raise the waters.-[To him.] See these letters delivered; put the liveries to making, Talk you of young master Launcelot? and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father, Laun. To him, father. [a Servant. though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man; and, Gob. God bless your worship! God be thanked, well to live. Bass. Gramercy. Wouldst thou aught with me! Laun. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, of young master Launcelot. Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man, Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. that would, sir,-as my father shall specify. Laun.. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would you, talk you of young master Launcelot? say, to serveGob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot. Talk not of master Jew, and have a desire,-as my father shall specify. Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (according Gob. His master and he (saving your worship's reveto fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters rence), are scarce cater-cousins. three, and such branches of learning), is, indeed, de- Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew ceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to having done me wrong, doth cause me,-as my father, heaven, being, I hope, an old man, shall fructify unto you. Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff Gob. I have here a dish of doves,5 that I would bestow of my age, my very prop. upon your worship; and my suit is, Laun. [Aside.] Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel- Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to mypost, a staff, or a prop?-[To him.] Do you know me, self, as your lordship shall know by this honest old father? man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, poor Gob. Alack the day: I know you not, young gentle- man, my father. man. But, I pray you, tell me, is my boy (God rest Bass. One speak for both.-What would you? his soul!) alive, or dead? Laun. Serve you, sir. Laun. Do you not know me, father? Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not. Bass. I know thee well: thou hast obtained thy suit. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows And hath preferr'd thee; if it be preferment, his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news To leave a rich Jew's service, to become of your son. [Kneels.] Give me your blessing: truth The follower of so poor a gentleman. will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between son may, but in the end truth will out. my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up. I am sure you are of God, sir, and he hath enough. [son.not Launcelot, my boy. Bass. Thou speak'st it well.-Go, father. with thy Laun. Pray you, let Is have no more fooling about it, Take leave of thy old master, and inquire but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy My lodging out.-Give him a livery [To his followers. that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. More guarded6 than his fellows': see it done. Gob. I cannot think you are my son. Laun. Father, in.-I cannot get a service,-no; I Laun. I know not what I shall think of that; but I have ne'er a tongue in my head.-Well; [Looking on am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and, I am sure, Margery, his palm;] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, your wife, is my mother, which doth offer to swear upon a book.-I shall have Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'l be sworn, good fortune.-Go to; here s a simple line of life! if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and here's a small trifle of wives: alas! fifteen wives is blood. Lord! worshipp'd might he be! what a beard nothing: eleven widows, and nine maids, is a simple hast thou got: thou hast got more hair on thy chin, coming in for one man; and then, to'scape drowning than Dobbin my fill'-horse has on his tail. thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a Laun. [Rising.4] It should seem, then, that Dobbin's feather-bed: here are simple'scapes! Well, if fortail grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of tune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.his tail, than I have of my face, when I last saw Father, come; I ll take my leave of the Jew in the him. twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt LAUNCELOT and Old GOBBO. Gob. Lord! how art thou changed! How dost thou Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. 1 One of the quartos reads: "conclusions." 2 Saints. 3 f. e.: phill, same as thill, or shaft-horse. 4 Not in f. e. 5 A common Italian present. Some argue from this and other similar references, that Shakespeare visited Italy. 6 Laced, or ornamented. 172 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT T. These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd, Disguise us at my lodging, and return Return in haste, for I do feast to-night All in an hour. My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go. Gra. We have not made good preparation. Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. Salar. We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers. Enter GRATIANO. Salan.'T is vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd, Gra. Where is your master? And better, in my mind. not undertook. Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit LEONARDO. Lor.'T is now but four o'clock: we have two hours Gra. Signior Bassanio! To furnish us.Bass. Gratiano. Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter. Gra. I have a suit to you. Friend Launcelot, what Is the news? Bass. You have obtain'd it. Laun. An it shall please you to break- up this, it Gra. You must not deny me. I must go with you shall seem to signify. [Giving a letter to Belmont. Lor. I know the hand: in faith, t is a fair hand, Bass. Why, then you must; but hear thee, Gratiano. And whiter than the paper it writ on Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;- Is the fair hand that writ. Parts, that become thee happily enough, Gra. Love-news, in faith. And in such eyes as ours appear not faults: Laun. By your leave, sir. But where thou art not known, why, there they show Lor. Whither goest thou? Something too liberal.-Pray thee, take pain Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to To allay with some cold drops of modesty sup to-night with my new master, the Christian. Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviour, Lor. Hold here, take this.-Tell gentle Jessica, I be misconstrued in the place I go to, I will not fail her:-speak it privately; And lose my hopes. Go.-Gentlemen, [Exit LAUNCELOT. Gra. Signior Bassanio hear me: Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? If I do not put on a sober habit I am provided of a torch-bearer. Talk with respect, and swear but now and then Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely; Salan. And so will I. Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano, Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen; At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. Use all the observance of civility, Salar.'T is good we do so. [Exeunt SALAR. and SALAN. Like one well studied in a sad ostent Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? To please his grandam, never trust me more. Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed, Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. How I shall take her from her father s house; Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gage me What gold and jewels she is furnished with; By what we do to-night.: What page's suit she hath in readiness. Bass. No, that were pity. If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, I would entreat you rather to put on It will be for his gentle daughter's sake; Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends And never dare misfortune cross her foot, That purpose merriment. But fare you well Unless she do it under this excuse, I have some business. That she is issue to a faithless Jew. Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest; Come, go with me: peruse this, as thou goest. But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt. Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The Same. ARoomin SHYLOCK'sHouse. SCENE V.-The Same. Before SHYLOCK's House. Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT. Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT. Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so: Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, Our house is hell, and thou. a merry devil The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness What, Jessica!-Thou shalt not gormancize, But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee. As thou hast done with me! —What, Jessica!And. Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see And sleep and snore and rend apparel out.Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest; Why, Jessica. I say! Give him this letter: do it secretly, Laun. Why, Jessica! And so farewell. I would not have my father Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. See me in talk with thee. Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, that I Laun. Adieu!-tears exhibit my tongue.-Most could do nothing without bidding. beautiful pagan,-most sweet Jew! If a Christian did Enter JESSICA. not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived; Jes. Call you? What is your will? but, adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica: manly spirit: adieu! [Exit. There are my keys.-But wherefore should I go? Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.- I am not bid for love; they flatter me: Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, But yet I'11 go in hate, to feed upon To be ashamed to be my father's child! The prodigal Christian.-Jessica, my girl, But though I am a daughter to his blood Look to my house:-I am right loath to go. I am not to his manners. 0 Lorenzo! There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, For I did dream of money-bags to-night. Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit. Laun. I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expect your reproach. SCENE IV.-The Same. A Street. Shy. So do I his. Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. Laun. And they have conspired together:-I will Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do, then - - - - -. i'~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~- -~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~i I~ V -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o -. -- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-2\- _____~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~ —-—.Caiori - I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~1z Phillip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i~t Israeli~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~;l SIIYLUC~K~ JESSICA AND AUNCLIOT. ]Merchant of V enice, Act ]I. Scene 5 SCENE VII. THE AMERCHANT OF VENICE. 173 it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. black Monday' last, at six o'clock i' the morning; falling' Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love indeed, out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in the IFor whom love I so much? And now who knows, afternoon. [Jessica: But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? Shy. What! are there masques?-Hear you me, Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts are witness that Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, thou art. And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, Jes. Here, catch this casket: it is worth the pains. Clamber not you up to the casements thenI am glad't is night, you do not look on me, Nor thrust your head into the public street For I am much asham'd of my exchange; To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces, But love is blind, and lovers cannot see But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements; The pretty follies that themselves commit; Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter For if they could, Cupid himself would blush My sober house.-By Jacob's staff, I swear, To see me thus transformed to a boy. I have no mind of feasting forth to-night; Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. But I will go.-Go you before me, sirrah; Jes. What! must I hold a candle to my shames? Say, I will come. They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. Laun. I will go before, sir.-Mistress, look out at Why,'t is an office of discovery, love, window, for all this: And I should be obscured. There will come a Christian by, Lor. So are you, sweet, Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit LAUN. Even in the garnish of a lovely boy. Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring? ha! But come at once; Jes. His words were, farewell, mistress; nothing else. For the close night doth play the run-away, Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder, And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me; With some more ducats, and be with you straight. Therefore I part with him, and part with him [Exit, from above. To one that I would have him help to waste Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. His borrow'd purse.-Well, Jessica, go in: Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily; Perhaps I will return immediately. For she is wise, if I can judge of her, Do, as I bid you; shut doors after you: And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, Safe bind, safe' find, And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not crest, Shall she be placed in my constant soul. I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. Enter JEssICA, to them below. SCENJE VI.-The Same. What, art thou come?-On, gentlemen; away! Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued.[Exit with JESSICA and SALARINO. Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo Enter ANTONIO. Desir'd us to make stand. Ant. Who Is there? Salar. His hour is almost past. Gra. Signior Antonio? Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? For lovers ever run before the clock.'T is nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you. Salar. O! ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly No masque to-night: the wind is come about, To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wont Bassanio presently will go aboard: To keep obliged faith unforfeited! I have sent twenty out to seek for you. Gra. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast, Gra. I am glad on't: I desire no more delight, With that keen appetite that he sits down? Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt. Where is the horse that doth untread again His tedious measures, with the unbated fireSCENE VI.- elmont. An Apartment in That he did pace them first? All things that are, PORTIAHouse. Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. Enter PORTIA, with the Prince of Morocco, and both their How like a younker, or a prodigal, trains. The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, For. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover Hugged and embraced by the strumpet wind! The several caskets to this noble prince.- [Curtains How like a prodigal doth she return Now make your choice. [drawn aside.3 With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears;Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind " Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.7 Enter LoREazo. The second, silver, which this promise carries;Salar. Here comes Lorenzo:-more of this hereafter. " Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves." Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode; This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt;Not I, but my affairs have made you wait: Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, How shall I know if I do choose the right? I'll watch as long for you then.-Approach; Por.'The one of'them contains my picture, prince: Here dwells my father Jew.-Ho! who Is within? If you choose that then I am yours withal. Enter JESSICA above, as a boy. Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see, Jes. Who are you? Tell me for more certainty, I will survey th' inscriptions back again: Albeit I 11 swear that I do know your tongue. What says this leaden casket? 1 Stow says, Black Monday got its name' from the following occurrence: On Easter-Monday, April 14, 1360, Edward III., with his host, lay before the city of Paris, and the day " was full dark of mist and hail, and so bitter cold that many men died on their horses' backs with the cold." 2 Fast bind, fast find: in f.e. 3 This direction not in f. e. 1T4 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT I. "Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." With him is Gratiano gone along; Must give-For what? for lead? hazard for lead? And in their ship, I'm sure, Lorenzo is not. This casket threatens: men; that hazard all, Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke Do it in hope of fair advantages: Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail: I'11 then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. But there the duke was given to understand, What says the silver, with her virgin hue? That in a gondola were seen together "Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves." Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica. As much as he deserves?-Pause there, Morocco, Besides, Antonio certified the duke, And weigh thy value with an even hand. They were not with Bassanio in his ship. If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd, Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough So strange, outrageous, and so variable, May not extend so far as to the lady; As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: And yet to be afeard of my deserving "My daughter!-0 my ducats!-0 my daughter! Were but a weak disabling of myself. Fled with a Christian?-O my Christian ducats! As much as I deserve?-Why, that's the lady: Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, In graces, and in qualities of breeding: Of double ducats, stoln from me by my daughter! But more than these in love I do deserve her. And jewels too! two rich and precious stones, What if I stray'd no farther, but chose here?- Stol'n by my daughter!-Justice! find the girl! Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold: She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats!; "Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her: Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. From the four corners of the earth they come, Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. Or he shall pay for this. The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds Salar. Marry, well rememberd. Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now, I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, For princes to come view fair Portia: Who told me, in the narrow seas, that part The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head The French and English, there miscarried Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar A vessel of our country, richly fraught. To stop the foreign spirits, but they come I thought upon Antonio when he told me, As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia: And wish'd in silence that it were not his. One of these three contains her heavenly picture. Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; Is't like, that lead contains her?'T were damnation, Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. To think so base a thought: it were too gross Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. I saw Bassanio and Antonio part. Or shall I think in silver she's immur'd Bassanio told him, he would make some speed Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? Of his return: he answer'd-" Do not so; O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio Was set in worse than gold. They have in England But stay the very riping of the time: A coin, that bears the figure of an angel And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me Stamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon; Let it not enter in your mind of love. But here an angel in a golden bed Be merry; and apply your chiefest thoughts Lies all within.-Deliver me the key: To courtship, and such fair ostents of love Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! As shall conveniently become you there." Por. There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there And even there, his eye being big with tears, Then I am yours. [He opens the golden casket. Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,.Mor. 0 hell! what have we here? And with affection wondrous sensible A carrion death, within whose empty eye He wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted. There is a written scroll. I'll read the writing. Salan. I think, he only loves the world for him. " All that glisters is not gold: I pray thee, let us go, and find him out, Often have you heard that told: And quicken his embraced heaviness Many a man his life hath sold, With some delight or other. But my outside to behold: Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. Gilded tombs do worms infold. Had you been as wise as bold, SCENE IX.-Belmont. An Apartment in PORTIA's Young in limbs, in judgment old, House. Your answer had not been inscroll'd: Enter NE RIssA, with a Servitor. Fare you well; your suit is cold." Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtains Cold, indeed, and labour lost: straight. Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost.- The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, Portia, adieu. I have too griev'd a heart And comes to his election presently. To take a tedious leave: thus losers part xit. [Exit.Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON PORTIA, and their trains. Por. A gentle riddance.-Draw the curtains: go. Flourish cornets. Curtins withdrawn. [Curtains drawn. For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince. Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, SCENE VIII- Venice. A Street. Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd; SCENE VIII.-Venice. A Street. But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, Enter SALARINO and SALANIO. You must be gone from hence immediately. Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail: Ar. I am enjoined by oath to observe three things: SCENE I. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 175 First, never to unfold to any one' Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves." Which casket't was I chose: next, if I fail Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? Of the right casket, never in my life Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? To woo a maid in way of marriage: lastly, Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, If I do fail in fortune of my choice, And of opposed natures. Immediately to leave you and be gone. Ar. What is here? Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear, The fire seven times tried this: That comes to hazard for my worthless self. Seven times tried that judgment is, Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now That did never choose amiss. To my heart's hope — Gold, silver and base lead. Some there be that shadows kiss; " Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath:" Such have but a shadows bliss. You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. There be fools alive, I wis, What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:- Silver'd o'er; and so was this. " Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." Take what wife you will to bed, What many men desire:-that many may be meant I will ever be your head: By the fool multitude, that choose by show, So begone: you are sped." Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; Still more fool I shall appear Which prize not thb" interior, but, like the martlet, By the time I linger here: Builds in the weather, on the outward wall, With one fool's head I came to woo, Even in the force and road of casualty. But I go away with two.I will not choose what many men desire, Sweet adieu. I'11 keep my oath, Because I will not jump with common spirits, Patiently to bear my wroth. And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. [Exeunt ARRAGON, and train. Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. Tell me once more what title thou dost bear: 0, these deliberate fools! when they do choose, " Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves j" They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. And well said too: for who shall go about Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy: To cozen fortune, and be honourable, Hanging and wiving go by destiny. drawn.3 Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. [Curtains To wear an undeserved dignity. Enter a Messenger.4 0! that estates, degrees, and offices, Mess. Where is my lady? Were not deriv'd corruptly; and that clear honour Por. Here; what would my lord? Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer! Mess. Madam, there is alighted at your gate How many then should cover, that stand bare; A young Venetian, one that comes before How many be commanded, that command: To signify the approaching of his lord, How much low peasantry would then be glean'd From whom he bringeth sensible regreets From the true seed of honour; and how much honour To wit, (besides commends, and courteous breath,) Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen To be new varnish'd! Well, but to my choice: So likely an ambassador of love. "Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.;" A day in April never came so sweet, I will assume desert:-give me a key for this, To show how costly summer was at hand, And instantly unlock my fortunes here. As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. [He opens the silver casket.2 Por. No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard, Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there. Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.Presenting me a schedule? I will read it. Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see How much unlike art thou to Portia! Cupid's quick post, that comes so mannerly. How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings! Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be. [Exeunt. ACT III. SC(ENE I. - enice A Street. honest Antonio,-O, that I had a title good enough to keep his name company!Enter SALANIO and SALARINO. Salar. Come, the full stop. Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto? Salan. Ha!-what say'st thou?-Why the end is, Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheek'd, that Anto- he hath lost a ship. nio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses. seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place: a Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcasses of cross my prayer; for here he comes in the likeness of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip, a Jew.report, be an honest woman of her word. Enter SHYLOCK. Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, How now, Shylock? what news among the merchants? as ever knapped5 ginger, or made her neighbours be- Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, lieve she wept for the death of a third husband. But of my daughter's flight. it is true, without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the Salar. That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor plain high-way of talk, that the good Antonio, the that made the wings she flew withal. 1 Which pries not to th: in f. e. 2 3 This direction not in f. e. 4 So the old copies; mod. eds. read: " Servant." 5 Broke. 176 TItE MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT HI. Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, was fledged; and then, it is the complexion of them all as I heard in Genoa,to leave the dam. Shy. What, what, what? ill luck. ill luck? Shy. She is damned for it. Tub. - hath an argosy cast away, coming from Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. Tripolis. Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel! Shy. I thank God! I thank God! Is it true? is it true? Salar. Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped years? the wreck. Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal.-Good news, good Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh news! ha! ha!-Where? in Genoa? and hers, than between jet and ivory; more between Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one your bloods, than there is between red wine and night, fourscore ducats. rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me. I shall never have had any loss at sea or no? see my gold again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting? Shy. There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, fourscore ducats! a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in Rialto;-a beggar, that was wont' to come so smug my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose upon the mart.-Let him look to his bond: he was but break. wont to call me usurer;-let him look to his bond: Shy. I am very glad of it. I'll plague him; I ll he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; torture him: I am glad of it. -let him look to his bond. Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had of Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not your daughter for a monkey. take his flesh: what's that good for? Shy. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it Shy. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, was my torquoisea; I had it of Leah, when I was a it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me and bachelor: I would not have given it for a wilderness hindered me half a million; laughed at my losses, of monkeys. mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and Shy. Nay, that Is true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew fee me an officer: bespeak him a fortnight before. I eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were he affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue: go, good by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal. [Exeunt. winter and summer, as a Christian is? if you prick us, SCENE o. An A t in do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if S E II.-BeontAn Apartment n PORTI you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO) NERISSA, and we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a their Attendants. Christian, what is his humility? revenge. If a Chris- Por. I pray you tarry: pause a day or two, tian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong, Christian example? why, revenge. The villainy you I lose your company: therefore, forbear a while. teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard but I There's something tells me, (but it is not love,) will better the instruction. I would not lose you, and you know yourself, Enter a Servant. Hate counsels not in such a quality. Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, But lest you should not understand me well, and desires to speak with you both. And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, Salar. We have been up and down to seek him.'I would detain you here some month or two, Salan. Here comes another of the tribe: a third Before you venture for me. I could teach you, cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. How to choose right, but then I am forsworn; [Exeunt SALAN. SALAR. and Servant. So will I never be: so may you miss me; Enter TUBAL. But if you do, you'11 make me wish a sin, Shy. How now, Tubal? what news from Genoa? That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, hast thou found my daughter? They have o'er-look'd3 me, and divided me; Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but can- One half of me is yours, the other half yours,not find her. Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond And so all yours! 0! these naughty times gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort. The Put bars between the owners and their rights; curse never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt And so, though yours, not yours.-Prove it so, it till now:-two thousand ducats in that; and other Let fortune go to hell for it,-not I. precious, precious jewels.-I would, my daughter were I speak too long; but It is to pause4 the time, dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! would she To eke it, and to draw it out in length, were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin! To stay you from election. No news of them?-Why, so;-and I know not what's Bas. Let me choose spent in the search: Why then-loss upon loss! the For, as I am, I live upon the rack. thief gone with so much, and so much to find the Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confess thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge: nor no ill luck What treason there is mingled with your love. stirring, but what lights on my shoulders; no sighs, Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, but o7 my breathing; no tears, but o7 my shedding. Which makes me fear th' enjoying of my love. 1 that used: in f. e. 2 It was a popular superstition, that this stone " doth move when there is any peril prepared to him who weareth it." -Fenton's Secret Wonders of N'ature," 1569 3 Charmed. 4 peize: in f. e. SCENE II. THE MEERCHANT OF VENICE. 177 There may as well be amity and life Upon supposed fairness, often known'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. To be the dowry of a second head, Por. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack, The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre. Where men enforced do speak any thing. Thus ornament is but the guiling2 shore Bass. Promise me life, and I 11 confess the truth. To a most dangerous sea, the beauteous scarf Por. Well then, confess, and live. Veiling an Indian3: beauty, in a word, Bass. Confess, and love, The seeming truth which cunning times put on Had been the very sum of my confession. To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, O0 happy torment, when my torturer Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee. Doth teach me answers for deliverance! [drawn aside.' Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge But let me to my fortune and the caskets. [Curtains'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead, Por. Away then. I am lock'd in one of them: Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught, If you do love me, you will find me out.- Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof.- And here choose I. Joy be the consequence! Let music sound while he doth make his choice; Por. How all the other passions fleet to air, Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair, Fading in music: that the comparison And shuddering fear, and green-ey'd jealousy. May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, 0 love! be moderate; allay thy ecstasy; And watery death-bed for him. He may win, In measure rain thy joy; scant this excess: And what is music then? then music is I feel too much thy blessing; make it less, Even as the flourish when true subjects bow For fear I surfeit! To a new-crowned monarch: such it is, Bass. What find I here? [He opens the leaden casket. As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? And summon him to marriage. Now he goes Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, With no less presence, but with much more love, Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, Than young Alcides, when he did redeem Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy Should sunder such sweet friends. Here, in her hairs, To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice, The painter plays the spider, and hath woven The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives. A golden mesh t' entrap the hearts of men, With bleared visages, come forth to view Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes!The issue of th' exploit. Go, Hercules How could he see to do them; having made one, Live thou, I live:-with much, much more dismay Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. And leave itself unfinish'd": yet look, how far A Song, the whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow to himself. In underprizing it, so far this shadow Tell me, where is fanc bred, Doth limp behind the substance.-Here's the scroll, Tell me where s fancy breThe continent and summary of my fortune. Or in the heart, or in the head that choose not by the view Horu be@ et, how nourished' * You that choose not by the view, How begot how nourished? Chance as fair, and choose as true! Reply, reply. Since this fortune falls to you, It is engendered in the eyes, Be content, and seek no new. With gazing fed; and fancy dies If you be well pleasd with this, In the cradle where it lies. And hold your fortune for your bliss, Let us all ring fancy's knell; Turn you where your lady is, I 1l begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. And claim her with a loving kiss." All. Ding, dong, bell. A gentle scroll.-Fair lady, by your leave; Bass. So may the outward shows be least themselves: I come by note, to give, and to receive. [Kissing her, The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. Like one of two contending in a prize, In law; what plea so tainted and corrupt, That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, But, being season'd with a gracious voice. Hearing applause, and universal shout, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt What damned error, but some sober brow Whether those peals of praise be his or no; Will bless it, and approve it with a text, So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? As doubtful whether what I see be true, There is no vice so simple, but assumes Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. Por. You see me, lord Bassanio,5 where I stand, How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false Such as I am: though, for myself alone As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins I would not be ambitious in my wish, The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars, To wish myself much better; yet for you Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk; I would be trebled twenty times myself; And these assume but valour's excrement A thousand times more fair ten thousand times morerich, To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, That only to stand high in your account, And you shall see't is purchased by the weight I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Which therein works a miracle in nature, Exceed account: but the full sum of me Making them lightest that wear most of it: Is sum of nothing; which, to term in gross, So are those crisped snaky golden locks, Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd: Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Happy in this, she is not yet so old l This direction not in f. e. 2 guiled: in f. e. 3 f. e. have: "Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word. 4 unfurnish'd: in f.. Steevens suggested the same change. 5 So the quartos; the folio: "You see, my lord Bassanio." 12 178 THE MERCIANT OF VENICE. ACT HI. But she may learn; happier than this, My purpose was not to have seen you here, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; But meeting with Salerio by the way, Happiest of all, in' that her gentle spirit He did entreat me, past all saying nay, Commits itself to yours to be directed, To come with him along. As from her lord, her governor, her king. Sale. I did, my lord, Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio Is nsow converted: but now I was the lord Commends him to you. [Gives BASSANIO a letter. Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, Bass. Ere I ope this letter, Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. This house, these servants, and this same myself, Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind, Are yours, my lord. I give them with this ring, Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there Which when you part from, lose, or give away, Will show you his estate. [BASSANIO reads.4 Let it presage the ruin of your love, Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome. And be my vantage to exclaim on you. [Giving it.2 Your hand, Salerio: what's the news from Venice? Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words: How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? Only my blood speaks to you in my veins; I know, he will be glad of our success And there is such confusion in my powers, We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. As after some oration, fairly spoke Sale I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost! By a beloved prince, there doth appear Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon same Among the buzzing pleased multitude; paper Where every something, being blent together, That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek: Turns to a wild of nothing. save of joy, Some dear friend dead, else nothing in the world Express'd, and not expressed. But when this ring Could turn so much the constitution Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence: Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?O! then be bold to say, Bassanio Is dead. With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time, And I must freely have the half of any thing That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper, That this same paper brings you. To cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord, and lady! Bass. O sweet Portia! Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady! Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words I wish you all the joy that you can wish, That ever blotted paper. Gentle lady, For, I am sure, you can wish none from me: When I did first impart my love to you, And, when your honours mean to solemnize I freely told you, all the wealth I had The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, Ran in my veins-I was a gentleman: Even at that time I may be married too. And then I told you true, and yet, dear lady, Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. Rating myself at nothing, you shall see Gra. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. How much I was a braggart. When I told you My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: My state was nothing, I should then have told you, You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid; That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission I have engaged myself to a dear friend, No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. Engaged my friend to his mere enemy, Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; And so did mine too, as the matter falls; The paper as the body of my friend, For wooing here, until I sweat again, And every word in it a gaping wound, And swearing, till my very tongue3 was dry Issuing life-blood.-But is it true, Salerio? With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? I got a promise of this fair one here From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, To have her love, provided that your fortune From Lisbon, Barbary, and India? Achiev'd her mistress. And not one vessel'scap'd the dreadful touch Por. Is this true, Nerissa? Of merchant-marring rocks? Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. Sale. Not one, my lord. Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? Besides, it should appear, that if he had Gra. Yes,'faith, my lord. [marriage. The present money to discharge the Jew, Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your -Ie would not take it. Never did I know Gra. We'11 play with them the first boy for a thou- A creature, that did bear the shape of man, sand ducats. So keen and greedy to confound a man. Ner. What, and stake down? He plies the duke at morning, and at night, Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and And doth impeach the freedom of the state, stake down. If they deny him justice: twenty merchants; But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his infidel? The duke himself, and the magnificoes What! and my old Venetian friend, Salerio? Of greatest port. have all persuaded with him, Enter LoRENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIo. But none can drive him from the envious plea Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio. welcome hither, Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. If that the youth of my new interest here Jes. When I was with him I have heard him swear Have power to bid you welcome.-By your leave To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, I bid my very friends and countrymen, That he would rather have Antonio's flesh, Sweet Portia, welcome. Than twenty times the value of the sum Por. So do I, my lord: That he did owe him; and I know, my lord, They are entirely welcome. If law, authority, and power deny not, Lor. I thank your honour.-For my part, my lord, It will go hard with poor Antonio. 1 all is: in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. 3 roof: in f. e.; in the folio: rough. 4 Not in f. e. SCENE IV. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 179 Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. Bass. The dearest friend to me; the kindest man, Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law; The best condition'd and unwearied'st spirit, For the commodity that strangers have In doing courtesies; and one in whom With us in Venice, if it be denied, The ancient Roman honour more appears, Will much impeach the justice of the state; Than any that draws breath in Italy. Since that the trade and profit of the city Por. What sum owes he the Jew? Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go: Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. These griefs and losses have so'bated me, Por. What! no more? That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond: To-morrow to my bloody creditor.Double six thousand, and then treble that, Well, jailor, on.-Pray God, Bassanio come Before a friend of this description To see me pay his debt, and then I care not. [Exeunt. Shall lose a hair through my Bassanio's fault. A Room in Hou SCENE IV.-Belmont. A Room in PORTIA'S House. First, go with me to church, and call me wife, ENE BEntA Ro n PORA And then away to Venice to your friend; En PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA) and For never shall you lie by Portia's side BALTHAZAR. With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence, To pay the petty debt twenty times over: You have a noble and a true conceit When it is paid, bring your true friend along. Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly My maid Nerissa and myself, mean time, In bearing thus the absence of your lord. Will live as maids and widows. Come, away! But, if you knew to whom you show this honour, For you shall hence upon your wedding-day. How true a gentleman you send relief, Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer; How dear a lover of my lord, your husband, Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.- I know, you would be prouder of the work, But let me hear the letter of your friend. Than customary bounty can enforce you. Bass. [Reads.] " Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all Por. I never did repent for doing good, miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very Nor shall not now: for in companions low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since in That do converse and waste the time together, paying it it is impossible I should live, all debts are Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at There must be needs a like proportion my death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure: if Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit; your love do not persuade you to come, let not my Which makes me think, that this Antonio, letter." Being the bosom lover of my lord, Por. 0 love! despatch all business, and begone. Must needs be like my lord. If it be so, Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, How little is the cost I have bestow'd, I will make haste; but till I come again, In purchasing the semblance of my soul No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, From out the state of hellish cruelty! Nor rest be interposer'twixt us twain. [Exeunt. This comes too near the praising of myself, Therefore, no more of it: hear other things.SCENE II.-Venice. A Street,. Lorenzo, I commit into your hands Enter SHYiOCK, SALANIO, ANTONIO, and Jailor. The husbandry and manage of my house, Shy. Jailor. look to him: tell not me of mercy.- Until my lord's return: for mine own part, This is the fool that lent1 out money gratis.- I have toward heaven breath'd a sacred vow Jailor, look to him. To live in prayer and contemplation, An't. Hear me yet, good Shylock. Only attended by Nerissa here, Shy. I 11 have my bond; speak not against my bond; Until her husband and my lord's return. I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond. There is a monastery two miles off, Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause, And there we will abide. I do desire you But. since I am a dog, beware my fangs. Not to deny this imposition, The duke shall grant me justice.-I do wonder The which my love, and some necessity, Thou naughty jailor, that thou art so fond Now lays upon you. To come abroad with him at his request. Lor. Madam, with all my heart: An't. I pray thee, hear me speak. I shall obey you in all fair commands. Shy. I'11 have my bond; I will not hear thee speak: Por. My people do already know my mind, I'il have my bond, and therefore speak no more. And will acknowledge you and Jessica I'li not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool, In place of lord Bassanio and myself. To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield So fare you well. till we shall meet again. To Christian intercessors. Follow not; Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you! I'11 have no speaking: I will have my bond. Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. [Exit SHYLOCIk. Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well-pleas'd Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur, To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica.That ever kept with men. [Excunt JESSICA and LORENZO. Ant. Let him alone: Now, Balthazar, I'11 follow him no more with bootless prayers. As I have ever found thee honest, true, He seeks my life; his reason well I know. So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures And use thou all the endeavour of a man, Many that have at times made moan to me; In speed to Padua: see thou render this Therefore he hates me. Into my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario; Salan. I am sure, the duke And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee. 1 So the quartos; the folio: lends. 180 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. CT III. Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, Unto the Tranect. to the common ferry if you thus get my wife into corners. Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, Jes. Nay, you need not fear us; Lorenzo: Launcelot But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee. and I are out. He tells me flatly, there's no mercy for Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Exit. me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter; and he Por. Come on, Nerissa: I have work in hand, says, you are no good member of the commonwealth, That you yet know not of. We 1ll see our husbands, for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the price Before they think of us. of pork. Ner. Shall they see us? Lor. I shall answer that better to the commonwealth, Por. They shall, Nerissa: but in such a habit, than you can the getting up of the negro's belly: the That they shall think we are accomplished Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. With that we lack. I'11 hold thee any wager, Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more When we are both accoutred like young men, than reason; but if she be less than an honest woman: I l11 prove the prettier fellow of the two, she is, indeed, more than I took her for. And wear my dagger with the braver grace; Lor. How every fool can play upon the word! I And speak between the change of man and boy, think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence, With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps and discourse grow commendable in none only but parInto a manly stride; and speak of frays, rots.-Go in, sirrah: bid them prepare for dinner. Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies, Laun. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. How honourable ladies sought my love, Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then, Which I denying, they fell sick and died; bid them prepare dinner. I could not do withal':-then, I'11 repent, Laun. That is done too, sir; only, cover is the And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them. word. And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, Lor. Will you cover then, sir? That men shall swear, I have discontinued school Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion? Wilt thou A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray Which I will practise. thee, understand a plain man in his plain meaning: go Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? to thy fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the Por. Fie! what a question's that, meat, and we will come in to dinner. If thou wert near a lewd interpreter. Lamn. For the table, sir, it shall be served in, for But come: I 11 tell thee all my whole device the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in When I am in my coach, which stays for us to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits At the park gate; and therefore haste away, shall govern. For we must measure twenty miles to-day. [Exeunt. [Exit LAUNCELOT. Lor. 0, dear discretion. how his words are suited! SCENE V.-The Same. A Garden. The fool hath planted in his memory Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA. An army of good words; and I do know Laun. Yes, truly: for, look you, the sins of the father A many fools, that stand in better place, are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I promise Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? now I speak my agitation of the matter: therefore, be And now, good sweet, say thy opinion; of good cheer; for, truly, I think, you are damned. How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife? There is but one hope in it that can do you any good, Jes. Past all expressing. It is very meet, and that is but a kind of bastard hope neither. The lord Bassanio live an upright life, Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee? For, having such a blessing in his lady, Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; got you not; that you are not the Jew's daughter. And, if on earth he do not mean it, then, Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so In2 reason he should never come to heaven. the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match, Laun. Truly, then, I fear you are damned both by And on the wager lay two earthly women, father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your And Portia one, there must be something else father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother. Well, you Pawned with the other, for the poor rude world are gone both ways. Hath not her fellow. Jes. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made Lor. Even such a husband me a Christian. Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. Laun. Truly, the more to blame he: we were Chris- Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion, too, of that. tians enow before; e'en as many as could well live Lor. I will anon; first. let us go to dinner. one by another. This making of Christians will raise Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach. the price of hogs: if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table talk; shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money. Then, howsoever thou speak'st,'mong other things Enter LORENZO. I shall digest it. Jes. I'11 tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt. here he comes. I could not help it. 8 So one of the quartos; the folio and f. e., read in place of " then, in,"'it is." SCENE I. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 181 ACT IV. SCENE I.-Venice. A Court of Justice. Why he, a harmless necessary cat; Why he, a bollen* bag-pipe; but of force Enter the DUKE; the Magnificoes; ANTONIO, BASSANIO, Must yield to such inevitable shame, GRATIANO, SALARINO, SALANIO, and others. As to offend, himself being offended, Duke. What, is Antonio here? So can I give no reason, nor I will not, Ant. Ready, so please your grace. More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing, Duke. I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch A losing suit against him. Are you answerd? Uncapable of pity, void and empty Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, From any dram of mercy. To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Ant. I have heard, Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? And that no lawful means can carry me Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. Out of his envy's1 reach, I do oppose Shy. What! wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee My patience to his fury, and am arm'd twice? To suffer with a quietness of spirit, Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew. The very tyranny and rage of his. You may as well go stand upon the beach, Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. And bid the main flood bate his usual height; Salan. He Is ready at the door. He comes, my lord. Or e'en as well use question with the wolf, Enter SHYLOCK. When you behold the ewe bleat for the lamb; Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our You may as well forbid the mountain pines face.- To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven; That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice You may as well do any thing most hard, To the last hour of act; and then,'t is thought, As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) Thou'It show thy mercy and remorse, more strange His Jewish heart.-Therefore, I do beseech you, Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; Make no more offers, use no farther means, And where thou now exact'st the penalty, But with all brief and plain conveniency, Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. Thou wilt not only lose2 the forfeiture, Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats Forgive a moiety of the principal; Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, I would not draw them: I would have my bond. That have of late so huddled on his back, Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering Enow to press a royal merchant down, none? And pluck commiseration of his state Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, You have among you many a purchas'd slave, From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd Which like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, To offices of tender courtesy. You use in abject and in slavish parts, We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Because you bought them:-shall I say to you, Shy. I have possessed your grace of what I purpose; Let them be free; marry them to your heirs? And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds To have the due and forfeit of my bond: Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates If you deny it, let the danger light Be season'd with such viands? You will answer1 Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. The slaves are ours.-So do I answer you: You'11 ask me, why I rather choose to have The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Is dearly bought,'t is mine, and I will have it. Three thousand ducats? I 711 not answer that: If you deny me, fie upon your law I But, say; it is my humour: is it answered? There is no force in the decrees of Venice. What if my house be troubled with a rat I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, To have it baned? What, are you answered yet? Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, Some men there are love not a gaping pig; Whom I have sent for to determine this, Some, that are mad if they behold a cat; Come here to-day. And others, when the bag-pipe sings iv the nose, Salar. My lord, here stays without Cannot contain their urine for affection: A messenger with letters from the doctor, Masters of passion sways it to the mood New come from Padua. Of what it likes, or loathes. Now, for your answer: Duke. Bring us the letters: call the messenger. As there is no firm reason to be renderd, Bass. Good cheer; Antonio! What man, courage yet! Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, I Hatred. 2 The old copies have loose." 3 The old copies have " sways." Knight reads the passage thus:: for affection Master of passion, sways it, &c. 1 woclleno: in f. e. Bollen means swollen. 5 in f. e.: You may as well use question with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb. 182 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT IV. Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. Shy. Shylock is my name. Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock,. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me. Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed.You cannot better be employ'd. Bassanio, You stand within his danger,3 do you not? [To ANTONIO. Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. Ant. Ay, so he says. Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk.. P. Do you confess the bond? Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? Ant. I do. Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. _.P Then must the Jew be merciful. [Presenting a letter. Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?.or. The quality of mercy is not strain'd, [SHYLOCK whets his knife.' It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can,'T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness The throned monarch better than his crown: Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. The attribute to awe and majesty, Gra. 0, be thou damn'd, inexorable2 dog, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; And for thy life let justice be accused! But mercy is above this sceptred sway: Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, To hold opinion with Pythagoras, It is an attribute to God himself, That souls of animals infuse themselves And earthly power doth then show likest God's, Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Govern'd a wolf, who, hanged for human slaughter, Though justice be thy plea, consider this,Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, That in the course of justice none of us And whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallowed dam, Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy, Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires And that same prayer doth teach us all to render Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous. The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, To mitigate the justice of thy plea, Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud. Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall Must needs give sentence 7gainst the merchant there. To cureless ruin.-I stand here for law. Shy. My deeds upon my head. I crave the law; Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend The penalty and forfeit of my bond. A young and learned doctor to'our court.-, Pn Is he not able to discharge the money? Where is he? Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; Ner. He attendeth here hard by, Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, To know your answer, whether you'11 admit him. I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. DLuke. With all my heart:-some three or four of On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart. you, If this will not suffice, it must appear Go give him courteous conduct to this place.- That malice bears down truth: and, I beseech you, Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. Wrest once the law to your authority: [Clerk reads.] " Your grace shall understand, that To do a great right, do a little wrong. at the receipt of your letter I am very sick; but in And curb this cruel devil of his will. the instant that your messenger came, in loving visita-. It must not be. Theie is no power in Venice tion was with me a young doctor of Rome; his name Can alter a decree established: is Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in con-'T will be recorded for a precedent, troversy between the Jew and Antonio, the merchant: And many an error, by the same example, we turned o'er many books together: he is furnish'd Will rush into the state. It cannot be. with my opinion; which, better'd with his own learn- Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!ing, the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, 0, wise young judge, how I do honour thee! comes with him, at my importunity, to fill up your Por I pray you, let me look upon the bond. grace's request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack Shy. Here It is, most reverend doctor; here it is. of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend [Showing it.4 estimation, for I never knew so young a body with so Por. Shylock, there Is thrice thy money offer'd thee. old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: whose trial shall better publish his commendation." Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario what he writes: No, not for Venice. And here, I take it, is the doctor come.- _ Po Why, this bond is forfeit, Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws. And lawfully by this the Jew may claim Give me your hand. Came you from old Bellario? A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off -Por. I did, my lord. Nearest the merchant's heart.-Be merciful; Duke. You are welcome: take your place. Take thrice thy money: bid me tear the bond. Are you acquainted with the difference Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour.That holds this present question in the court? It doth appear you are a worthy judge; Por. I am informed throughly of the cause.- You know the law; your exposition Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law, Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Nor. Is your name Shylock? Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear, 1 Not in f. e. 2 f. e., in part: inexerable. 3 An old phrase for being in the powier of, as well as; indebted to. 4 Not in f. e. SCENE I. THE IMERCHANT OF VENICE. 183 There is no power in the tongue of man Shy. Most learned judge!-A sentence! come, preTo alter me. I slay here on my bond. pare! [Showing the scales again.5 Anlt. Mlost heartily I do beseech the court Por. Tarry a little: there is something else.To give the judgment. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood _P,3'r. VWhy, then, thus it is:- The words expressly are, a pound of flesh: You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; Shy. 0, noble judge! 0, excellent young man! But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed Por. For the intent and purpose of the law, One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods HatTlTull relation to the penalty, Are by the laws of Venice confiscate Which here appeareth due upon the bond. Unto the state of Venice. Shy.'T is very true. 0, wise and upright judge! Gra 0 upright judge!-Mark, Jew:-O learned How much more elder art thou than thy looks! judge! Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. Shy. Is that the law? Shy. Ay, his breast; Thyself shalt see the act; So says the bond:-doth it not, noble judge?- For, as thou urgest justice, be assurd, Nearest his heart: those are the very words. Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. Por. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh Gra. O learned judge!-Mark, Jew:-a learned Th flesh? judge! Shy. I have them ready. [Producing scales.L Shy. I take his offer then: pay the bond thrice, Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge And let the Christian go. To-"6op his wounds, lest he do2 bleed to death. Bass. Here is the money. Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? Por. Soft! L__.r. It is not so express'd; but what of that? The Jew shall have all justice;-soft!-no haste:IT were good you do so much for charity. He shall have nothing but the penalty. Shy. I cannot find it:'t is not in the bond. Gra. 0 Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! Por. You3, merchant, have you any thing to say? P. o:Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh.'Znt.But little: I am arm'd, and well prepar'd.- Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less, nor more, Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well. But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you Or less, than a just pound,-be it so much For herein fortune shows herself more kind As makes it light, or heavy, in the balance6, Than is her custom: it is still her use Or the division of the twentieth part To let the wretched man out-live his wealth Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, But in the estimation of a hair, An age of poverty; from which lingering penance Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Of such misery doth she cut me off. Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Commend me to your honourable wife: Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. Tell her the process of Antonio's end; Por. Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death; Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, Bass. I have it ready for thee: here it is. Whether Bassanio had not once a lover. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court: Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, He shall have merely justice, and his bond. And he repents not that he pays your debt; Gra. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel!For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. I'1 pay it instantly with all my heart. Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? Bass. Antonio. I am married to a wife, Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, Which is as dear to me as life itself; Pcbeso taken at thy peril, Jew. But life itself, my wife, and all the world, Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it. Are not with me esteem'd above thy life: I'11 stay no longer question. I would lose all, ay. sacrifice them all, Por. Tarry, Jew: Here to this devil, to deliver you. |T eTlaw hath yet another hold on you. Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for It is enacted in the laws of Venice, that, If it be proved against an alien, If she were by to hear you make the offer. That by direct, or indirect attempts, Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love: He seek the life of any citizen, I would she were in heaven, so she could The party, gainst the which he doth contrive, Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. Shall seize one half his goods: the other half Ner. IT is well you offer it behind her back; Comes to the privy coffer of the state; The wish would make else an unquiet house. And the offender's life lies in the mercy Shy. These be the Christian husbands! I have a Of the duke only,'gainst all other voice. daughter In which pred-cament, I say, thou stand'st; Would any of the stock of Barabbas For it appears bj manifest proceeding, Had been her husband, rather than a Christian! That, indirectly, and directly too, We trifle time; I pray thee, pursue sentence. — Thou hast contrived against the very life Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine: Of the defendant, and thou hast incurred''T"e court awards it, and the law doth give it. i The danger formerly by me rehearsed. Shy. Most rightful judge! Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.:..asnd you must cut this flesh from off his breast: Gra. Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hang The law allows it; and the court awards it. thyself: 1 Not in f. e. 2 So the quartos; the folio: "should." 3 The folio reads:: Come." 4 mod. eds. usually read:: Barrabas." 5 This direction not in f. e. 6 substance: in f. e. 184: THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT IV. And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, For. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. Thou hast not left the value of a cord; Give me your gloves, I'11 wear them for your sake; Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. And, for your love, I'11 take this ring from you.Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, Do not draw back your hand; I'11 take no more, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. And you in love shall not deny me this. For half thy wealth it is Antonio's: Bass. This ring, good sir?-alas, it is a trifle; /The other half comes to the general state, I will not shame myself to give you this. Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. For. I will have nothing else but only this; Qor4 Ay, for the state; not for Antonio. And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. Shy. Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that: Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the You take my house, when you do take the prop value. That doth sustain my house; you take my life, The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, When you do take the means whereby I live. And find it out by proclamation; eor. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers: Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court, You taught me first to beg, and now, methinks, To quit the fine for one half of his goods You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. I am content, so he will let me have Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; The other half in use, to render it, And when she put it on she made me vow, Upon his death, unto the gentleman That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. That lately stole his daughter: Por. That'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. Two things provided more,-that, for this favour, An if your wife be not a mad woman, He presently become a Christian; And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, The other, that he do record a gift She would not hold out enemy for ever, Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you. Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. [Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA. Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant Ant. My Lord Bassanio let him have the ring, The pardon, that I late pronounced here. Let his deservings, and my love withal, _.r. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say? Be valued'gainst your wife's commandment. Shy. I am content. Bass. Go, Gratiano; run and overtake him; Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. Give him the ring, and bring him if thou canst, I y. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence. Unto Antonio's house.-Away make haste. I am not well. Send the deed after me, [Exit GRATIANO. And I will sign it. Come, you and I will thither presently, Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. And in the morning early will we both Gra. In christening thou shalt have two godfathers: Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio. [Exeunt. Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more 1 SCENE II.-The Same. A Street. To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.[Exit SHYLOCK. Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. Enter PORTIA and NERISSA. For. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon: Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed, I must away this night toward Padua, And let him sign it. We'11 away to-night. And it is meet I presently set forth. And be a day before our husbands home. Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves you not. This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. Antonio, gratify this gentleman, Enter GRATIANO running. For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. Gra. Fair sir, you are well o'elta'en. [Exeunt. DUKE, Magnificoes, and train. My lord Bassanio, upon more advice, Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted Your company at dinner. Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof, Por. That cannot be. Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, His ring I do accept most thankfully, We freely cope your courteous pains withal. And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore, Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. In love and service to you evermore. Gra. That will I do. For. He is well paid, that is well-satisfied; Ner. Sir, I would speak with you.And I, delivering you, am satisfied, I'11 see if I can get my husband's ring, [To PORTIA. And therein do account myself well paid: Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. My mind was never yet more mercenary. Por. Thou may'st, I warrant. We shall have old2 I pray you, know me, when we meet again: swearing, I wish you well, and so I take my leave. That they did give the rings away to men; Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you farther: But we'11 outface them, and outswear them too. Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, Away! make haste: thou know'st where I will tarry. Not as a fee. Grant me two things, I pray you; Ner. Come, good sir; will you show me to this Not to deny me, and to pardon me. house? [Exeunt. 1 Ben Jonson calls jurymen ( Godfathers-in-law." —K:'ight. 2 Often used as an augmentative. SCENE I. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 185 ACT V. SCENE I.-Belmont. The Avenue to PORTIA'S My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, House. Within the house, your mistress is at hand; Enter Lozo and JESSA And bring your music forth into the air.Enter LORENZO and JESSICA. STEPHANO. [Exit STEPHANO. Lor. The moon shines bright.-In such a night as this, How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music And they did make no noise in such a night Creep in our ears: soft stillness, and the night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, Become the touches of sweet harmony. And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Sit, Jessica: look, how the floor of heaven Where Cressid lay that night. Is thick inlaid with patterns' of bright gold; Jes. In such a night, There Is not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; But in his motion like an angel sings, And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, Still quiring to the young-ey;d cherubins: And ran dismay'd away. Such harmony is in immortal souls; Lor. In such a night, But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love Enter Miusicians. To come again to Carthage. Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn: Jes. In such a night, With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs And draw her home with music. [Music. That did renew old JEson. Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. Lor. In such a night, Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, For do but note a wild and wanton herd, And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, As far as Belmont. Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Jes. In such a night, Which is the hot condition of their blood, Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well, If they but hear, perchance, a trumpet sound, Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, Or any air of music touch their ears, And ne'er a true one. You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Lor. In such a night, Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze, Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, By the sweet power of music: therefore, the poet Slander her love, and he forgave it her. Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods, Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. But music for the time doth change his nature. Enter STEPHANO. The man that hath no music in himself, Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Steph. A friend. Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils: Lor. A fiiend? what friend? your name, I pray you, The motions of his spirit are dull as night, friend? And his affections dark as Erebus. Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word, Let no such man be trusted.-Mark the music. My mistress will before the break of day [Music again.2 Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about Enter PORTIA and NERISSA, at a distance. By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. For happy wedlock hours. How far that little candle throws his beams! Lor. Who comes with her? So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. I pray you, is my master yet returnd? Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him.- A substitute shines brightly as a king, But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, Until a king be by: and then his state And ceremoniously let us prepare Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Into the main of waters. Music! hark! Enter LAUNCELOT. Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. Laun. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola! Por. Nothing is good I see, without respect: Lor. Who calls? Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo, and mis- Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. tress Lorenza? sola, sola! Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, Lor. Leave hallooing, man; here. When neither is attended: and, I think, Laun. Sola! where? where? The nightingale if she should sing by day, Lor. Here. When every goose is cackling, would be thought Laun. Tell him, there Is a post come from my master, No better a musician than the wren. with his horn full of good news: my master will be How many things by season season'd are here ere morning. [Exit. To their right praise, and true perfection!Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their Peace! now3 the moon sleeps with Endymion, coming. And would not be awak'd! [usic ceases. And yet no matter; —wly should we go in? Lor. That is the voice, 1 The folio: patens (i. e., plates). 2 This direction not in f. e. 3 how: in f. e. Knight makes the emendation in the text. 186 THE MIERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT V. Or I am much deceived, of Portia. Never to part with it; and here he stands: Por. He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, By the bad voice. Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth Lor., Dear lady, welcome home. That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano. Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief: Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. An't were to me, I should be mad at it. [off, Are they return'd? Bass. [Aside.] Why, I were best to cut my left hand Lor. Madam, they are not yet; And swear I lost the ring defending it. But there is come a messenger before, Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away To signify their coming. Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, Por. Go in, Nerissa: Deserv'd it too: and then the boy, his clerk, Give order to my servants, that they take That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine; No note at all of our being absent hence;- And neither man, nor master, would take aught Nor you, Lorenzo;-Jessica, nor you. But the two rings. [A tucket' sounded. For. What ring, gave you, my lord? Lor. Your husband is at hand: I hear his trumpet. Not that, I hope, which you received of me. We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault. Por. This night> methinks, is but the daylight sick; I would deny it; but you see, my finger It looks a little paler:'t is a day, Hath not the ring upon it: it is gone. Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. Enter BAssANIo, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and their By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed followers. Until I see the ring. Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, er. Nor I in yours, If you would walk in absence of the sun. Till I again see mine. Por. Let me give light. but let me not be light; Bass. Sweet Portia, For a light wife doth make a heavy husband If you did know to whom I gave the ring, And never be Bassanio so for me: If you did know for whom I gave the ring, But God sort all:-You are welcome home, my lord. And would conceive for what I gave the ring, Bass. I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my And how unwillingly I left the ring, friend: When naught would be accepted but the ring, This is the man, this is Antonio, You would abate the strength of your displeasure. To whom I am so infinitely bound. Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. Or your own honour to retain5 the ring, Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. You would not then have parted with the ring. Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house: What man is there so much unreasonable, It must appear in other ways than words, If you had pleased to have defended it Therefore; I scant this breathing courtesy. With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty Gra. [To NERISSA.] By yonder moon, I swear, you To urge the thing held as a ceremony? do me wrong; Nerissa teaches me what to believe: In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: I'1 die for't, but some woman had the ring. Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. No woman had it; but a civil doctor, Por. A quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter? Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring And begged the ring, the which I did deny him, That she did give to' me: whose poesy was And suffered him to go displeased away, For all the world, like cutlers' poetry Even he that had held up the very life Upon a knife,; Love me, and leave me not." Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? Ner. What talk you of the poesy, or the value? I was enforc'd to send it after him: You swore to me, when I did give it you, I was beset with shame and courtesy; That you would wear it till your' hour of death My honour would not let ingratitude And that it should lie with you in your grave: So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady, Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, For, by these blessed candles of the night, You should have been respective, and have kept it. Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge, The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face, that had it. Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house. Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. And that which you did swear to keep for me, Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth I will become as liberal as you: A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, I 11 not deny him any thing I have; No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk No, not my body, nor my husband's bed. A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee: Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: I could not for my heart deny it him. Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus; Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, If you do not, if I be left alone, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, I 11 have that doctor for my bedfellow. And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. Ner. And I his clerk; therefore, be well advis'd I gave my love a ring, and made him swear How you do leave me to mine own protection. 1 Flourish of a trumpet. 2 Not in f. e. 3 So the quartos: the folio "the." 4 So the quartos; the folio: "but well I know." 5 contain: in f. e. SCE-E I. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 18T Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then; And even but now returned: I have not yet For, if I do, I Ill mar the young clerk's pen. Entered my house.-Antonio, you are welcome; Ant. I am th' unhappy subject of these quarrels. And I have better news in store for you, Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwith- Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; standing. There you shall find, three of your argosies Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; Are richly come to harbour suddenly. And in the hearing of these many friends You shall not know by what strange accident I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, I chanced on this letter. Wherein I see myself,- Ant. I am dumb. Por. Mark you but that! Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold? In each eye, one:-swear by your double self, Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to do it, And there Is an oath of credit. Unless he live until he be a man. Bass. Nay, but hear me. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow: Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, When I am absent, then, lie with my wife. I never more will break an oath with thee. Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living, Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth, For here I read for certain that my ships Which but for him that had your husbands ring, Are safely come to road. Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, Por. How now, Lorenzo? My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord My clerk hath some good comforts, too, for you. Will never more break faith advisedly. Ner. Ay, and I 711 give them him without a fee.Por. Then, you shall be his surety. Give him this, There do I give to you and Jessica, And bid him keep it better than the other. From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. Bass. By heaven! it is the same I gave the doctor. Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio, Of starved people. For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Por. It is almost morning, Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano, And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, Of these events at full. Let us go in; In lieu of this last night did lie with me. And charge us there upon inter gatories, Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways And we will answer all things faithfully. In summer, when' the ways are fair enough. Gra. Let it be so: the first interIgatory, What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserved it? That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is, Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amazed: Whether till the next night she had rather stay, Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; Or go to bed now, being two hours to day? It comes from Padua, from Bellario: But were the day come, I should wish it dark, There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor; Till I were couching with the doctor's clerk. Nerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo, here, Well, while I live, I'11 fear no other thing Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt. 1 where: in f. e. AS YOU LIKE IT. DRAMATIS PERSONXE. DUKE, Senior, living in exile. TOUCHSTONE a Clown. FREDERICK, his Brother, usurper of his dominions. SIR OLIVER MAR-TEXT, a Vicar. AMIENS, Lords attending upon the exiled CORIN, Shepherds. JAQUES) Duke. SILVIU, LE BEAU. a Courtier. WILLIAM, a Country Fellow, in love with Audrey. OLIVER, HYMEN. JAQUES, Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. ORLANDO, ROSALIND, Daughter to the exiled Duke. ADAM Serans to OliverCELIA, Daughter to the usurping Duke. DENNIS, eants to OPHEBE, a Shepherdess. CHARLES, a Wrestler. AUDREY, a Country Wench. Lords; Pages, Foresters, and Attendants. The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House: afterwards in the Usurper's Court, and in the Forest of Arden. ACT I. 0 O. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught SCENE I. —An Orchard, near OLIVER'S House. awhile. Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion: them? What prodigal portion have I spent that I he bequeathed me by will' but a poor thousand crowns; should come to such penury? and, as thou say'st, charged my brother on his blessing Oli. Know you where you are, sir? to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My Orl. 0! sir, very well: here, in your orchard. brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks Oli. Know you before whom, sir? goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rusti- Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I cally at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me know, you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a condition of blood, you should so know me. The courgentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stall- tesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are ing of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides the first-born; but the same tradition takes not away that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but have as much of my father in me, as you, albeit, I conI, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for fess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. the which his animals on his dunghills are as much Oli. What, boy! bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave in this. me, his countenance2 seems to take from me: he lets Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, Orl. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of sir and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my Rowland de Bois; he was my father, and he is thrice education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the a villain, that says, such a father begot villains. Wert spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. saying so. [Shaking him5.] Thou hast railed on thyAdam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. self. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he Adam. [Comingforward.] Sweet masters, be patient: will shake me up. [ADAM retires.3 for your father's remembrance, be at accord. Enter OLIVER. Oli. Let me go, I say. Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. My father charged you in his will to give me good Oli. What mar you then, sir? education: you have trained me like a peasant, obOrl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which souring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualiGod made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idle- ties: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I ness. will no longer endure it; therefore, allow me such ex1 it was upon this fashion bequeathed, &c. 2 Behavior. 3 Not in f. e. 4 A petty malediction. 5 Not in f. e. SCENE II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 189 ercises as may become a gentleman. or give me the it; but he is resolute, I'11 tell thee, Charles: it is poor allottery my father left me by testament: with the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambithat I will go buy my fortunes. tion, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is a secret and villainous contriver against me his natural spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be trou- brother: therefore, use thy discretion. I had as lief bled with you; you shall have some part of your will. thou didst break his neck as his finger: and thou wert I pray you, leave me. best look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, Orl. I will no further offend you, than becomes me or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will for my good. practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I lost my teeth in your service.-God be with my old assure thee (and almost with tears I speak it) there is master! he would not have spoke such a word. not one so young and so villainous this day living. I [Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM. speak but brotherly of him: but should I anatomize Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand must look pale and wonder. crowns neither. Hola, Dennis! Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If Enter DENNIS. he come to-morrow, I'11 give him his payment: if ever Den. Calls your worship? he go alone again, I 11 never wrestle for prize more. Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to And so, God keep your worship! [Exit. speak with me? Oli. Farewell good Charles.-Now will I stir this Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and im- gamester. I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my portunes access to you. soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he: Oli. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS.]-'T will be a good yet he's gentle; never schooled, and yet learned; full way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and, Enter CHARLES. indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and espeCha. Good morrow to your worship. cially of my own people, who best know him, that I am Oli. Good monsieur Charles, what's the new news at altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this the new court? wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kinCha. There Is no news at the court, sir, but the old die the boy thither, which now I 11 go about. [Exit. news; that is, the old duke is banished by his younger SCENE A Lawn befre the D Palace, brother the new duke and three or four loving lords Lawn ore the D alace have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, Eter ROSALIND and CELIA. whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; there- Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. fore he gives them good leave to wander. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am misOli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the old' duke's daugh- tress of, and would you yet I3 were merrier? Unless ter, be banished with her father? you could teach me to forget a banished father, you Cha. O! no; for the new' duke's daughter, her must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred pleasure. together, that she would have followed her exile, or Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daugh- father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so ter; and never two ladies loved as they do. thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my Oli. Where will the old duke live? love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temand a many merry men with him; and there they live pered, as mine is to thee. like the old Robin Hood of England. They say. many Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the to rejoice in yours. time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou duke? shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affecwith a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand. tion: by mine honour, I will; and when I break that that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition oath let me turn monster. Therefore, my sweet Rose, to come in disguised against me, to try a fall. To- my dear Rose, be merry. morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. Let me see; what think you of falling in love? Your brother is but young, and tender; and, for your Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: love I would be loath to foil him, as I must for my but love no man in good earnest; nor no further inown honour if he come in: therefore, out of my love sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou to you I came hither to acquaint you withal, that may'st in honour come off again. either you might stay him from his intendment, or Ros. What shall be our sport then? brook such disgrace well as he shall run into in that Cel. Let us sit, and mock the good housewife Forit is a thing of his own search, and altogether against tune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be my will. bestowed equally. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which, Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are thou shalt find, I will most kindly requite. I had mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have, doth most mistake in her gifts to women. by underhand means, laboured to dissuade him from Cel.'T is true, for those that she makes fair, she 1 This is not in f. e. 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 I, was added by Pope. 190 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT I. scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, Le Beau. You amaze' me, ladies: I would have she makes very ill-favoured. told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office to sight of. nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. the lineaments of nature. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning; and, if it Enter TOUCHSTONE. please your ladyships, you may see the end, for the Cel. No: when nature hath made a fair creature, best is yet to do: and here, where you are, they are may she not by fortune fall into the fire?-Though coming to perform it. nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not Cel. Well,-the beginning, that is dead and buried. fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature, sons,when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. nature's wit. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither growth and presence;but nature's; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull Ros. With bills5 on their necks,-" Be it known unto to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for all men by these presents,"our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with the whetstone of the wits.-How now, wit? whither Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a mowander you? ment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, Cel. Were you made the messenger? and so the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man, Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that for you. all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Ros. Alas! Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour ladies have lost? the mustard was naught: now, I:ll stand to it, the Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good, and Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is yet was not the knight forsworn, the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your sport for ladies. knowledge? Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros, Ay, marry: now unmuzzle your wisdom. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken Touch. Stand you both forth now; stroke your chins, music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon and swear by your beards that I am a knave. rib-breaking?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Le Beau. You must, if you stay here; for here is Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are but if you swear by that that is not, you are not for- ready to perform it. sworn: no more was this knight; swearing by his honour, Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it and see it. away before ever he saw those pancakes, or that mus- Flourish. Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, tard. CHARLES, and Attendants. Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou meanest? Duke F. Come on: since the youth will not be Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. Ros'. My father's love is enough to honour him Ros, Is yonder the man? enough. Speak no more of him: you'11 be whipped Le Beau. Even he, madam. for taxation2, one of these days. Cel. Alas! he is too young: yet he looks successfully. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin! are you wisely, what wise men do foolishly, crept hither to see the wrestling? Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true; for since the Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes you, there is such odds in the men6. In pity of the monsieur Le Beau. challengerls youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he Enter LE BEAU. will not be entreated: speak to him, ladies; see if you Ros. With his mouth full of news. can move him. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. young. Duke F. Do so: I'11 not be by. [DUKE goes apart. Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls Cel. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. for you. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau: what's the news? Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty. Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the sport. wrestler? Cel. Spot3? Of what colour? Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength answer you? of my youth. Ros. As wit and fortune will. Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for Touch. Or as the destinies decree, your years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's Cel. Well said: that was laid on with a trowel. strength: if you saw yourself with our' eyes, or knew Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank- yourself with ours judgment, the fear of your adventure Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We 1Some eds. give this speech to Celia. 2 Scandal. 3 sport: inf.e. 4 Confuse. 5 A kind of pike, or halbert. 6 man: in f. e. 7 your: inf. e. SCENE III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 191 pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own If you do keep your promises in love safety, and give over this attempt. But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Ros. Do, young sir: your reputation shall not there- Your mistress shall be happy. fore be misprised. We will make it our suit to the Ros. Gentleman, duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. [Giving him a chain. Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your Shall we go, coz? fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial: Cel. Ay.-Fare you well, fair gentleman. wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong. for Is but a quintaine', a mere lifeless block. I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in Ros. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes; it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, I ll ask him what he would.-Did you call, sir?which may be better supplied when I have made it Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown empty. More than your enemies. Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it Cel. Will you go; coz? were with you. Ros. Have with you. —Fare you well. Cel. And mine to eke out hers. [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my in you! tongue? Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. Cha. Come; where is this young gallant, that is so Re-enter LE BEAU. desirous to lie with his mother earth? 0, poor Orlando! thou art overthrown. Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. modest working. Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you Duke F. You shall try but one fall. To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd Clia. No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat High commendation, true applause, and love, him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him Yet such is now the duke's condition, from a first. That he misconstrues all that you have done. Orl. You mean to mock me after: you should not The duke is humorous: what he is, indeed, have mocked me before: but come your ways. More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Orl. I thank you, sir; and, pray you, tell me this: Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong Which of the two was daughter of the duke, fellow by the leg. [CHARLES and ORLANDO wrestle. That here was at the wrestling? Ros. 0, excellent young man! Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell manners; who should down. [CHARLES is thrown. Shout. But yet, indeed, the shorter2 is his daughter: Duke F. No more, no more. The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, r1l. Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well And here detained by her usurping uncle, breathed. To keep his daughter company; whose loves Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. But I can tell you, that of late this duke Duke F. Bear him away. [CHARLES is borne out. Hath ta'en displeasure 7gainst his gentle niece, What is thy name, young man? Grounded upon no other argument, Orl. Orlando, my liege: the youngest son of sir But that the people praise her for her virtues, Rowland de Bois. And pity her for her good father's sake; Duke F. I would. thou hadst been son to some man And, on my life, his malice gainst the lady else. Will suddenly break forth.-Sir, fare you well: The world esteem'd thy father honourable, Hereafter, in a better world than this, But I did find him still mine enemy: I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. Hadst thou descended from another house. [Exit LE BEAU. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; I would thou hadst told me of another father. From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother.[Exeunt Duke FRED. Train, and LE BEAU. But heavenly Rosalind! [Exit. Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? SCENE III.-A Room in the Palace. Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son,SCENE Roo the alace His youngest son, and would not change that calling,Enter CELIA and OSALIND. To be adopted heir to Frederick. Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind.-Cupid have Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, mercy!-Not a word? And all the world was of my father's mind. Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Had I before known this young man his son, Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away I should have given him tears unto entreaties, upon curs; throw some of them at me: come, lame me Ere he should thus have ventured. with reasons. Cel. Gentle cousin, Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the Let us go thank him, and encourage him: one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad My father's rough and envious disposition without any. Sticks me at heart.-Sir, you have well deserved: Gel. But is all this for your father? 1 A shield fastened to a pole, or a puppet, used as a mark in tilting. 2 smaller: in f. e. Pope also made the correction. 192 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT I. Ros. No, some of it for my father's child.' 0, how And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, full of briars is this working-day world! Still we went coupled, and inseparate.3 [ness, Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothin holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden Her very silence, and her patience, paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Speak to the people, and they pity her. Ros. I could shake them off my coat: these burs Thou art a fool; she robs thee of thy name; [ous, are in my heart. And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuCel. Hem them away. When she is gone. Then, open not thy lips: Ros. I would try, if I could cry hem, and have him. Firm and irrevocable is my doom Cel. Come, come; wrestle with thy affections. Which I have passd upon her. She is banished. Ros. 0! they take the part of a better wrestler than Cel. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege myself. I cannot live out of her company. [self: Cel. 0, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, Duke F. You are a fool.-You, niece, provide yourin despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour. service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it possible, on And in the greatness of my word, you die. such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking [Exeunt Duke FREDERICK and Lords. with old sir Rowland's youngest son? Cel. 0, my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go? Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love I charge thee. be not thou more grieved than I am. his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate Ros. I have more cause. him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate Cel. Thou hast not, cousin. not Orlando. Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Ros. No'faith, hate him not, for my sake. Hath banished me, his daughter? Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? Ros. That he hath not. Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love, him, because I do.- Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. Enter Duke FREDERICK, with Lords. Shall we be sunderd? shall we part, sweet girl? Look, here comes the duke. No: let my father seek another heir. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. Therefore, devise with me how we may fly, Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your fastest' Whither to go, and what to bear with us: haste, And do not seek to take your change upon you, And get you from our court. To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; Ros. Me uncle? For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Duke F. You, cousin: Say what thou canst, I 11 go along with thee. Within these ten days if that thou be'st found Ros. Why, whither shall we go? So near our public court as twenty miles, el. To seek my uncle Thou diest for it. In the forest of Arden. Ros. I do beseech your grace, Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! If with myself I hold intelligence, Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. Or have acquaintance with mine own desires Cel. I:11 put myself in poor and mean attire, If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, And with a kind of umber smirch my face. (As I do trust I am not) then, dear uncle, The like do you: so shall we pass along, Never so much as in a thought unborn And never stir assailants. Did I offend your highness. Ros. Were it not better. Duke F. Thus do all traitors: Because that I am more than common tall, If their purgation did consist in words That I did suit me all points like a man? They are as innocent as grace itself. A gallant curtle-ax4 upon my thigh, Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. A boar-spear in my hand; and, in my heart Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor. Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will, Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. We'1 have a swashing and a martial outside, Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's As many other mannish cowards have, enough. That do outface it with their semblances. Ros. So was I when your highness took his dukedom; Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? So was I when your highness banish'd him. Ros. I l11 have no worser5 name than Jove's own page, Treason is not inherited, my lord; And therefore look you call me Ganymede. Or if we did derive it from our friends, But what will you be call'd? What's that to me? my father was no traitor. Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, No longer Celia but Aliena. To think my poverty is treacherous. Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'd to steal Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. The clownish fool out of your father's court? Duke F. Ay, Celia: we stay'd her for your sake Would he not be a comfort to our travel? Else had she with her father rang'd along. Cel. He'11 go along o'er the wide world with me: Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay: Leave me alone to woo him. Let Is away, It was your pleasure, and your own remorse. And get our jewels and our wealth together, I was too young that time to value her Devise the fittest time, and safest way But now I know her. If she be a traitor, To hide us from pursuit that will be made Why so am I; we still have slept together, After my flight. Now go we in content Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; To liberty, and not to banishment. [Exeunt. child'sfather: inf. e, 2 safest: in f. a. 3 inseparable: in f. e. 4 Cutlass. 6 worse a: in f. e. SCENE III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 193 ACT II. SC@ENE I.-The Forest of Arden. Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?" Thus most invectively he pierceth through Enter DUKE, Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, like The body of the country, city, court, Foresters. Yea, and of this our life, swearing, that we Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet, To fright the animals, and kill them up Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods In their assign'd and native dwelling place. More free from peril than the envious court? Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation? Here feel we not the penalty of Adam 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting The seasons' difference, or' the icy fang, Upon the sobbing deer. And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Duke S. Show me the place. Which when it bites, and blows upon my body, I love to cope him in these sullen fits, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, For then he's full of matter. This is no flattery: these are counsellors 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad2 ugly and venomous, Enter Duke FREDERICK, Lords, and Attendants. Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; Thuke F. Can it be possible that no man saw them? And this our life, exempt from public haunt, It cannot be: some villains of my court Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Are of consent and sufferance in this. Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. Ami. I would not change it. Happy is your grace, The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Saw her a-bed; and in the morning early Into so quiet and so sweet a style. They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish5 clown, at whom so oft And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Being native burghers of this desert city, Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads3 Confesses that she secretly o'er-heard Have their round haunches gor'd. Your daughter and her cousin much commend 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The parts and graces of the wrestler, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp And she believes, wherever they are gone, Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. That youth is surely in their company. To-day, my lord of Amiens and myself Duke F. Send to his brother: fetch that gallant Did steal behind him, as he lay along hither Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out If he be absent bring his brother to me, Upon the brook that brawls along this wood; I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly, To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, And let not search and inquisition quail That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. Did come to languish: and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,-Before OLIER H That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Enter ORLANDO and ADAM meeting. Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Orl. Who's there? Cours'd one another down his innocent nose Adam. What, my young master?-0, my gentle In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, master! Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 0, my sweet master! 0, you memory Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Augmenting it with tears. Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? Duke S. But what said Jaques? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? Did he not moralize this spectacle? Why would you be so fond' to overcome 1 Lord. 0! yes, into a thousand similes. The bony priser of the humorous duke? First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. ~ Poor deer, quoth he, "thou mak'st a testament Know you not, master, to some kind of men As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more Their graces serve them but as enemies? To that which hath4 too much." Then, being there No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, alone, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. Left and abandoned of his velvet friends; 0, what a world is this, when what is comely'T is right,' quoth he; " thus misery doth part Envenoms him that bears it! The flux of company." Anon, a careless herd, Orl. Why, what's the matter? Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, Adam. 0, unhappy youth! And never stays to greet him: " Ay,' quoth Jaques, Come not within these doors: beneath7 this roof' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; The enemy of all your graces lives.'T is just the fashion: wherefore do you look Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the sont as: in f.e. 2 Fenton, in 1569, tells us " there is found in heads of old and great toads, a stone which they call borax or steton: it is most commonly found in the head of a he-toad.!-Knight. 3 Barbed arrows. 4 had: in f. e. 5 Scurvy. 6 Foolish. 7 within: in f. e. 13 194 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT In Yet not the son-I will not call him son- itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage, good Of him I was about to call his father,) — Aliena. Hath heard your praises, and this night he means Cel. I pray you, bear with me: I can go no farther. To burn the lodging where you use to lie, Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, And you within it: if he fail of that, than bear you: yet I should bear no cross, if I did He will have other means to cut you off: bear you, for, I think, you have no money in your I overheard him, and his practices. purse. This is no place; this house is but a butchery: Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I: Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? when I was at home I was in a better place, but traAdam. No matter whither, so you come not here. vellers must be content. Orl. What! wouldst thou have me go and beg my Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone.-Look you; who food, comes here? a young man, and an old, in solemn talk. Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce Enter CORIN and SILVIUS. A thievish living on the common road. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. This I must do or know not what to do; Sil. 0 Corin, that thou knewvst how I do love her! Yet this I will not do, do how I can. Cor. I partly guess, for I have lov'd ere now. I rather will subject me to the malice Sil. No, Corin; being old, thou canst not guess,. Of a diverted, proud,' and bloody brother. Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow: The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, But if thy love were ever like to mine, Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse As sure I think did never man love so, When service should in my old limbs lie lame, How many actions most ridiculous And unregarded age in corners thrown. Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Take that; and He that doth the ravens feed, Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Sil. 0! thou didst then ne'er love so heartily. Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold: If thou remember'st not the slightest folly All this I give you. Let me be your servant: That ever love did make thee run into, Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; Thou hast not lov'd: For in my youth I never did apply Or if thou hast not spake4, as I do now, Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo Thou hast not lov'd: The means of weakness and debility: Or if thou hast not broke from company, Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you: Thou hast not lov'd. I'11 do the service of a younger man 0 Phebe. Phebe, Phebe! [Exit SILVIUS. In all your business and necessities. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, Orl. 0, good old man! how well in thee appears I have by hard adventure found mine own. The constant favour2 of the antique world, Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I was in When service sweat for duty, not for meed! love I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take Thou art not for the fashion of these times that for coming a-night to Jane Smile: and I rememWhere none will sweat but for promotion, her the kissing of her batler, and the cow's dugs that And having that, do choke their service up her pretty chapped hands had milked: and I remember Even with the having: it is not so with thee. the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I But, poor old man, thou prunist a rotten tree, took two cods, and, giving her them again, said with That cannot so much as a blossom yield, weeping tears, " Wear these for my sake." We that In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is But come thy ways: we'11 go along together, mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art'ware of. We'11 light upon some settled low content. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be'ware of mine own wit, Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee till I break my shins against it. To the last gasp with truth and loyalty. Ros. Love, love!6 this shepherd's passion From seventeen years, till now almost fourscore, Is much upon my fashion. Here lived I, but now live here no more. Touch. And mine; but At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; It grows something stale with me,7 But at fourscore it is too late a week: And begins to fail with me.' Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond' man, Than to die well, and not my masters debtor. [Exeunt. If he for gold will give us any food: I faint almost to death. SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden. Touch. Holla, you clown! Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena, and Ros. Peace fool: he's not thy kinsman. Clown, alias TOUCHSTONE. Cor. Who calls? Ros. 0 Jupiter! how weary3 are my spirits! Touch. Your betters, sir. Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not Cor. Else are they very wretched. weary. Ros. Peace, I say.Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's Good even to you, friend. apparel, and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort Cor. And to you, gentle sir; and to you all. the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, 1 diverted blood: in f. e. 2 service: in f. e. 3 The old copies have "merry," which Knight retains. 4 sat: in f e. 5A bat used in washing linen. 6 J Jo Jove: in f. e. 7 f. e. give these two lines as one. 8 This line not in f. e. SCENE VII. AS YOU LIKE IT. 195 Can in this desert place buy entertainment, SONG. Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed. Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. Here Is a young maid with travel much oppressed, And loves to live i' the sun, And faints for succour. Seeking the food he eats, Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, And pleas'd with what he gets, And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, Come hither, come hither, come hither~ My fortunes were more able to relieve her; Here shall he see, &c. But I am shepherd to another man, faq. I 11 give you a verse to this note, that Im made And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: yesterday in despite of my invention. My master is of churlish disposition, Ami. And I 711 sing it. And little recks to find the way to heaven Jaq. Thus it goes:By doing deeds of hospitality. If it do com.e to pass, Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, That any man turn ass, Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now, Leaving his wealth and ease, By reason of his absence, there is nothing A stubborn will to please, That you will feed on; but what is, come see, Duedame, ducdame, duccdame: And in my voice most welcome shall you be. Here shall he see, gross fools as he, Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? An if he will come to me. Cor. That young swain that you saw here but ere- Ami. What s that ducdame'? while Jfaq.'T is a Greek invocation to call fools into a That little cares for buying any thing. circle. I ll go sleep if I can: if I cannot, I 11 rail Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, against all the first-born of Egypt. Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, Ami. And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. prepared. [Exeunt severally. Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, SCNE VI-he Sam And willingly could waste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold. Enter ORLANDo and AnAM. Go with me: if you like, upon report, Adam. Dear master, I can go no farther: 0! I die The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, for food. Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. I will your very faithful feeder be, Farewell, kind master. And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in SCENE V.-Another Part of the Forest, thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others. I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. SONG. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my Ami, Under the greenwood tree, sake be comforted3; hold death awhile at the arm's Who loves to lie with me, end. I will here be with thee presently, and if I bring And tune his merry note thee not something to eat, I will give thee leave to Unto the sweet bird's throat, die; but if thou diest before I come. thou art a mocker Come hither, come hither, come hither: of my labour. Well said! thou look'st cheerily; and Here shall he see no enemy, I I11 be with thee quickly.-Yet thou liest in the bleak But winter and rough weather. air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter, and thou faq. More, more! I pr'ythee, more. shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam. [Exeutnt. Jaq. I thank it. More! I pr'ythee, more. I canll -The SCENE VII.-The Same. suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More! I pr'ytlhee more. A Table set out. Enter DUKE Senior AMIENS Ami. My voice is ragged1; I know I cannot please Lords, and others. you. Duke S. I think he be transformed into a beast, Jaq. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire For I can no where find him like a man. you to sing. Come, more; another stanza. Call you 1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence: cem stanzas? Here was he merry, hearing of a song. Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names: they owe me We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.nothing. Will you sing? Go, seek him: tell him, I would speak with him. Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Enter JAQUES. Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I I11 thank 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. you: but that they call compliment is like the en- Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, counter of two dog-apes: and when a man thanks me That your poor friends must woo your company! heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he What, you look merrily. renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and Jaq. A fool, a fool! — I met a fool il the forest, you that will not. hold your tongues. A motley fool; (a miserable world!) Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the while: As I do live by food, I met a fool, the duke will drink under this tree.-He hath been all Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, this day to look you. And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. In good set terms,-and yet a motley fool. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as "Good-morrow, fool," quoth I: "No, sir, quoth he, many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and " Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune. make no boast of them. Come, warble; come. And then he drew a dial from his poke, X Rough. a due-ad-ne (come hither): says Hanmer. 3 comfortable: in f. e, 196 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT In. And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn. Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock: Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. Thus may we see," quoth he, "how the world wags: faq. Why, I have eat none yet. T is but an hour ago since it was nine, Orl. Nor shalt -not, till necessity be served. And after one hour more t will be eleven: Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy disAnd then from hour to hour we rot and rot; tress, And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear Or else a rude despiser of good manners, The motley fool thus moral on the time, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, Orl. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point That fools should be so deep contemplative; Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show And I did laugh, sans intermission, Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred. An hour by his dial.-O noble fool! And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. He dies, that touches any of this fruit, Duke S. What fool is this? Till I and my affairs are answered. Jaq. 0, worthy fool!-One that hath been a courtier, Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, And says, if ladies be but young and fair, I must die. They have the gift to know it; and in his brain, Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit shall force, After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd More than your force move us to gentleness. With observation, the which he vents Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. In mangled forms.-O, that I were a fool! Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 1 am ambitious for a motley coat. table. Duke S. Thou shalt have one. Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: Jaq. It is my only suit; I thought, that all things had been savage here, Provided, that you weed your better judgments And therefore put I on the countenance Of all opinion that grows rank in them Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are, That I am wise. I must have liberty That, in this desert inaccessible Withal, as large a charter as the wind Under the shade of melancholy boughs,,To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time, And they that are most galled with my folly, If ever you have look'd on better days, They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, The why is plain as way to parish church: If ever sat at any good man's feast, He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, Doth very foolishly, although he smart, And know what't is to pity and be pitied, But' to seem senseless of the bob; if not, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be. The wise man's folly is anatomized, In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days, Invest me in my motley: give me leave And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church, To speak my mind, and I will through and through And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered; If they will patiently receive my medicine. And therefore sit you down in gentleness, Duke S. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. And take, upon command, what help we have, Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good? That to your wanting may be minister'd. Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, For thou thyself hast been a libertine, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And give it food. There is an old poor man, And all th' embossed sores, and headed evils, Who after me hath many a weary step That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Limp'd in pure love: till he be first suffic'd, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, I will not touch a bit. That can therein tax any private party? Duke S. Go find him out, D;jth it not flow as hugely as the sea And we will nothing waste till you return. Till that the very means of wear2 do ebb? Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good comWhat woman in the city do I name, fort! [Exit. When that I say, the city-woman bears Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy: The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? This wide and universal theatre Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, -resents more woful pageants, than the scene When such a one as she, such is her neighbour? Wherein we play in. Or what is he of basest function, Jaq. All the world's a stage, That says, his bravery is not on my cost And all the men and women merely players: Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits They have their exits and their entrances; His folly to the mettle of my speech? And one man in his time plays many parts, There then; how then? what then? Let me see His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, wherein Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. My tongue hath wronged him: if it do him right, Then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, Unclaim'd of any man.-But who comes here? Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad f e.: Not. 2 the very, very means: in f. e. SCENE II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 197 Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a soldier, SONG. Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Thou art not so unkind Seeking the bubble reputation As man's ingratitude; Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice, Thy tooth is not so keen, In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, Because thou art not seen, With eye severe, and beard of formal cut Although thy breath be rude. Full of wise saws and modern instances; Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly: And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon Then, heigh, ho! the holly With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;This life is most jolly. His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, That dost not bite so nigh Turning again toward childish treble, pipes As benefits forgot: And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, Though thou the waters warp,2 That ends this strange eventful history, Thy sting is not so sharp Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; As friend remembered not. Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. Heigh ho! sings &c Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM. Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden, And let him feed son, OAnd let him ee. As you have whispered faithfully, you were, OXrl. I. thank you most for him. And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Adam. So had you need; 1 Adams. So had yotu need; Most truly limn'd, and living in your face I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.Be truly welcome hiter. I am the duke Duke S. Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you hat lov'd you father. The residue of your fortune, As yet to question you about your fortunes.Go to my cave and tell me-Good old man, Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. Thou art right welcome as thy master is. [Confers with ORLANDO. Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt. ACT III. Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. SCENE I.-A Room in the Palace. SCENE I.A Roon in the Palace. Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Enter Duke FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords and Attendants. Touchstone? Duke F. Not seen him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a But were I not the better part made mercy, good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it I should not seek an absent argument is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile Find out thy brother, wheresoever he is; life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me Seek him with candle::bring him, dead or living, well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well: To seek a living in our territory. but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, shepherd? Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sickOf what we think against thee. ens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants Oli. 0, that your highness knew my heart in this! money, means, and content, is without three good I never lov'd my brother in my life. friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him out of to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that doors; a great cause of the night, is lack of the sun; that he, And let my officers of such a nature that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may Make an extent upon his house and lands. complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull Do this expediently,3 and turn him going. [Exeunt. kindred. Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast SCENE IH.-The Forest of Arden. ever i court, shepherd? Enter ORLANDO, hanging a paper on a tree.' Cor. No, truly. Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: Touch. Then thou art damned. And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey Cor. Nay, I hope,With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Touch. Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. egg, all on one side. Posalind! these trees shall be my books, Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. And in their barks my thoughts I'11 character, Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never That every eye, which in this forest looks, saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manShall see thy virtue witness'd every where. ners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedRun, run, Orlando: carve, on every tree, ness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. [Exit. state, shepherd. Not in f. e. 2 Weave together. 3 Expeditiously. 4 with a paper: in f. e. 198 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT Hi. Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you manners at the court are as ridiculous in the country, infect yourself with them? as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at Ros. Peace! you dull fool: I found them on a tree. the court. You told me, you salute not at the court Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. but you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be Ros. I 11 graff it with you. and then I shall graff it uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i' the Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. country: for you hll be rotten e'er you be half ripe, and Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their that's the right virtue of the medlar. fells, you know, are greasy. Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, Touch. Why, do not your courtiers hands sweat? let the forest judge. and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the Enter CELIA, reading a paper. sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, Rs. Peace! I say; come. Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside. Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. Cel. Why should this a4 desert be? Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner: shallow For it is unpeopled? No; again. A more sounder instance: come. Tongues I Ill hang on every tree, Cor. And they are often tarred over with the surgery That shall civil sayings show: of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The Some, how brief the life of man courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Runs his erring pilgrimage, Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in That the stretching of a span respect of a good piece of flesh, indeed!-Learn of the Buckles in his sum of age. wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar; Some, of violated vows the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance. Twixt the souls of friend and friend: shepherd. But upon the fairest boughs, Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me: I 11 rest. Or at every sentence' end, Touch. Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, Will I Rosalinda write; shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. Teaching all that read to know Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, The quintessence of every sprite get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's Heaven would in little show. happiness; glad of other men's good, content with Therefore heaven Nature charg'd, my harm; and the greatest of my pride is, to see my That one body should be fill'd ewes graze, and my lambs suck. With all graces wide enlarg'd: Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring Nature presently distill'd the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get Helen's cheek, but not her heart, your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to Cleopatra's majesty, a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelve- Atalanta's better part, month, to a crooked-pated. old, cuckoldly ram, out of Sad Lucretia's modesty. all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damned for Thus Rosalind of many parts this, the devil himself will have no shepherds: I By heavenly synod was devisv'd cannot see else how thou shouldst'scape. Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my To have the touches dearest priz'd. new mistresses brother. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, Enter R.OSALIND, reading a paper. And I to live and die her slave. Ros. From the east to western Ind Ros. O0 most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily No jewel is like Rosalind. of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and Her worth, being mounted on the wind, never cried, " Have patience, good people!" Through all the world bears Rosalind. Cel. How now? back, friends.-Shepherd, go off a All the pictures, fairest lin'd', little:-go with him. sirrah. Are but black to Rosalind. Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable Let no face be kept in mind retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with But the fair of Rosalind. scrip and scrippage. [Exeunt COR1N and TOUCHSTONE. Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together, din- Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? ners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is Ros. 0! yes, I heard them all, and more too; for the right butter-women's rank2 to market. some of them had in them more feet than the verses Ros. Out, fool would bear. Touch. For a taste:- Cel. That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses. "If a hart do lack a hind, Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear Let him seek out Rosalind. themselves without the verse, and therefore stood If the cat will after kind, lamely in the verse. So, be sure, will Rosalind. Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering, how thy Winter3 garments must be lind, name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? So must slender Rosalind. Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, They that reap must sheaf and bind, before you came; for look here what I found on a Then to cart with Rosalind. palm-tree: I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, time that I was an Irish rat5, which I can hardly Such a nut is Rosalind. remember. He that sweetest rose will find, Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? Must find love's prick, and Rosalind." Ros. Is it a man? t Delineated. 2 Following in jog-trot, one after another. 3 Wintred: in fe. 4 Pope inserted, 4 a." 5 Rhyming Irish rats to death, is frequently spoken of in old writers. SCENE II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 199 Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, neck? Change you colour? I must speak. Sweet, say on. Ros. I pr'ythee, who? Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES. Cel. 0 lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends to Cel. You bring me out.-Soft! comes he not here? meet; but mountains may be removed with earth- Ros.'T is he: slink by, and note him. quakes, and so encounter. [ROSALIND and CELIA retire. Ros. Nay, but who is it? Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, Cel. Is it possible? I had as lief have been myself alone. Ros. Nay, I pr'ythee, now, with most petitionary Orl. And so had I: but yet, for fashion sake, I thank vehemence, tell me who it is. you too for your society. Cel. 0, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful Jaq. Good bye, you: let Is meet as little as we can. wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. out of all whooping! Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing Roso Good my complexion! dost thou think, though love-songs in their barks. I am caparisonld like a man, I have a doublet and Orl. I pray you mar no more of my verses with readhose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a ing them ill-favouredly. Southsea of discovery; I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it Jaq. Rosalind is your lovers name? quickly; and speak apace. I would thou couldst stam- Orl. Yes, just. mer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of Jaq. I do not like her name. thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I was christened. pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may Jaq. What stature is she of? drink thy tidings. Orl. Just as high as my heart. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a them out of rings? beard? Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth4, Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. from whence you have studied your questions. Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be Jaq. You have a nimble wit: I think It was made of thankful. Let me stay the growth of his beard, if Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wres- misery. tler's heels and your heart, both in an instant. Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myRos. Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak sad' self, against whom I know most faults. brow, and true maid. Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in love. Cel. I 7faith, coz,'t is he. Orl.'T is a fault I will not change for your best virRos. Orlando? tue. I am weary of you. Cel. Orlando. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet found you. and hose?-What did he, when thou saw'st him? Orl. He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? you shall see him. What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. remains he? How parted he with thee, and when shalt Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. thou see him again? Answer me in one word. Jaq. I'11 tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's2 mouth first: signior love.'t is a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. Orl. I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good To say, ay, and no, to these particulars is more than monsieur melancholy. to answer in a catechism. [Exit JAQUES.-ROSALIND and CELIA come forward. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and Ros. [Aside to CELIA.] I will speak to him like a in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave day he wrestled? with him. [To him.] Do you hear, forester? Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the Orl. Very well: what would you? propositions of a lover: but take a taste of my finding Ros. I pray you, what is't o'clock? him, and relish it with good observance. I found him Orl. You should ask me; what time o' day: there's under a tree, like a dropped acorn. no clock in the forest. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops Ros. Then, there is no true lover in the forest; else forth such fruit. sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would Cel. Give me audience good madam. detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock. Ros. Proceed. Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had not Cel. There lay he stretch'd along, like a wounded that been as proper? knight. Ros. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well with divers persons. I 11 tell you who Time ambles becomes the ground. withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets and who he stands still withal. unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. 0 ominous he comes to kill my heart. Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, beCel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it is bring'st3 me out of tune. solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, Timers 1 Serious. 2 Rabelais' giant, who swallowed five pilgrims in a salad. Puttest me out. 4 In the style of the moral maxims painted in common with pictures on cloth, hung around rooms like tapestry. 200 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT III. pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. in the which'women still give the lie to their conOrl. Who ambles Time withal? sciences. But, in good sooth) are you he that hangs Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so adthat hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily, mired? because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles speak? withal. Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? much. Ros. With a thief to the gallows; for though lie go Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deas softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon serves as well a dark house, and a whip, as madmen there. do; and the reason why they are not so punished and O Orl. Who stands he' still withal? cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whipRos. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep pers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. between term and term, and then they perceive not Orl. Did you ever cure any so? how time moves. Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to Orl.'Where dwell you, pretty youth? imagine me his love, his mistress, and I set him every Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longOrl Are you native of this place? ing, and liking; proud: fantastical, apish, shallow, inRos. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is constant, full of tears, full of smiles;' for every passion kindled. something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could and women are, for the most part, cattle of this colour: purchase in so removed a dwelling. would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain Ros. I have been told so of many: but, indeed, an him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who at him: that I drave my suitor from his mad humour was in his youth an inland man; one that knew court- of love, to a loving humour of madness; which was, to ship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a him read many lectures against it: and I thank God, nook, merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as offences, as he hath generally taxed their whole sex clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be withal. one spot of love in't. Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils Orl. I would not be cured, youth. that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Ros. There were none principal: they were all like Rosalind, and come every day tb my cote, and woo me. one another, as half-pence are; every one fault seem- Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me ing monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. where it is. Orl. I pr'ythee: recount some of them. Ros. Go with me to it, and I'11 show it you; and, Ros. No; I will not cast away my physic, but on by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, live. Will you go? that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on Orl. With all my heart, good youth. their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind.-Come, sison brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosa- ter, will you go? [Exeunt. lind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quo- SC E tidian of love upon him. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind, Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you, observing them. tell me your remedy. Touch. Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the he taught me how to know a man in love: in which man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Aud. Your features? Lord warrant us! what feaOrl. What were his marks? tures? Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not: a blue eye, Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which Goths. you have not:-but I pardon you for that, for, simply, Jaq. [Aside.] 0 knowledge ill-inhabited! worse your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue. than Jove in a thatch'd house!3 -Then, your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather reckoning in a little room.-Truly, I would the gods point-device2 in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, had made thee poetical. than seeming the lover of any other. Aud. I do not know what poetical is. Is it honest Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe in deed, and word? Is it a true thing? I love. Touch. No, truly, for the truest poetry is the most Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to they swear in poetry, it may be said, as lovers they do do, than to confess she does: that is one of the points feign. 1 stays it: in f. e. 2 Exact; derived from a kind of needlework. 3 Alluding to Baucis and Philemon, in Ovid. SCENE IV. AS YOU LIKE IT. 201 Aud. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me Touch. Come, sweet Audrey: poetical? We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Touch. I do, truly for thou swear'st to me, thou art Farewell, good master Oliver! Not honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some O sweet Oliver! O brave Oliver! hope thou didst feign. Leave me not behind thee: Aud. Would you not have me honest? But wend6 away, begone, I say, Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; I will not to wedding bind' thee. for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce [Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCISTONE, and AUDREY. to sugar. Sir Oli. IT is no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave Jaq. [Aside.] A material fool. of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. Aud. Well, I am not fair, and therefore, I pray the SCENE.-The Same. Before a Cottae. gods, mnake me honest!? SCENE IV.-The Same. Before a Cottage. gods, make me honest! Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. Ros. Never talk to me: I will weep. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to confoul.' sider, that tears do not become a man. Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness: Ros. But have I not cause to weep? sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may CGel. As good cause as one would desire: therefore be, I will marry thee: and to that end, I have been weep. with sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. who hath promised to meet me in this place of the Cel. Something browner than Judas's. Marry, his forest, and to couple us. kisses are Judas's own children. Jaq. [Aside.] I would fain see this meeting. Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy. Cel. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever Touch. Amen. A man might, if he were of a fearful the only colour. heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. touch of holy bread. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: they are necessary. It is said,-many a man knows a nun of winter:s sisterhood kisses not more religiously; no end of his goods: right; many a man has good the very ice of chastity is in them. horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the Ros. But why did he swear he would come this dowry of his wife:'t is none of his own getting. Are morning, and comes not? horns given to poor men alone?2-No, no; the noblest Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. deer hath them as huge as the rascal3. Is the single Ros. Do you think so? man therefore blessed? No: as a wall'd town is more Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; as concave as a covered8 goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so Ros. Not true in love? much is a horn more precious than to want. Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think he is not in. Enter Sir OLIVER MAR-TEXT. Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he was. Here comes sir Oliver.-Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are CGel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover is well met: will you dispatch us here under this tree, or no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both shall we go with you to your chapel? the confirmers of false reckonings. He attends here Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? in the forest on the duke your father. Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much quesSir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage tion with him. He asked me, of what parentage I is not lawful. was? I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed, Jaq. [coming forward.] Proceed, proceed: I'11 give and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when her. there is such a man as Orlando? Touch. Good even, good Mr. What-ye-call't: how CGel. 0, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild you' for speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks your last company. I am very glad to see you:-even them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his a toy in hand here, sir.-Nay; pray, be cover'd. lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one Jaq. Will you be married, motley? side breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all's Touch. As the ox hath his bow,5 sir, the horse his brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides.-Who curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; comes here? and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. Enter CORIN. Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquired be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to After the shepherd that complained of love, church, and have a good priest that can tell you what Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess they join wainscot then, one of you will prove a shrunk That was his mistress. pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Cel. Well; and what of him? Touch. I am not in the mind, but I were better to Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, be married of him than of another: for he is not like Between the pale complexion of true love, to marry me well, and not being well married, it will And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. If you will mark it. 1 Homely. 2 in f. e.: Horns? Even so:-Poor men alone? 3 Lean, poor deer. 4 Yield you. S Yoke, shaped like a bow. 6 wind: in f. e. with: in f. e. 8 Empty. 202 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT II. Ros. 0! come, let us remove: For I must tell you friendly in your ear, The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.- Sell when you can: you are not for all markets. Bring us to this sight, and you shall say Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: I11 prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So, take her to thee, shepherd.-Fare you well. Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together: Enter Siivius and PHEBE. I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: Ros. He Is fallen in love with your foulness, and Say that you love me not: but say not so she'11 fall in love with my anger. If it be so. as fast In bitterness. The common executioner, as she answers thee with frowning looks, I 11 sauce Whose heart th7 accustom'd sight of death makes hard, her with bitter words.-Why look you so upon me? Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, Phe. For no ill will I bear you. But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Res. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, Than he that kills' and lives by bloody drops'? For I am falser than vows made in wine: Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and ConIN,behind. Besides, I like you not.-If you will know my house, Phe. I would not he thy executioner:'T is at the tuft of olives, here hard by.I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Will you go, sister?-Shepherd, ply her hard.Thou tellst me, there is murder in mine eye: Come, sister.-Shepherdess, look on him better,'T is pretty, sure, and very probable, And be not proud: though all the world could see That eyes, that are the frailst and softest things, None could be so abused in sight as he. Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Come, to our flock. Should be calld tyrants, butchers, murderers! [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: "Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?~:" Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; Sil. Sweet Phebe! Or, if thou canst not, 0, for shame, for shame! Phe. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be: Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, If you do sorrow at my grief in love, The cicatrice and palpable2 impressure By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Were both extermin'd. Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes Sil. I would have you. That can do hurt. Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Sil. O! dear Phebe, Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, If ever, (as that ever may be near) And yet it is not that I bear thee love You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Then shall you know the wounds invisible Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, That love's keen arrows make. I will endure, and I'll employ thee too; Phe. But till that time But do not look for farther recompense, Come not thou near me; and when that time comes Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. Afflict me with thy moclks, pity me not, Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, As till that time I shall not pity thee. And I in such a poverty of grace, Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you? Who That I shall think it a most plenteous crop might be your mother, To glean the broken ears after the man That you insult, exult, and all at once, That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty, A scatter'd smile, and that I ll live upon. As, by my faith, I see no more in you Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ereThan without candle may go dark to bed, while? Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, I see no more in you, than in the ordinary That'the old carlot once was master of. Of nature's sale-work:-Od's my little life! Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him. I think she means to tangle my eyes too.'T is but a peevish boy; —yet he talks well:No,'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it: But'what care I for words? yet words do well,'T is not your inky brows, your black-silk hair, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream, It is a pretty youth:-not very pretty:That can entame my spirits to your worship.- But, sure, he s proud; and yet his pride becomes him. You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, He 11 make a proper man: the best thing in him Like foggy south, puffing with wind and,ain? Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue You are a thousand times a properer man, Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. Than she a woman: It is such fools as you, He is not very tall; yet for his years he Is tall. That make the world full of ill-favour'd children. His leg is but so so; and yet't is well: IT is not her glass, but you, that flatters her; There was a pretty redness in his lip; And out of you she sees herself more proper, A little riper, and more lusty red Than any of her lineaments can show her.- Than that mlx'd in his cheek: It was just the difference But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. And thank heaven fasting for a good man's love; There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 1 dies: in f. e. 2 capable: in f. e. 3An allusion to Marlowe and his Hero and Leander, where the quotation is to be found. SOEE I. - AS YOU LIKE IT. 203 In parcels, as I did, would have gone near But that's all one; omittance is no quittance, To fall in love with him; but for my part I'11 write to him a very taunting letter, I love him not. nor hate him not, and yet And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? I have more cause to hate him than to love him; Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. For what had he to do to chide at me? Phe. I'11 write it straight; He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black; The matter's in my head, and in my heart: And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I will be bitter with him, and passing short. I marvel why I answer'd not again: Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCEN.The Foret of A. Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, CENE IThe F t of Arden. he carries his house on his head, a better jointure, I Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. think, than you make a woman. Besides, he brings Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better his destiny with him. acquainted with thee. Orl. What's that? Ros. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be Jaq. I am so: I do love it better than laughing, beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker, and my Rosalind is modern censure worse than drunkards. virtuous. Jaq. Why,'t is good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. Ros. Why then, t is good to be a post. Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which Rosalind of a better leer2 than you. is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, holiday humour, and like enough to consent.-What which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; would you say to me now, an I were your very very nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is Rosalind? all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, com- Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. pounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels; you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take which by' often rumination wraps me in a most occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are humorous sadness, out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great us!) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. reason to be sad. I fear, you have sold your own Orl. How if the kiss be denied? lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor begins new matter. hands. Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. mistress? Enter ORLANDO. Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your misRos. And your experience makes you sad. I had tress, or I should thank my honesty rather thani my rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience wit.3 to make me sad. And to travel for it too! Orl. What, out of my suit? Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind. Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank suit. Am not I your Rosalind? verse. [Exit. Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: look you lisp, be talking of her. and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your Ros. Well, in her person I say-I will not have you. own country; be out of love with your nativity, and Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. almost chide God for making you that countenance Ros. No,'faith, die by attorney. The poor world is you are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there gondola.-Why, how now, Orlando! where have you was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a been all this while? You a lover? An you serve me love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a such another trick, never come in my sight more. Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, Orl. My fair Rosalind, [ come within an hour of my and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he promise. would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had Ros. Break an hour's promise in love! He that turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath was drowned, and the foolish coroners4 of that age clapped him ol the shoulder, but I ll warrant him found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies: heart-whole. men have died from time to time, and worms have Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. eaten them, but not for love. Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this sight: I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me. Orl. Of a snail? Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, 1 "in which my" is the reading of the 2d folio; adopted by Knight. 2 Feature. 3 think my honesty ranker than my wit: in f. e. * chroniclers: in f. e. Hanmer also suggested the change. 204 AS- YOU LIKE IT. ACT IV. now I will'be your Rosalind in a more coming-on-dis- me:-'t is but one cast away, and so,-come, death!position, and ask me what you will, I will grant it. Two o'clock is your hour? Orl. Then love me; Rosalind. [all. Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith will I; Fridays, and Saturdays, and Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God Orl. And wilt thou have me? mend me and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerRos. Ay, and twenty such. ous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one Orl. What say'st thou? minute behind your hour, I will think you the most Ros. Are you not good? pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, Orl. I hope so. and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. thing?-Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry Therefore, beware my censure, and keep your promise. us.-Give me your hand, Orlando.-What do you say, Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed sister? my Rosalind: so, adieu. Orl. Pray thee, marry us. Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all Cel. I cannot say the words. such offenders, and let time try you3. Adieu! Ros. You must begin,-"- Will you, Orlando,"- [Exit ORLANDO. Cel. Go to.-Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your loveRosalind? prate. We must have your doublet and hose plucked Orl. I will. over your head, and show the world what the bird hath Ros. Ay, but when? done to her own nest. Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. 0! coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou Ros. Then you must say,-" I take thee, Rosalind. didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But for wife." /it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. bottom, like the bay of Portugal. Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but,- Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There's a affection in, it runs out. girl, goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's Ros. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that thought runs before her actions. was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of Orl. So do all thoughts: they are winged. madness; that blind rascally boy; that abuses every Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge after you have possessed her? how deep I am in love.-I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot Orl. For ever, and a day. be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a shadow, Ros. Say a day, without the ever. No, no, Orlando: and sigh till he come. men are April when they woo, December when they Cel. And I 11 sleep. [Exeunt. wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the SCENE.-Another Part of the Forest. sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his Enter JAQUES and Lords, like Foresters. hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when upon his head for a branch of victory.-Have you no thou art inclined to sleep. song, forester, for this purpose? Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? 2 Lord. Yes, sir. Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Jaq. Sing it:'t is no matter how it be in tune, so it Orl. 0! but she is wise. make noise enough. Res. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: SONG. the wiser, the waywarder. Make' the doors upon a What shall he have that killed the deer? woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut His leather skin and horns to wear. that, and't will out at the key-hole: stop that,'t will Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; fly with the smoke out at the chimney. It wasa crest ere thou wast born. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he Thy father's father wore it, Then sing him might say,-" Wit, whither wilt?" And thy father bore it: shall bear this Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, buden.] met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? [Exeunt. Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. SCENE III.The Forest. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O! that woman Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. that cannot make her fault her husband's accusing,2 Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed And here much Orlando! it like a fool. Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. brain, Ros. Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. He hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and gone4 forthOrl. I must attend the duke at dinner: by two To sleep. Look, who comes here. o'clock I will be with thee again. Enter SILVIUS. Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways.-I knew what Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth.you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this: thought no less:-that flattering tongue of yours won [Giving a letter.5 Ros. reads it, 1 Make fast. 2 occasion: in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. 4 is gone in f.. 5 The rest of this stage direction not in f. e. SCENE III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 205 I know not the contents; but as I guess, Where in the purlieus of this forest stands By the stern brow and waspish action, A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees? Which she did use as she was writing of it, Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me, bottom: I am but as a guiltless messenger. The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, Left on your right hand, brings you to the place. And play the swaggerer: bear this, bear all. Bat at this hour the house doth keep itself; She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners; There's none within. She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Ol. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Were man as rare as Phoenix. Od's my will! Then should I know you by description; Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Such garments, and such years:-"- The boy is fair, Why writes she so to me?-Well, shepherd, well; Of female favour, and bestows himself This is a letter of your own device. Like a ripe sister: the woman low, Sil. No, I protest; I know not the contents: And browner than her brother." Are not you Phebe did write it. The owner of the house I did inquire for? Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. And turn'd into the extremity of love. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both; I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, A freestone-colour'd hand: I verily did think He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? That her old gloves were on, but't was her hands: Ros. I am. What must we understand by this? She has a housewife's hand: but that Is no matter. Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me I say, she never did invent this letter; What man I am, and how, and why, and where This is a man's invention, and his hand. This handkerchief was stain'd. Sil. Sure, it is hers. Cel. I pray you, tell it. Ros. Why,'t is a boisterous and a cruel style, Oli. When last the young Orlando parted fiom you, A style for challengers: why, she defies me, He left a promise to return again Like Turk to Christian. Woman's gentle brain Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside, Than in their countenance.-Will you hear the letter? And. mark, what object did present itself! Sil. So please you; for I never heard it yet, Under an old oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. And high top bald with dry antiquity, Ros. She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, " Art thou god to shepherd turnd, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?"- A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Can a woman rail thus? Who with her head, nimble in threats, approached Sil. Call you this railing? The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, Ros. "' Why, thy godhead laid apart, Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?" And with indented glides did slip away Did you ever hear such railing?- Into a bush; under which bush's shade " Whiles the eye of man did woo me A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, That could do no vengeance to me."- Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, Meaning me, a beast.- When that the sleeping man should stir; for It is " If the scorn of your bright eyne The royal disposition of that beast, Have power to raise such love in mine, To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. Alack! in me what strange effect This seen, Orlando did approach the man, Would they work in mild aspect? And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Whiles you chid me, I did love; Cel. 0! I have heard him speak of that same brother: How then might your prayers move r And he did render him the most unnatural IHe that brings this love to thee, That liv'd'mongst men. Little knows this love in me: Oli. And well he might so do, And by him seal up thy mind; For well I know he was unnatural. Whether that thy youth and kind Ros. But, to Orlando.-Did he leave him there, Will the faithful offer take Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? Of me, and all that I can make; Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so; Or else by him my love deny, But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And then I'11 study how to die." And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Sil. Call you this chiding? Made him give battle to the lioness, Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling Ros. Do you pity him? no; he deserves no pity.- From miserable slumber I awak'd. Wilt thou love such a woman?-What, to make thee Cel. Are you his brother? an instrument, and play false strains upon thee? not to Ros. Was it you he rescued? be endured! —Well, go your way to her, (for I see, Cel. Was It you that did so oft contrive to kill him? love hath made thee a tame snake) and say this to Oli.'T was I; but It is not I. I do not shame her:-that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; To tell you what I was, since my conversion if she will not, I will never have her, unless thou So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. entreat for her.-If you be a true lover, hence: and not Ros. But, for the bloody napkin? a word, for here comes more company. [Exit SILVIUS. Oli. By and by. Enter OLIVER. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, Oli. Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know, Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 206 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT V. As, how I came into that desert place Cel. We'11 lead you thither.In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, I pray you, will you take him by the arm? Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment, Oli. Be of good cheer, youth.-You a man? You lack Committing me unto my brother's love: A man's heart. Who led me instantly unto his cave, Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah! a body would There stripp'd himself; and here, upon his arm, think this was well counterfeited. I pray you, tell The lioness had torn some flesh away, your brother how well I counterfeited.-Heigh ho!Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted Oli. This was not counterfeit: there is too great And cried in fainting upon Rosalind. testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of Brief, I recovered him, bound up his wound; earnest. And, after some small space, being strong at heart Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. He sent me hither, stranger as I am, Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit To tell this story, that you might excuse to be a man. His broken promise; and to give this napkin, Ros. So I do; but, i' faith, I should have been a Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth woman by right. That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. Cel. Come; you look paler and paler: pray you, Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Ganymede? draw homewards,-Good sir, go with us. [ROSALIND swoons. Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back, Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Cel. There is more in it.-Cousin!-Ganymede! Ros. I shall devise something. But, I pray you, Oli. Look, he recovers. [Raising her.l commend my counterfeiting to him.-Will you go? Ros. I would I were at home. [Exeunt. ACT V. Touch. Then learn this of me. To have, is to have; SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden. for it is a figure in rhetoric. that drink, being poured Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey: patience, the other; for all your writers do consent, that ipse is gentle Audrey. he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he. Aud.'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the Will. Which he, sir? old gentleman's saying. Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. ThereTouch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey; a most fore, you clown, abandon.,-which is in the vulgar, vile Mar-text. But, Audrey; there is a youth here in leave, the society,-which in the boorish is, company, the forest lays claim to you. -of this female,-which in the common is, woman; Aud. Ay, I know who't is; he hath no interest in which together is, abandon the society of this female me in the world. Here comes the man you mean. or, clown thou perishest; or, to thy better understandEnter WILLIAM. ing, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage. By my troth, we that have good wits have much to I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in answer for: we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. steel: I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'erW;ill. Good even, Audrey. run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and Autd. God ye good even, William. fifty ways: therefore tremble, and depart. Will. And good even to you, sir. Aud. Do, good William. Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head. Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit. cover thy head: nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old Enter CORIN. are you, friend? Cor. Our master and mistress seek you: come, away, Will. Five and twenty, sir. away! Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William? Touch. Trip, Audrey; trip, Audrey.-I attend, I Will. William, sir. attend. [Exeunt. Touch. A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here? SCENE II. The Same. Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. Touch. Thank God;-a good answer. Art rich?Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER. Will.'Faith, sir, so, so. Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you Touch. So, so, is good. very good, very excellent should like her? that. but seeing, you should love her; good;-and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? and, loving, woo; and, wooing, she should grant? and Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. will you persever to enjoy her? Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the a saying; "The fool doth think he is wise, but the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden woowise man knows himself to be a fool." The heathen ing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would love Aliena; say with her, that she loves me; consent open his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning with both, that we may enjoy each other: it shall be thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. to your good; for my father's house, and all the revenue You do love this maid? that was old sir Rowland's, will 1 estate upon you, and Will. I do, sir. here live and die a shepherd. Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? Orl. You have my consent. Will. No, sir. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I Not in f. e. ~~~I~~~~-~~~~~,~~~~;5~~~~~~~_~~..~,9-B~I~~~~~~~~~~~~~I.5~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~x TOUGH.-TUNE.o AUDRE~Y A~ND CLOWVN. As You Like It, Act V Scene I SCENE III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 207 Invite the duke, and all's contented followers. Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; Enter ROSALIND. And so am I for Phebe. Go you, and prepare Aliena; for, look you, Phe. And I for Ganymede. Here comes my Rosalind. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. God save you, brother. Ros. And I for no woman. Oli. And you, fair sister. [Exit. Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service; Ros.! my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see And so am I for Phebe. thee wear thy heart in a scarf. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. It is my arm. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with Ros. And I for no woman. the claws of a lion. Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady, All made of passion, and all made of wishes; Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited All adoration, duty, and obedience1; to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief? All humbleness, all patience, and impatience; Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. All purity, all trial, all observance; Ros.! I know where you are.-Nay,'t is true: And so am I for Phebe. there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of-"I came Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. saw," and " overcame:" for your brother and my sister Ros. And so am I for no woman. no sooner met, but they looked; no sooner looked, but Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no [To ROSALIND. sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the re- [To PHEBE. medy: and in these degrees have they made a pair of Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? stairs to marriage, which they will' climb incontinent Ros. Who do you speak to, "why blame you me or else be incontinent before marriage. They are in to love you?" the very wrath of love, and they will together: clubs Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. cannot part them. Ros. Pray you, no more of this:'t is like the howlOrl. They shall be married to-morrow, and I will ing of Irish wolves against the moon.-I will help you, bid the duke to the nuptial. But, 0! how bitter a [T SILVIUS] if I can:-I would love you, [To PHEBE] thing it is to look into happiness through another mans if I could.-To-morrow meet me all together.-I will eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at marry you, [To PHEBE] if ever I marry woman, and the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall I 11 be married to-morrow:-I will satisfy you, [To think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ORLANDO] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn married to-morrow:-I will content you, [To SILVIUS] for Rosalind? if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. married to-morrow.-As you [To ORLANDO] love RoRos. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talk- salind, meet;-as you [To SILVIUS] love Phebe, meet; ing. Know of me, then, (for now I speak to some pur- and as I love no woman, I 11 meet.-So, fare you well; pose) that I know you are a gentleman of good con- I have left you commands. ceit. I speak not this, that you should bear a good Sil. I'11 not fail, if I live. opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know you Phe. Nor I. are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt. in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do C E I.The yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then if you please, that I can do strange things. I have, sinceEnter TOUCSTO and AUDREY. I was three years old. conversed with a magician, most Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey: toprofound in his art, and yet not damnable. If you do morrow will we be married. love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it Aud. I do desire it with all my heart, and I hope out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of her. I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; the world.2 and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not incon- Touch. Here come two of the banished duke's pages. venient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow. Enter two Pages. human as she is, and without any danger. 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit; sit, and Ros. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, a song. though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you 2 Page. We are for you: sit iF the middle. in your best array, bid your friiends, for if you will be 1 Page. Shall we clap into It roundly, without hawkmarried to-morrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you ing, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse which are will. only the prologues to a bad voice? Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. 2 Page. I faith, iv faith; and both in a tune, like two Look; here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. gypsies on a horse. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, SONG. To show the letter that I writ to you. It was a lover, and his lass, Ros. I care not, if I have; it is my study With a hey, and a ho. and a hey nonino, To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. That o'er the green corn-field did pass You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd: In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, Look upon him, love him; he worships you. When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what't is to love. Sweet lovers love the spring. I observance: in f. e. Malone also suggested the change. 2 To be married. 208 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT V. Between the acres of the rye, very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, fools. These pretty country folks would lie, Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all. In spring time,'c. Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the This carol they began that hour, motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in W~ithi a hey. nd anda ho. and a hey nonino, the forest: he hath been a courtier. he swears. How that ouer life was bet a flower, Toch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my In spring time,'c. purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with And therefore take the present time, mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, four quarrels, and like to have fought one. For love is crowned with the prime Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? In spring time, a loose-bodied gown." lTai. " Imprimis. a loose-bodied gow-n." SCENE IV. —Padua. Before BAPTISTa!S House. Gru. Master, if ever Isaid loose-bodied gown, sew Enter TRANIO) and the Pedant booted3 and dressed me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a like VINCENTIO. bottom of brown thread: I said, a gown. Tra. Sir, this is the house: please it you, thatI call? Pet. Proceed. P d. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, Tai. "With a small compassed cape.?7 Signior Baptista may remember me, Grit. I confess the cape. Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, Tai.: With a trunk sleeve. Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. Gru. I confess two sleeves. Tra.'T is well; and hold your own, in any case, Tai. " The sleeves curiously cut." With such austerity as'longeth to a father. Pet. Ay, there's the villany. Enter BIONDELLO. Gru. Error i' the bill, sir error i the bill. I corn- Ped. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy; manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up'T were good, he were schoold. again; and that I 11 prove upon thee, though thy little Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello finger be armed in a thimble. Now do your duty throughly, I advise you: Tai. This is true, that I.say: an I had thee in place Imagine't were the right Vincentio. where, thou shouldst know it.. Bion. Tut! fear not me. Grit. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill2, give Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. Bion. I told him, that your father was at Venice, Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio; then he shall have no And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. odds. Tra. Thou'rt a tall fellow: hold thee that to drink. Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. Here comes Baptista.-Set your countenance,,sir.Gru. You are i' the right, sir: t is for my mistress. Enter BAPTISTA and LUCENTIO. Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. Signior Baptista, you are happily met.Gru. Villain. not for thy life! Take up my mis- Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of. — tress' gown for thy master's use? I pray you, stand good father to me now, Pet. Why, sir, what Is your conceit in that? Give me Bianca for my patrimony. Gru. O. sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for. Ped Soft, son! Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use? Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua 0, ie, fie, fie! To gather ini some debts, my son, Lucentio, Pet. [Aside.] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor Made me acquainted with a weighty cause paid.- Of love between your daughter and himself: Go take it hence;;be gone, and say no more. And, for the good report I hear of you, Hor. Tailor; I ll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow: And for the love he beareth to your daughter, Take no unkindness of his hasty words. And she to him, to stay him not too long, Away, I say; commend me to thy master. I am content, in a good father's care, [Exeunt Tailor and Haberdasher. To have him match'd; and, if you please to like Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your No worse than I, upon some agreement, father's, Me shall you find ready and willing Even in these honest mean habiliments. With one consent to have her so bestowed; Our purses shall be proud. our garments poor: For curious* I cannot be with you, For't is the mind that makes the body rich; Signior Baptista of whom I hear so well. And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to-say: So honour peereth in the meanest habit. Your plainness, and your shortness please me well. What, is the jay more precious than the lark, Right true it is, your son Lucentio, here, Because his feathers are more beautiful? Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, Or is the adder better than.the eel, Or both dissemble deeply their affections; Because his painted skin contents the eye? And, therefore if you say no more than this, O! no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse That like a father you will deal with him, For this poor furniture, and mean array. And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me; The match is made, and all is happily5 done: And therefore frolic: we will hence forthwith, Your son shall have my daughter with consent. To feast and sport us at thy fathers house.- Tra. I thank you, sir. Where, then,-do you ij.alds Go, call my men. and let us straight to him; best, And bring our horses unto Long-lane end, We be affied, and such assurance ta'en, There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.- As shall with either part's agreement stand? Let's see; I think, It is now some seven o'clock, Bap. Not in rmy house, Lucentio; for, you know, And well we may come.there by dinner time. Pitchers have ears and I have many servants* Kath. I dare assure you, sir, It is almost two, Besides, old Gremio is hearkening.still, And t will be supper-time,.ere you come there. And, happily, we might be interrupted. 1 Bravery was the old word for finery. 2 An old weapon like a pike. 3 This word not in f. e. 4 Particular. a This word not in f. e. know: in f. e. 228 TAMING OF THE SHREW. ACT IV. Tra. Then, at my lodging, an it like you: Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, There doth my father lie, and there this night And be it moon, or sun, or what you please. We'11 pass the business privately and well. An if you please to call it a rush candle, Send for your daughter by your servant here; Henceforth, I vow, it shall be so for me. My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. Pet. I say, it is the moon. The worst is this,-that, at so slender warning, Kath. I know, it is the moon. You Ire like to have a thin and slender pittance. Pet. Nay, then you lie: it is the blessed sun. Bap. It likes me well:-Cambio, hie you home, Kath. Then, God be bless'd. it is the blessed sun; And bid Bianca make her ready straight; But sun it is not, when you say it is not, And, if you will, tell what hath happened: And the moon changes, even as your mind. Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, What you will have it nam'd. even that it is; And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. And so it shall be still4 for Katharine. Luc. I pray the gods she may with all my heart. Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways: the field is won. Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Pet. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?run, Welcome: one mess is like to be your cheer. And not unluckily against the bias.Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa. But soft! what company is coming here? Bap. I follow you. Enter VINCENTIO, in a travelling dress. [Exeunt TRANIO, Pedant, and BAPTISTA. [To VINCENTIO.] Good-morrow, gentle mistress: where Bion. Cambio! away?Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello? Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you. Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? Luc. Biondello, what of that? Such war of white and red within her cheeks! Bion.'Faith nothing; but he has left me here What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs As those two eyes become that heavenly face?and tokens. Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the Hor.'A will make the man mad, to make a woman deceiving father of a deceitful son. of him. Luc. And what of him? Kath Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to the swet, supper. Whither away, or where is thy abode? Luc. And then?- Happy the parents of so fair a child; Bion. The old priest at St. Luke's church is at Happier the man, whom favourable stars your command at all hours. Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow! Luc. And what of all this? Pet. Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad: Bion. I cannot tell: except', while2 they are busied This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd, about a counterfeit assurance, take you assurance of And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solion. To the Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes; church!-take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient That have been so bedazzled with the sun, honest witnesses. That every thing I look on seemeth green. If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say, Now I perceive thou art a reverend father; But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. [known Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? Pet. Do, good old grandsire: and, withal, make Bion. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in Which way thou travellest: if along with us, an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to We shall be joyful of thy company. stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. Vin. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress. My master hath appointed me to go to St. Luke's, to That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me, bid the priest be ready to come against you come with My name is called Vincentio my dwelling, Pisa, your appendix. [Exit. And bound I am to Padua, there to visit Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented: A son of mine, which long I have not seen. She will be pleased, then wherefore should I doubt? Pet. What is his name? Hap what hap may, I'11 roundly go about her: Fin. Lucentio, gentle sir. It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit. Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son. SClENE V. -A public Road. And now by law, as well as reverend age, SCENE V.-A public Road. -m n ae: Enter P KATHAINA and HORT O I may entitle thee-my loving father: Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, and HORTENSIO. The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, Pet. Come on, o' God's name: once more toward Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, our father s.Nor be not grieved: she is of good esteem, Good lord! how bright and goodly shines the moon. Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; Kath The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight now. Beside, so qualified as may beseem Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. The spouse of any noble gentleman. Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright. Let me embrace with old Vincentio; Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, And wander we to see thy honest son. It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. Or ere I journey to your father's house.- Vin. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure, Go one,3 and fetch our horses back again.- Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest Evermore cross'd, and crossed: nothing but crossd. Upon the company you overtake? Her, Say as he says, or we shall never go. Her. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 1 expect: in f, e. 2 Not in f. e. 3 on: in f. e 4 so: in f. e. SCENE I. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 229 Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; Hor. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. Have to my widow: and if she be froward, [Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA) and VINCENTIO. Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. [Exit. ACT V. Vin. Is't so, indeed? [Beats BIONDELLO. SCENE I.- Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S House. 7 Bion. Help, help, help! here s a madman will murEnter on one side BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, aind BIANCA; der me. [Exit. GREMIO walking on the other side. Ped. Help, son! help, signior Baptista! Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready. [Exit, from the window. Luc. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let 7s stand aside, and see the thee at home: therefore, leave us. end of this controversy. [They retire. Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o7 your back; Re-enter Pedant, belovw: BAPTISTA, TRANIO) and and then come back to my master as soon as I Servants. can. Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant? [Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO. Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir?-O, Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. immortal Gods! 0, fine villain! A silken doublet! a Enter PETRUCHIO, KATIARINA, VINCENTIO, and velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain1 hat!-O, Attendants. I am undone! I am undone! while I play the good Pet. Sir, here Is the door; this is Lucentio's house: husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at My father's bears more toward the market place; the university. Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. Tra. How now! what Is the matter? Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go. Bap. What, is the man lunatic? I think I shall command your welcome here, Tra. Sir. you seem a sober ancient gentleman by And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. [Knocks. your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, Gre. They Ire busy within; you were best knock sir, what'cerns it you' if I wear pearl and gold? I louder. thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. Enter Pedant above, at a window. Vin. Thy father? 0 villain! he is a sail-maker in Ped. What Is he, that knocks as he would beat down Bergamo. the gate? Bap. You mistake, sir: you mistake, sir. Pray, Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? what do you think is his name? Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. Vin. His name? as if I knew not his name: I have Vin. What, if a man bring him a hundred pound or brought him up ever since he was three years old, and two to make merry withal? his name is Tranio. Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he Ped. Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio; shall need none, so long as I live. and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in Padua. signior Vincentio. -Do you hear, sir? to leave frivolous circumstances, Vin. Lucentio! O! he hath murdered his master. I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, that his father is come -Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name. from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. -0; my son, my son!-tell me, thou villain, where is Ped. Thou liest: his father is come from Pisa, and my son Lucentio? here looking out at the window. Tra. Call forth an officer. Vin. Art thou his father? Enter one, with an Officer. Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe Carry this mad knave to the jail.-Father Baptista, I her. charge you see that he be forthcoming. Pet. Why, how now, gentleman? [To VINCENTIO.] Vin. Carry me to the jail! why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another Gre. Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison. man's name. Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio. I say, he shall go Ped. Lay hands on the villain. I believe,'a means to prison. to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be conyRe-enter BIONDELLO. catched in this business. I dare swear this is the right Bion. I have seen them in the church together: Vincentio. God send'em good shipping!-But who is here? mine Ped. Swear, if thou darest. old master, Vincentio! now we are undone, and brought Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. to nothing. Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lucentio. Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing BIONDELLO. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bion. I hope I may choose, sir. Bap. Away with the dotard! to the jail with him! Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you for- Vin. Thus strangers may be handled2 and abused.got me? 0 monstrous villain! Bion. Forgot you? no, sir: I could not forget you, Re-enter BIONDELLO with LUCENTIO, and BIANCA. for I never saw you before in all my life. Bion. 0, we are spoiled! and yonder he is; deny Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. see thy master's father, Vincentio? Luc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling. Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? yes, Vin. Lives my sweet son? marry, sir: see where he looks out of the window. [BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and Pedant run out. 1 Conical. 2 haled: in f. e. 230. TAMING OF THE SHREW. AOT v. Bian. Pardon, dear father, [Kneeling. Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. Bap. How hast thou offended?- Pet. Roundly replied. Where is Lucentio? Kath. Mistress, how mean: you that? Luc. Here's Lucentio, Wid. Thus I conceive by him. Right son to the right Vincentio; Pet. Conceives by me!-How likes Hortensio that? That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, Ior. My widow says; thus she conceives her tale. While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good Gre. Here Is packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! widow. Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns That- fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so? round:Bap Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. i(In. Cambio is changed into Lucentio. Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Luc. Love-wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe. Made me leexchange my state with Tranio, And now you know my meaning. While he: did bear my countenance in the town; Kath. A very mean meaning. And happily I have arrived at the last Wid. Right, I mean you. Unto the wished haven of my bliss. Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. What Tranio did, myself enforced him to: Pet. To her, Kate! Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. Hor. To her, widow! Vi7i. I' I- slit the villain's nose, that would lave sent Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. meto tohe jail. Hor. That's my office. Bap. [To LUCENTIO.] But do you hear. sir? Have Pet. Spoke like an officer:-Here's to thee, lad. you married my daughter without asking my good will? [Drinks to HORTENSIO. Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you: go -Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? to; but I will in, to be revenged for this villany. [Exit. Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well, Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Bian. Head and butt? an hasty-witted body Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not Would say, your head and butt were head and horn.:frown. [Exeunt Luc. and BIAN. Vin. Ay; mistress bride, hath that awakened you? Gre. My cake is dough: but I'11 in among the rest, Bian. Ay, but not frighted me therefore, I'l sleep Out of hope, of all, but my share of the feast. [Exit. again. PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA advance. Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado. Have at you for a better jest or two. Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush. Kath. What, in the midst of the street? And then pursue me as you draw your bow.Pet. What! art thou ashamed of me? You are welcome all. Kath. No, sir, God forbid; but ashamed to kiss. [Exeunt BIANCA. KATHARINA, and Widow. Pet. Why, then, let s home again.-Come, sirrah Pet. She hath prevented me —Here, signior Tranio; let's away. This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Katlh. Nay. I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. love, stay. Tra. 0 sir! Lucentio slipp'd me, like his greyhound, Pet. Is not this well?-Come, my sweet Kate: Which runs himself, and catches for his master. Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt. Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish. CENE T11. A Bnoom in LucTrS os House. Tra. IT is well, sir, that you hunted for yourself: ABaSCENE II.set A o toom e in LBucENTIONs House. IG-'T is thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. A Banquet set out; Enter BAPTISTAB VINCENTIOA GR,- Bap. 0 ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. MIO, the Pedant, LUCENTIO, BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. KATHARINA, HORTENSIO, and Widow. TRANIO Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? BrONDELLO; GIUMIO, and others, attending. Pet.'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: And, as the jest did glance away from me, And time it is, when raging war is gone,'T is ten to one it maim'd you two outright. To smile at scapes and perils overblown.- Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. While I with self-same kindness welcome thine.- Pet. Well, I say no: and therefore, for assurance, Brother Petruchio-sister Katharina — Let's each one send unto his several2 wife And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, And he, whose wife is most obedient Feast with the best. and welcome to my house: To come at first When he doth send for her, My banquet is to close our stomachs up, Shall win the wager which we will propose. After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down; Hor. Content. What is the wager? For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. [They sit at table. Luc. Twenty crowns. Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! Pet. Twenty crowns! Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. I'll venture so much of my hawk, or hound, Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. But twenty times so much upon my wife. Hor. For both our sakes I would that word were Luc. A hundred then. true. Hor. Content. Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. Pet. A match!'t is done. Wid. Then, never trust me, if I be afeard. Hor. Who shall begin? Pet. You are very sensible; and yet you miss my Luc. That will I. sense<: Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. I meani, Hor'telisio is afeard of you. Bion. I go. [Exit. t done: in f. e. 2 This word is not in f. e. SCENE II. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 231 Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Luc. I'11 have no halves; I'11 bear it all myself. Wid. Come, come, you're mocking: we will have Re-enter BIONDELLO. no telling. How now! what news? Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word, Wid. She shall not. That she is busy, and she cannot come. Pet. I say, she shall:-and first begin with her. Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come! Kath. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, Is that an answer? And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, Gre. Ay, and a kind one too: To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor: Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. It blots thy beauty, as frosts do bite the meads, Pet. I hope better. Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds, Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go and entreat my wife And in no sense is meet, or amiable. To come to me forthwith. [Exit BIONDELLO. A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, Pet. 0 ho! entreat her! Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; Nay, then she must needs come. And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Hor. I am afraid, sir. Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Re-enter BIONDELLO. Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, Now, where Is my wife? And for thy maintenance; commits his body Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand; To painful labour, both by sea and land, She will not come: she bids you come to her. To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Pet. Worse and worse: she will not come? 0 vile! Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; Intolerable, not to be endurd! And craves no other tribute at thy hands, Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; say, But love, fair looks, and true obedience, I command her come to me. [Exit GRUMIO. Too little payment for so great a debt. Hor. I know her answer. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Pet. What? Even such a woman oweth to her husband; Hor. She will not. And when she Is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, Pet. The fouler fortune mine and there an end. And not obedient to his honest will, Enter KATHARINA. What is she but a foul contending rebel, Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina! And graceless traitor to her loving lord?Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? I am ashamed that women are so simple Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? To offer war where they should kneel for peace,. Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, Pet. Go, fetch them hither: if they deny to come, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, [Exit KATHARINA. But that our soft conditions, and our hearts, Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Should well agree with our external parts? Hor. And so it is. I wonder what it bodes. Come, come, you froward and unable worms, Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, My mind hath been as big as one of yours, An awful rule, and right supremacy; My heart as great, my reason, haply, more And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy. To bandy word for word, and frown for frown; Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio! But now I see our lances are but straws, The wager thou hast won; and I will add Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; That seeming most which we indeed least are. Another dowry to another daughter, Then, vail your stomachs. for it is no boot, For she is chang'd, as she had never been. And place your hands below your husband's foot: Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet, In token of which duty, if he please, And show more sign of her obedience, My hand is ready, may it do him ease. Her new-built virtue and obedience. Pet. Why, there's a wench!-Come on, and kiss Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and Widow. me, Kate. See, where she comes, and brings your froward wives Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha't. As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.- Vin.'T is a good hearing, when children are toward. Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not; Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward. Off with that bauble throw it under foot. Pet. Come, Kate, we'11 to bed.[KATHARINA pulls off her cap, and throws it down. We three are married, but you two are sped. Wid. Lord! let me never have a cause to sigh,'T was I won the wager, though you hit the white; Till I be brought to such a silly pass. [To LUCENTIO. Bian. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? And, being a winner, God give you good night. Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too: [Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATH. The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst Cost me one' hundred crowns since supper-time. shrew. Bian. The more fool you for laying on my duty. Luc.'T is a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd Pet. Katharine I charge thee, tell these headstrong Ao; [Exeunt. women 1an: in f. e. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. DRAMATIS PERSONE. King of France. Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram. Duke of Florence. HELENA, a Gentlewoman protected by the CounBERTRAM, Count of Rousillon. tess. LAFEU, an old Lord. A Widow of Florence. PAROLLES. a Follower of Bertram. DIANA, Daughter to the Widow, French Envoy, serving with Bertram. VIOLETA hbous and Friends to the Widow. French Gentleman, also serving with Bertram. MARIANA, RINALDO, Steward to the Countess of Rousillon. Clown, in her household. Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers, A Page. &c., French and Florentine. SCENE, partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. ACT I. SCENE I.-Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESSES Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to Palace. i my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA, her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, and LAFEU, all in black. which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations second husband. go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too: in her Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's they are the better for their simpleness; she derives death anew; but I must attend his majesty's command, her honesty, and achieves her goodness. to whom I am now in ward,1 evermore in subjection. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam; Count.'T is the best brine a maiden can season her -you, sir, a father. He that so generally is at all praise in. The remembrance of her father never times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you. approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, takes all livelihood from her cheek.-No more of this, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. Helena: go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend- affect a sorrow, than to have. ment? Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed; but I have it too. Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, under whose practices he hath persecuted time with excessive grief the enemy to the living. hope, and finds no other advantage in the process, but Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess only the losing of hope by time. makes it soon mortal. Count. This young gentlewoman had a father,-O, Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. that had! how sad a passage't is -whose skill,2 almost Laf. How understand we that? as great as his honesty, had it stretched so far would Count. Be thou blest, Bertram; and succeed thy have made nature immortal, and death should have father play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue, were living! I think it would be the death of the Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness king's disease. Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few, Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam? Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend was his great right to be so.-Gerard de Narbon. Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam: the king But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, very lately spoke of him, admiringly and mourningly. That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, He was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge Fall on thy head!-Farewell, my lord: I could be set up against mortality.'T is an unseason'd courtier: good my lord, Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? Advise him. Laf. A fistula, my lord. Laf. He cannot want the best Ber. I heard not of it before. That shall attend his love. Laf. I would it were not notorious.-Was this gen- Count. Heaven bless him!tiewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Farewell, Bertram. [Exit COUNTESS,; Heirs of large estates were during their minority, wards of the king. 2 f. e. insert was. ii SCENE I. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 233 Ber. [To HELENA.] The best wishes that can be nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be corn- consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with fortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much feeding his own stomach. Besides; virginity is peevish, of her. proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inLaf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit hibited sin in the canon. Keep it not: you cannot of your father. [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. choose but lose by't. Out with't: within two3 years Hel. 0, were that all!-I think not on my father; it will make itself two,4 which is a goodly increase, and And these great tears grace his remembrance more the principal itself not much the worse. Away with't. Than those I shed for him. What was he like? Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own I have forgot him: my imagination liking? Carries no favour in It, but onlyl Bertram's. Par. Let me see: marry, ill; to like him that ne'er I am undone: there is no living, none, it likes.'T is a commodity will lose the gloss with If Bertram be away. It were all one lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with't, while That I should love a bright particular star, It is vendible: answer the time of request. Virginity, And think to wed it, he is so above me: like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; In his bright radiance and collateral light richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. the tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is Th7 ambition in my love thus plagues itself: better in your pie and your porridge, than in your The hind that would be mated by the lion, cheek: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like Must die for love.'T was pretty, though a plague, one of our French withered pears: it looks ill, it eats To see him every hour; to sit and draw dryly; marry,'t is a withered pear: it was formerly His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, better; marry, yet, It is a withered pear. Will you do' In my heart's table; heart, too capable any thing with it? Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: Hel. Not with6 my virginity yet. But now he Is gone, and my idolatrous fancy There shall your master have a thousand loves, Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, Enter PAROLLES. A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, One that goes with him: I love him for his sake, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, And yet I know him a notorious liar, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; His humble ambition, proud humility, Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms, Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall hePar. Save you, fair queen. I know not what he shall:-God send him well!Hel. And you, monarch.2 The court's a learning-place;-and he is onePar. No. Par. What one, i' faith? Hel. And no. Hel. That I wish well.-'T is pityPar. Are you meditating on virginity? Par. What Is pity? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; IHel. That wishing well had not a body in't. let me ask you a question: man is enemy to virginity; Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, how may we barricado it against him. Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Par. Keep him out. Might with effects of them follow our friends, Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant And show what we alone must think; which never in the defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some war- Returns us thanks. like resistance. Enter a Page. Par. There is none: man, sitting down before you, Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. will undermine you, and blow you up. [Exit Page. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember thee, blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins I will think of thee at court. might blow up men? Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a chaPar. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier ritable star. be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with Par. Under Mars, I. the breach yourselves made you lose your city. It is Hel. I especially think, under Mars. not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve Par. Why under Mars? virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. must needs be born under Mars. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Vir- Par. When he was predominant. ginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. being ever kept, it is ever lost.'T is too cold a com- Par. Why think you so? panion: away with't. Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. Hel. I will stand for It a little, though therefore I Par. That's for advantage. die a virgin. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the Par. There's little can be said in't:'t is against the safety; but the composition that your valour and fear rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity is to make in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the accuse your mothers, which is most infallible disobe- wear well. dience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer murders itself, and should be buried in highways, out thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, 1 Not in f. e. 2 This may be a play on the word Monarcho, a braggart. 3 4 ten: in f. e. a 6 Not in f. e. 234 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT I. so thou wilt be capable of a courtiers counsel, and His equal had awak'd them: and his honour, understand what advice shall thrust upon thee: else Clock to itself, knew the true minute when thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance Exception bid him speak, and at this time makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, His tongue obeyed his hand: who were below him say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy He usd: as creatures of another place; friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as he And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks uses thee: so farewell. [Exit. Making them proud of his humility, Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Might be a copy to these younger times, Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. But goers backward. What power is It which mounts my love so high; Ber. His good remembrance, sir, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb: The mightiest space in nature fortune brings. So in approof lives not his epitaph, To join like likes. and kiss like native things. As in your royal speech. Impossible be strange attempts to those King.'Would I were with him! He would always That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, say, What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words To show her merit, that did miss her love? He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, The king's disease-my project may deceive me; To grow there, and to bear.) — Let me not live,%But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. Thus his good melancholy oft began, SET: i. -.R m in tOn the catastrophe and heel of pastime, SCENE II.-Paris. A Room in the KING's Palace.^,When it was out, " let me not live," quoth he, Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING o France, with` After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff letters; Lords and others attending. Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses King. The Florentines and Senoys2 are by th. ears; All but new things disdain: whose judgments are Have fought with equal fortune, and continue Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies A braving war. Expire before their fashions.7 —This he wish'd: I Lord. So It is reported, sir. I, after him, do after him wish too King. Nay, It is most credible: we here receive it Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, A certainty, vouched from our cousin Austria, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, With caution, that the Florentine will move us To give some labourers room. For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend 2 Lord. You are loved, sir; Prejudicates the business, and would seem They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. To have us make denial. King. I fill a place, I know It.-How long is it, count, 1 Lord. His love and wisdom Since the physician at your father's died? Approved so to your majesty; may plead He was much fam'd. For amplest credence. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King. He hath arm'd our answer, King. If he were; living, I would try him yet:And Florence is denied before he comes: Lend me an arm:-the rest have worn me out Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see With several applications: nature and sickness The Tuscan service, freely have they leave Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; To stand on either part. My son Is no dearer. 2 Lord. It may well serve Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. A nursery to our gentry, who are sick SC E -Rous A in t For breathing and exploit. SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS7For breathing and exploit. IKing. What's he comes here? Paace. Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown. I Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Count. I will now hear; what say you of this Young Bertram. gentlewoman I King. Youth, thou bear st thy father's face; Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your Frank nature, rather curious than in haste content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my Hath well composed thee. Thy fathers moral parts past endeavours; for then we wound our nlodesty, and May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. make foul the clearness of our deservings, when. of Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. ourselves we publish them. King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship sirrah: the complaints I have heard of you, I do not First tried our soldiership. He did look far all believe:'t is my slowness, that I do not; for I know Into the service of the time and was you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; enough: to make such knaveries yours. But on us both did haggish age steal on, Clo.'T is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor And wore us out of act. It much repairs me fellow. To talk of your good father. In his youth Count. Well, sir. He had the wit, which I can well observe Clo. No, madam; t is not so well, that I am poor, To-day in our young lords; but they may jest though many of the rich are damned. But, if I may Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world,' Ere they can hide their levity in honour: Isbel, the woman, and I will do as we may. So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Were in his pride, or sharpness; if they were, Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. 1 fortune nature brings: in f. e. 2Th-e people of Sienna. 3To be married. SCEN;E Im. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 236 Count. In what case? Count. You ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I comClo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no mand you? heritage; and, I think, I shall never have the blessing Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and of God, till I have issue of my body, for they say, yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan. yet bairns are blessings. it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. over the black gown of a big heart.-I am going, forClo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven sooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit. on by the flesh, and he must needs go that the devil Count. Well, now. drives. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman Count. Is this all your worship's reason? entirely. Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to as they are. me; and she herself, without other advantage, may Count. May the world know them? lawfully make title to as muci love as she finds: there Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you is more owing her than is paid, and more shall be paid and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do. marry her than she'11 demand. that I may repent. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did com:Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to municate to herself, her own words to her own ears; have friends for my wife's sake. she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son: Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en' great friends; fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am difference betwixt their two estates; love, no god, that a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, would not extend his might, only where qualities were and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, level Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer he's my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my first assault, or ransom afterward. This she delivered flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he that in the most bitter touch of sorrow. that e'er I heard loves my flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to kisses my wife is my friend. If men could: be con- acquaint you withal, sithence in the loss that may tented to be what they are, there were no fear in mar- happen it concerns you something to know it. riage for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam Count. You have discharged this honestly: keep it the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in to yourself. Many likelihoods informed me of this religion, their heads are both one; they may joll horns before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I together, like any deer i the herd. could neither believe, nor misdoubt. Pray you, leave Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calum- me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your nious knave? honest care. I will speak with you farther, anon. Clo. A prophet I; madam; and I speak the truth [Exit Steward. the next2 way: Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young: For I the ballad uill repeat, If ever we are nature's, these are ours;, this thorn Whrich met n full true shall find; Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; You.r marwriage comes by destiny,. Our blood to us; this to our blood is born: Your cuckoo sings by kind. It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impressed in youth. Count. Get you gone, sir: I'11 talk with you more Enter HELENA10 anon. By our remembrances of days foregone Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen Search we out faults, for" then we thought them none. come to you? of her I am to speak. Her eye is sick on It: I observe her now. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? with her; Helen. I mean. Count. You know Helen, Clo. Was this fair face, quoth she, the cause,3 I am a mother to you. Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Fond4 done, done fond,5 good sooth it was; Count. Nay a mother. lWas this King Priam's joy? Why not a mothe? When I said, a mother, With that she sighed as she stood6 Methought you saw a serpent: what's in mother, And gave this sentence then; That you start at it? I say, I am your mother, Among nine bad if one be good,7 And put you in the catalogue of those There s yet one good in ten. That were enwombed mine. IT is often seen7 Count. What! one good in ten? you corrupt the Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds song, sirrah. A native slip to us from foreign seeds: Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, purifying o' the song8, and mending o' the sex. Would Yet I express to you a mother's care.God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood, no fault with the tithe-woman if I were the parson. To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter, One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman That this distemper'd messenger of wet, born-but one9-every blazing star, or at an earth- The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? quake, t would mend the lottery well: a man may Why, that you are my daughter? draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. Hel. That I am not. 1 The old copies: in. 2 Nearest. 3 the cause, quotth she: in f. e. 4 Foolishly. a The rest of this line is not in f. e. 6 7 These lines are repeated in f. e. 8 The rest of this sentence not in f. e. 9 ere: in f. e. 1 lThisstage direction is given six lines above: in f. e. 11 Such were our faults; or, &c.: in f. e. 236 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT II. Count. I say, I am your mother. But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Hel. Pardon, madam; Let not your hate encounter with my love, The count Rousillon cannot be my brother; For loving where you do: but, if yourself, I am from humble, he from honourd name; Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, No note upon my parents, his all noble: Did ever, in so true a flame of liking, My master; my dear lord he is; and I Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian His servant live, and will his vassal die. Was both herself and love, O! then, give pity He must not be my brother. To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose Count. Nor I your another? But lend and give where she is sure to lose; Hel. You are my mother, madam: would you were That seeks not to find that her search implies, (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother) But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. Indeed, my mother!-or were you both our mothers, Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, I care no more for, than I do for heaven, To go to Paris? So I were not his sister. Can't no other, Hel. Madam, I had. But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? Count. Wherefore? tell true. Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. Hel. I will tell truth, by grace itself I swear. God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother, You know, my father left me some prescriptions So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again? Of rare and proved effects. such as his reading My fear hath catchld your fondness: Now I see And manifold3 experience had collected The mystery of your loneliness, and find For general sovereignty; and that he willd me Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense t is gross, In heedfullst reservation to bestow them, You love my son: invention is asham'd As notes, whose faculties inclusive were Against the proclamation of thy passion, More than they were in note. Amongst the rest, To say, thou dost not: therefore, tell me true; There is a remedy approv'd, set down But tell me then,'t is so:-for, look, thy cheeks To cure the desperate languishings whereof Confess it, th' one to the other; and thine eyes The king is render'd lost. See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, Count. This was your motive That in their kind they speak it: only sin, For Paris, was it? speak. And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of this; That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue; Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, If it be not, forswear't: however, I charge thee, Haply been absent then. As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, Count. But think you, Helen, To tell me truly. If you should tender your supposed aid, Hel. Good madam, pardon me. He would receive it? He and his physicians Count. Do you love my son? Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress. They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit Count. Love you my son? A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Hel. Do not you love him, madam? Embowelln d of their doctrine, have left off Count. Go not about: my love hath in't a bond. The danger to itself? Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose Hel. There's something in't, The state of your affection, for your passions More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Have to the full appeach'd. Of his profession, that his good receipt Hel. Then, I confess, [Kneeling.' Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your That before you, and next unto high heaven, honour I love your son.- [Rising.2 But give me leave to try success, I'd venture My friends were poor, but honest; so Is my love: The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure, Be not offended, for it hurts not him, By such a day, and hour. That he is lov'd of me. I follow him not Count. Dost thou believe't? By any token of presumptuous suit; Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him, Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and Yet never know how that desert should be. love, I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home, I still pour in the waters of my love, And pray God's blessing unto thy attempt. And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, Religious in mine error, [ adore What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. [Exeunt. The sun; that looks upon his worshipper, ACT II. SCENE I.-Paris. A Room in the KING)S Palace. Do not throw from you:-and you, my lords, farewell.Flourish. Enter KINa, with young Lords taking leave Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, for the Florentine war; BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and The gift doth stretch itself as't is receiv'd, Attendants. And is enough for both. King. Farewell, young lords. These warlike principles I Lord.'T is our hope, sir, l 2 Not in f. e. 3 manifest: in f e. SCENE I. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 237 After well-enter'd soldiers, to return And ask'd thee mercy for t. And find your grace in health. Laf. Goodfaith, across. But, my good lord,'t is thus: King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will you be cur'd of your infirmity? Will not confess he owes the malady King. No. That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Laf, 0! will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Whether I live or die, be you the sons Yes, but you will, ay, noble grapes, an if Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy My royal fox could reach them. I have seen (Those'bated, that inherit but the fall A medicine that Is able to breathe life into a stone Of the last monarchy) see, that you come Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary Not to woo honour, but to wed it: when With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, Is powerful to upraise3 king Pepin, nay, That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell. To give great Charlemaine a pen in's hand, 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! To write to her a love-line. King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them. King. What her is this? They say, our French lack language to deny, Laf. Why, doctor she. My lord, there's one arriv'd, If they demand: beware of being captives, If you will see her:-now, by my faith and honour, Before you serve. If seriously I may convey my thoughts Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. In this my light deliverance, I have spoke King. Farewell.-Come hither to me. With one, that in her sex, her years, profession, [The KING retires to a couch. Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more 1 Lord. 0, my sweet lord, that you will stay be- Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, hind us! (For that is her demand) and know her business? Par.'T is not his fault, the spark. That done, laugh well at me. 2 Lord. 0,'t is brave wars! King. Now, good Lafeu, Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Bring in the admiration, that we with thee Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with; May spend our wonder too, or take off thine "Too young," and'"the next year," and t is too early. By wondering how thou took~st it. Par. An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely. Laf. Nay, I 71l fit you, Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock And not be all day neither. [Exit LAFEU. Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA, But one to dance with. By heaven! I 11 steal away. Laf. Nay, come your ways. 1 Lord. There's honour in the theft. King. This haste hath wings, indeed. Par. Commit it, count. Laf. Nay, come your ways. 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. This is his majesty, say your mind to him: Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured A traitor you do look like; but such traitors body. His majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle, 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. That dare leave two together. Fare you well. [Exit. 2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles! King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us? Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my Good sparks, and lustrous, a word, good metals:-you father; shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Ii what he did profess well found. Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on King. I knew him. his sinister cheek: it was this very sword entrenched Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; it: say to him, I live, and observe his reports of me. Knowing him, is enough. On Is bed of death 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. [Exeunt Lords. Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one Par. Mars dote on you for his novices!-What will Which, as the dearest issue of his practice. you do? And of his old experience th' only darling, Ber. Stay; the king- [Seeing him rise. He bad me store up as a triple eye, Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so; lords; you have restrained yourself within the lists of And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; for With that malignant cause wherein the honour they wear themselves in the cap of the time: there do Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, muster true gait; eat, speak, and move under the I come to tender it, and my appliance, influence of the most received star; and though the With all bound humbleness. devil lead the measure, such are to be followed. After King. We thank you, maiden: them, and take a more dilated farewell. But may not be so credulous of cure: Ber. And I will do so. When our most learned doctors leave us, and Par. Worthy fellows, and like to prove most sinewy The congregated college have concluded sword-men. [Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES. That labouring art can never ransom nature Enter LAFEU. From her inaidable estate, I say, we must not Laf. Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, [Kneeling. To prostitute our past-cure malady King. I'11 see thee to stand up. To empirics; or to dissever so Laf. Then here' a man stands, that has brought his Our great self and our credit, to esteem pardon. [Rising.2 A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. I would, you had kneelPd my lord, to ask me mercy, Hel. My duty, then, shall pay me for my pains: And that, at my bidding, you could so stand up. I will no more enforce mine office on you; King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts here Is: in f e. 2 Not in f. e. 3 araise: in f e. 238 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT I. A modest one, to bear me back again. What husband in thy power I will command: King. I cannot give thee less, to be callPdgrateful. Exempted be from me the arrogance Thou thought'st to help me, and such thanks I give To choose from forth the royal blood of France, As one near death to those that wish him live; My low and humble name to propagate But what at full I know thou know'st no part, With any branch or image of thy state; I knowing all my peril, thou no art. But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try, Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. Since you set up your rest'gainst remedy. King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, He that of greatest works is finisher, Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd: Oft does them by the weakest minister: So make the choice of thy own time; for I, So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown More should I question thee. and more I must, From simple sources; and great seas have dried, Though more to know could not be more to trust, When miracles have by the greatest been denied. From whence thou cam'st, how tended on; but rest Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Unquestioned welcome, and undoubted blest.Where most it promises: and oft it hits, Give me some help here, ho!-If thou proceed Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.' As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. King. I must not hear thee: fare thee swell, kind maid. [Flourish. Exeunt. Thy pains, not us'd) must by thyself be paid:SCENE Rousillon. Room in the CNTE Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.nac Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barred. It is not so with him that all things knows, Enter COUTESS and Clown. As't is with us that square our guess by shows; Count. Come on, sir: I shall now put you to the But most it is presumption in us, when height of your breeding. The help of heaven we count the act of men. Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; I know my business is but to the court. Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. Count. To the court! why, what place make you I am not an impostor, that proclaim special, when you put off that with such contempt? Myself against the level of mine aim'; But to the court! But know I think, and think I know most sure, Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any My art is not past power, nor you past cure. manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that King. Art thou so confident? Within what space cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and Ep'st thou my cure? say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and, IHel. The greatest grace lending grace indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the Er:e twice the horses of the sun shall bring court. But, for me, I have an answer will serve all Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring; men.'Er. twice in murk and occidental damp Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits Moist Hesperus hath quencl'd his sleepy lamp; all questions. Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, or any buttock. Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? King. Upon thy certainty and confidence, Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorWhat dar'st thou venture? ney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, as Hel. Tax of impudence Tib's rush4 for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for A strunmpets boldness, a divulged shame, Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to Tradue'd by odious ballads; my maidens name his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst extended, to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's With vilest torture let my life be ended. [speak, mouth;, nay, as the pudding to his skin. King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth Count. Have you, I say,,an answer of such fitness His powerful sound within an organ weak: for all questions? And what impossibility would slay Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your constaIn common sense, sense saves another way. ble, it will fit any question. Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate; size that must fit all demands. Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, honour,2 all Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if thelearned That happiness in3 prime can happy call: should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that beThou this to hazard, needs must intimate longs to't: ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do you Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. no harm to learn. Sweet practiser. thy physic I will try, Count. To be young again, if we could. I will be a That ministers thine own death, if I die. fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die Clo. 0 Lord, sir! — there s a simple putting off.And well deserved. Not helping: death Is my fee; More, more, a hundred of them. But, if I help, what do you promise me? Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves King. Make thy demand. you. Hel. But will you make it even? Clo. 0 Lord. sir!-Thick, thick, spare not me. King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand meat. 1 Pope reads: sits. 2 Not in f. e. 3 and: in f. e. 4 Rush rings are often spoken of as intechanged between rustio lovers. SCENM III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 239 Clo. 0 Lord, sir!Nay, put me to 7t, I warrant you. maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head. Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Why, he Is able to lead her a coranto.3 Clo. 0 Lord, sir!-Spare not me. Par. lIlort du vinaigre! Is not this Helen? Count. Do you cry,' 0 Lord, sir," at your whipping, Laf.'Fore God, I think so. and " spare not me?" Indeed, your " 0 Lord, sir,7 is King. Go, call before me all the lords in court.very sequent to your whipping: you would answer very [Exit an Attendant. well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; Clo. I neer had worse luck in my life, in my-" 0 And with this healthful hand, whose banished sense Lord, sir." I see, things may serve long, but not serve Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive ever. The confirmation of my promis'd gift, Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, to Which but attends thy naming. entertain it so merrily with a fool. Enter several Lords. Clo. 0 Lord, sir!-why, there't serves well again. Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Count. An end, sir: to your business. Give Helen this, Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, And urge her to a present answer back: O'er whom both' sovereign's4 power and fathers voice Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son. I have to use: thy frank election make. This is not much. Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. Clo. Not much commendation to them. Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Count. Not much employment for you: you under- Fall, when love please!-marry, to each, but one.5 stand me? Laf. I'd give bay curtal,6 and his furniture, Clo. Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs. My mouth no more were broken' than these boys', Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. And with8 as little beard. KIG'. King. Peruse them well: SCENE Ill. Paris. A Room in the KIINGS ing. Peruse the well: Not one of those but had a noble father. Palace. rP~ala ~ce. Hel. Gentlemen, Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. Heaven hath through me restor'd the king to health. Laf. They say, miracles are past; and we have our All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. philosophical persons, to make modern1 and familiar Hel. I am a simple maid; and therein wealthiest, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it, that That, I protest, I simply am a maid.we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into Please it your majesty, I have done already: seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, to an unknown fear. " We blush, that thou shouldst choose; but, be refusd Par. Why,'t is the rarest argument of wonder, that Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever: hath shot out in our latter times. We Ill ne'er come there again.77 Ber. And so t is. King. Make choice, and, see; Laf. To be relinquished of the artists,- Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. Par. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus. Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly; Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows,- And to imperial Love, that god most high, Par. Right; so I say. Do my sighs steam.-Sir, will you hear my suit? Laf. That gave him out incurable,- 1 Lord. And grant it. Par. Why, there't is; so say I too. Hel. Thanks, sir: all the rest is mute. Laf. Not to be helped,- Laf. I had rather be in.this choice, and throw amesPar. Right; as't were a man assured of an- ace' for my life. Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Par. Just, you say well so would I have said. Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. Love make your fortunes twenty times above Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, Her that so wishes, and her humble love! you shall read it in,-what do you call there?- 2 Lord. No better, if you please. Laf. In showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly Hel. My wish receive, actor. Which great Love grant! and so I take my leave. Par. That Is it I would have said; the very same. Laf. Do ail they deny her? An they were sons of Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: fore me, I mine, I'd have them whipped, or I would send them to speak in respect the Turk to make eunuchs of. Par. Nay,'t is strange;'t is very strange, that is the Hel. [To 3 Lord.] Be not afraid that I your hand brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most facino- should take; rous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the- I'11 never do you wrong for your own sake: Laf. Very hand of heaven. Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Par. Ay, so I say. Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! Laf. In a most weak- Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have Par. And debile minister, great power, great tran- her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French scendence; which should, indeed, give us a further use ne;er got them. to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, be — To make yourself a son out of my blood. Laf. Generally thankful. 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. Laf. There Is one grape yet:-I am sure, thy father Par. I would have said it; you say well. Here drank wine.-But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth comes the king. of fourteen: I have known thee already. [I give Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says:2 I ll like a Hel. [To BERTRAM.] I dare not say I take you; but 1 Common. 2 The word came in use from Holland, about 1600. 3 A lively dance. 4 sovereign: in f. e. s Except one. 6 A docked horse. 7 I had lost no more teeth. 8 writ: in f. e. 9 Both aces; an.expression for ill luck. 240 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT II. Me, and my service. ever whilst I live, Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord, for I submit Into your guiding power.-This is the man. My fancy to your eyes. When I consider King. Why then, young Bertram, take her; she s What great creation, and what dole of honour, thy wife. [BERTRAM draws back.' Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your highness, Was in my nobler thoughts most base. is now In such a business give me leave to use The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, The help of mine own eyes. Is, as It were, born so. King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, King. Take her by the hand, What she has done for me? And tell her, she is thine; to whom I promise Ber. Yes, my good lord; A counterpoise, if not to thy estate, But never hope to know why I should marry her. A balance more replete. King. Thou know'st, she has raised me from my Ber. I take her hand. sickly bed. King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king, Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Must answer for your raising? I know her well: Shall seem expedient on the now born- brief, She had her breeding at my fathers charge. And be performed to-night: the solemn feast A poor physician's daughter my wife?-Disdain Shall more attend upon the coming space, Rather corrupt me ever! Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, King.'T is only title thou disdain'st in her, the which Thy love's to me religious, else, does err. I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods [Exeunt KING, BERTRAM, HELENA, Lords and Of colour, weight. and heat, pour'd all together, Attendants. Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off Laf. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. In differences so mighty. If she be Par. Your pleasure, sir? All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his reA poor physician's daughter) thou dislik'st cantation. Of virtue for the name; but do not so: Par. Recantation!-My lord? my master? From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, Laf. Ay; is it not a language I speak? The place is dignified by the doer's deed: Par. A most harsh one, and not to be understood Where great additions swell's,2 and virtue none, without bloody succeeding. My master? It is a dropsied honour: good alone Laf. Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? Is good, without a name; vileness is so: Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. The property by what it is should go, Laf. To what is count's man: count's master is of Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; another style. In these to nature she Is immediate heir, Par. You are too old, sir: let it satisfy you, you are And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, too old. Which challenges itself as honour's born Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which And is not like the sire: honours thrive, title age cannot bring thee. When rather from our acts we them derive, Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Than our foregoers. The mere word's a slave, Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries,5 to be a Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave pretty wise fellow: thou didst make tolerable vent of A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, thy travel: it might pass; yet the scarfs, and the banWhere dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb nerets about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from Of honourld bones indeed. What should be said? believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have If thou canst like this creature as a maid, now found thee: when I lose thee again, I care not; I can create the rest. Virtue, and she yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and that Is her own dower; honour, and wealth from me. thou'rt scarce worth. Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive thee,to choose. Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, I am glad. hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee Let the rest go. for a hen! So, my good window of lattice fare thee King. My honour's at the stake, which to defend,' well: thy casement I need not open, for I look through I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, thee. Give me thy hand. Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift, Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. That dost in vile misprision shackle up Laf. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy My love,, and her desert; that canst not dream of it. We, poising us in her defective scale, Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know Laf. Yes, good faith, every drachm of it; and I will It is in us to plant thine honour, where not bate thee a scruple. We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt: Par. Well, I shall be wiser. Obey our will, which travails in thy good: Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull Believe not thy disdain, but presently at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound Do thine own fortunes that obedient right, in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims, be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my Or I will throw thee from my care for ever acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that Into the staggers, and the careless lapse I may say, in the default, he is a man I know. Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate, Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexaLoosing upon thee in the name of justice, tion. Without all terms of pity. Speak: thine answer. Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my I Not in f. e. 2 swell us. 3 defeat: in f. e. 4 The old copies: borne. 5 Dining in your company twice. SCENE IV. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 241 poor doing eternal: for doing I am past, as I will by Par. Why, these balls bound; there s noise in it; thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [Exit.'t is hard. Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace A young man married is a man that's marr'd: off me, scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!-Well I must Therefore away, and leave her: bravely go; be patient: there is no fettering of authority. I'11 beat The king has done you wrong; but, hush! It is so. him, by my life, if I can meet him with any conve- [Exeunt. nience, an he were double and double a lord. I 711 have *, <1' 1 T 161 {-7 1 r. T m ^ SCENE IV. The Same. Another Room mn the Same. no more pity of his age, than I would have of-I I11 beate ae. Anoter him: an if I could but meet him again. Enter HELENA and Clown. Re-enter LAFEU. Hel. My mother greets me kindly: is she well? Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health: Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master Is married: there s she very merry; but et she is not well: but thanks news for you; you have a new mistress. she very merry but Yet she is not well: but thanks news for you; you have a new mistress. be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' the Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to world; but yet she is not well. make some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's lord; whom I serve above is my master. not very well? Laf. Who? God? Clo. Truly, she Is very well indeed, but for two things. Par. Ay, sir. Hel. What two things? Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost Clo. One, that she s not in heaven, whither God thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose send her quickly! the other, that she s in earth, from of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best whence God send her quickly set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine Enter PAROLIES. honour, if I were but two hours younger I'd beat thee: p. Bless you, my fortunate lady! methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man Itel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men own good fortunes. to breathe themselves upon thee. Par. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. keep them on, have them still.-O, my knave'! How Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking does my old lady? a kernel out of a pomegranate: you are a vagabond, Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, and no true traveller. You are more saucy with lords I would she did as you say. and honourable personages, than the condition1 of your Par. Why, I say nothing. birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not C. Marry, you are the wiser man: for many a worth another word, else I Id call you knave. I leave mans tongue shakes out his master's undoing. To say you. [Exit. nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have Enter BERTRAM. nothing, is to be a great part of your title, which is Par. Good, very good; it is so then:-good, very within a very little of nothing. good. Let it be concealed a while. Par. Away! thou'rt a knave. Ber. Undone and forfeited to cares for ever Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt Par. What is the matter, sweetheart? a knave; that is, before me thou'rt a knave: this had Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, been truth, sir. I will not bed her. Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool: I have found thee. Par. What? what, sweet heart? Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you Ber. 0, my Parolles, they have married me! taught to find me? I 11 to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. Par. Go to, I say: I have found thee: no more; I Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits found thee, a witty fool.2 The tread of a man's foot. To the wars! Clo. The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool Ber. There Is letters from my mother: what the im- may you find in you, even to the worlds pleasure, and port is, the increase of laughter. I know not yet. Par. A good knave, i faith, and well fel.Par. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my Madam, my lord will go away to-night; boy! to the wars! A very serious business calls on him. He wears his honour in a box, unseen, The great prerogative and rite of love, That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home, Which as your due time claims, he does acknowledge, Spending his manly marrow in her arms But puts it off to3 a compelled restraint; Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions! Which they distil now in the curbed time France is a stable; we, that dwell in't, jades; To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, Therefore, to the wars! And pleasure drown the brim. Ber. It shall be so: I'll send her to my house, Hel. What's his will else? Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the king, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king And make this haste as your own good proceeding, That which I durst not speak. His present gift Strengthen'd with what apology you think Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, May make it probable need. Where noble fellows strike. Wax is no strife Hel. What more commands he? To the dark house, and the detested wife. Par. That having this obtain'd, you presently Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure? Attend his further pleasure. Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. I'11 send her straight away: to-morrow Par. I shall report it so. I'11 to the wars, she to her single sorrow. Hel. I pray you.-Come, sirrah. [Exeunt. 1 commission: in f. e. 2 This speech is not in f. e. 3 Owing to. 16 242 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT III. Ber. I think so. SCENE V.-Another Room in the Same. Pr. h Par. Why, do you not know him? Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM. Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. soldier. Enter HELENA. Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. Spoke with the king, and have procured his leave Ber. And by other warranted testimony. For present parting; only he desires Laf. Then my dial goes not true. I took this lark Some private speech with you. for a bunting. Ber. I shall obey his will. Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in You must not marvel, Helen, at my course knowledge, and accordingly valiant. Which holds not colour with the time, nor does Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, and The ministration and required office transgressed against his valour; and my state that way On my particular: prepar'd I was not is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to For such a business; therefore am I found repent. Here he comes. I pray you: make us friends: So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you I will pursue the amity. That presently you take your way for home; Enter PAROLLES. And rather muse than ask why I entreat you, Par. [To BERTRAM.] These things shall be done, sir. For my respects are better than they seem Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? And my appointments have in them a need, Par. Sir? Greater than shows itself, at the first view, Laf. O! I know him well. Ay, sir; he, sir, is a To you that know them not. This to my mother. good workman, a very good tailor. [Giving a letter. Ber. [Aside to PAROLLES.] Is she gone to the king?'T will be two days ere I shall see you: so, Par. She is. I leave you to your wisdom. Ber. Will she away to-night? Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, Par. As you'11 have her. But that I am your most obedient servant. Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Ber. Come, come, no more of that. Given order for our horses; and to-night, Hel. And ever shall lWhen I should take possession of the bride, With true observance seek to eke out that. End', ere I do begin. Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end To equal my great fortune. of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds and uses a Ber. Let that go known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should My haste is very great. Farewell: hie home. be once heard, and thrice beaten.-God save you, Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. captain. Ber. Well, what would you say? Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;3 you, monsieur? Nor dare I say,'t is mine, and yet it is, Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my But, like a timorous thief. most fain would steal lord's displeasure. What law does vouch mine own. Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and Ber. What would you have? spurs ahd all, like him that reaped into the custarda Hel. Something, and scarce so much:-nothing, and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer ques- indeed.tion for your residence. I would not tell you what I would, my lord-'faith. Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. yes;Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of Ber. I pray you stay not, but in haste to horse. me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the soul Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of Where are my other men? monsieur, farewell.4 [Exit. heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and Ber. Go thou toward home; where I will never come know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur: I have Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum.spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at Away! and for our flight. my hand: but we must do good against evil. [Exit. Par. Bravely, coragio! [Exeunt. Par. An idle lord, I swear. ACT III. -SCENE I.-Florence. A Room in the DUKE'S Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, SCENE I.-Florence. A Room in the DUKES o tr afer And more thirsts after. I s Paleh aceo.F c 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel. Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, attended; Upon your grace's part; black and fearful two Frenchmen and Soldiers. On the opposer. Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you Duke. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France heard Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom The fundamental reasons of this war, Against our borrowing prayers. I f. e.: And. The change is also found in Lord F. Egerton's MS. annotated copy of the first folio. 2 A frequent exploit of the fool at great entertainments. A custard was a dish in great request, and therefore large. 3 Own. 4 Mod. eds. give this line to Bertram. I SOENE It. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 243 Fr. Env. Good, my lord, Fr. Gen. Do not say so. The reasons of our state I cannot yield, Couqt. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gentle But like a common and an outward man, men,That the great figure of a council frames I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, By self-unable motion: therefore, dare not That the first face of neither, on the start, Say what I think of it, since I have found Can woman me unto't:-where is my son, I pray you? Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail Fr. Gen. Madam, he Is gone to serve the duke of As often as I guessed. Florence: Duke. Be it his pleasure. We met him thitherward; for thence we came, Fr. Gent. But I am sure, the younger of our nature, And, after some despatch in hand at court, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Thither we bend again. Come here for physic. Hel. Look on his letter, madam: here's my passDuke. Welcome shall they be, port. And all the honours that can fly from us [Reads.] i" When thou canst get the ring upon my Shall on them settle. You know your places well; finger, which never shall come off, and show me When better fall, for your avails they fell. a child begotten of thy body, that I am father To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. to, then call me husband: but in such a then I write a never." SCENE II.-Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS his is a deadful sentence. Palace. r~Pal~ace.~ ~Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? Enter COUNTESS and Clown. Fr. Env. Ay, madam; Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, And for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. save that he comes not along with her. Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a If thou engrossest all the griefs as3 thine. very melancholy man. Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son, Count. By what observance, I pray you? But I do wash his name out of my blood, Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he? mend his ruff1, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick Fr. Gen. Ay, madam. his teeth, and sing. I know a man that had this trick Count. And to be a soldier? of melancholy, sold2 a goodly manor for a song. Fr. Gen. Such is his noble purpose and, believe It, Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he The duke will lay upon him all the honour means to come. [Opening a letter. That good convenience claims. Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court. Count. Return you thither? Our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing Fr. Env. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court; the speed. brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to Hel. [Reads.] "Till I have no wife, I have nothing love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. in France." Count. What have we here?'T is bitter. Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. Count. Find you that there? Count. [Reads.] "I have sent you a daughter-in-law: Hel. Ay, madam. she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have Fr. Env.'T is but the boldness of his hand, haply, wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the Which his heart was not consenting to. not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away: know it Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! before the report come. If there be breadth enough in There's nothing here that is too good for him, the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. But only she; and she deserves a lord, "Your unfortunate son, That twenty such rude boys might tend upon,': BERTRAM." And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? This is not well: rash and unbridled boy, Fr. Env. A servant only, and a gentleman To fly the favours of so good a king! Which I have some time known. To pluck his indignation on thy head, Count. Parolles, was it not? By the misprizing of a maid, too virtuous Fr. Env. Ay, my good lady, he. For the contempt of empire! Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedRe-enter Clown. ness. Clo. 0 madam! yonder is heavy news within, be- My son corrupts a well-derived nature tween two soldiers and my young lady. With his inducement. Count. What is the matter? Fr. Env. Indeed, good lady, Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some The fellow has a deal of that too much, comfort: your son will not be killed so soon as I Which'hoves' him much to leave.5 thought he would. Count. Y' are welcome, gentlemen. Count. Why should he be killed? I will entreat you, when you see my son, Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away. as I hear he To tell him, that his sword can never win does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of The honour that he loses: more I'11 entreat you men, though it be the getting of children. Here they Written to bear along. come will tell you more for my part, I only hear your Fr. Gen. We serve you, madam, son was run away. [Exit Clown. In that and all your worthiest affairs. Enter HELENA and two French Gentlemen. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Fr. Env. Save you, good madam. Will you draw near? Hel. Madam, my lord is gone; for ever gone. [Exeunt COUNTESS and French Gentlemen I The top of the loose boot which turned over was called the ruff. or ruffle. 2 Old copies: hold; which Knight retains, understanding song as the tenure by which it was held. 3 are: in f. e. 4 holds: in f. e. 5 have: in f. e. 244 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT III. Hel. " Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France." He is too good and fair for death and me Nothing in France, until he las no wife!Whom I myself embrace, to set him free." Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in Frante: Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest Then hast thou all again.. Poor lord! is It I words!That chase thee from thy country, and expose Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, Those tender limbs of thine to the event As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her, Of the non-sparing war? and is it I I could have well diverted her intents, That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Which thus she hath prevented. Was shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Stew. Pardon me. madam: Of smoky muskets? 0! you leaden messengers, If I had given you this at over-night, That ride upon the volant' speed of fire, She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes, Fly with false aim: wound2 the still-piercing' air Pursuit would be but vain. That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord! Count. What angel shall Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive Whoever charges on his forward breast, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, I am the caitiff that do hold him to it; And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath And, though I kill him not, I am the cause Of greatest justice.-Write, write, iinaldo, His death was so effeted. Better t were, To this unworthy husband of his wife: I met the ravening4 lion when he roard Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, With sharp constraint of hunger; better't were That he does weigh too light: ny greatest grief, That all the miseries which nature owes Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon, Despatch the most convenient messenger.Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, As oft it loses all: I will be gone. He will return: and hope I may, that she, My being here it is that holds thee hence:Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Shall I stay here to do't? nno, no although Led hither by pure love. Which of them both The air of paradise did fan the house, Is dearest to me, I have no skill or5 sense And angels offie'd all: I will be gone, To make distinction. —Provide this messenger.That pitiful rumour may report my flight, My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak; To consolate thine ear. Come, night: end, day; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. For with the dark, poor thief, I'11 steal away. [Exit. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Florence. Before the DuKE's Palace. SCENE V.-Without the Walls of Florence. Flourish. Enter the DUIE of Florence, BERTRAM, A tucket' afar off. Enter an old Widow of Florence, PAROLLES, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other Citizens. Duke. The general of our horse thou art: and we, Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence we shall lose all the sight. Upon thy promising fortune. Dia. They say; the French count has done most Ber. Sir, it is honourable service. A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest We'11 strive to bear it for your worthy sake, commander, and that with his own hand he slew the To th' extreme edge of hazard. Duke's brother. We have lost our labour; they are Duke. Then go thou forth, gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, trumpets. As thy auspicious mistress! Mar. Come let Is return again, and suffice ourBer.. This very day, selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name, Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove and no legacy is so rich as honesty. A lover of thy drumn hater of love. [Exeunt. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been SCENE TV. Housillon..A oom in the COUNTESSS solicited by a gentleman his companion. SCENE IV, Rousillon. A Roomin the CUTES. Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: I~Pa~lace.^~ a filthy officer he is in those suggestions7 for the young Enter COUNTESS and her Steward. earl. Beware of them,-Diana; their promises, enticeCount. Alas! and would you take the letter of her? ments, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are Might you not know, she would do as she has done, not the things they go under: many a maid hath been By sending me a letter? Pead it again, seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so Stew. [Reads.]'I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for gone. all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed Ambitious love hath so in me offended with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, to advise you further; but I hope, your own grace will With sainted vow my faults to have amended. keep you where you are, though there were no farther Write, write, that from the bloody course of war, danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. My dearest master, your dear son, may hie: Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far Enter HELENA in the dress of a Pilgrim. His name with zealous fervour sanctify. Wid. I hope so.-Look. here comes a pilgrim: I His taken labours bid him me forgive: know she will lie at my house; thither they send one I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth another. From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, I'11 question her.-God save you, pilgrim! Where death and danger dog the heels of worth: Whither are you bound? violent: in f.. 2 move: in f. e. 3 still-peering: in f.. 4 ravin: in f. e. 5 in: in f. e. 6 Flourishl of a trumpet. Temptations. SCENE VI. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 245 Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand. Dia. That jackanapes with scarfs. Why is he meWhere do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? lancholy? PWid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. Hel. Perchance he Is hurt i' the battle. Hel. Is this the way? Par. Lose our drum! well. Wid. Ay, marry, is It.-Harkyou! [A marchafar off. Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something. Look, he They come this way. has spied us. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, Wid. Marry, hang you! But till the troops come by, lMar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! I will conduct you where you shall be lodged; [Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Officers, and Soldiers. The rather for I think I know your hostess Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring As ample as myself. you Hel. Is it yourself? Where you shall host: of enjoined penitents Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. There's four or five, to great saint Jaques bound, Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Already at my house. Wid. You came, I think, from France? Hel. I humbly thank you. Hel. I did so. Please it this matron, and this gentle maid, WCid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours, To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking That has done worthy service. Shall be for me; and, to requite you farther, Hel. His name, I pray you. I will bestow some precepts of2 this virgin, Dia. The count Rousillon: know you such a one? Worthy the note. Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: Both. We']1 take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. His face I know not. Dis. Whatsoeer he is, SCENE V.-Camp before Florence. Dia. Whatsoe'er lie is) He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, Enter BERTRAM, and the two Frenchmen. As't is reported, for the king had married him Fr. Env. Nay, good my lord, put him to't: let him Against his liking. Think you it is so? have his way. tIel. Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady. Fr. Gent. If your lordship find him not a hilding,3 Dia. There is a gentleman. that serves the count, hold me no more in your respect. Reports but coarsely of her. Fr. Env. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Hel. What's his name? Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in him? Dia. Monsieur Parolles. Fr. Env. Believe it, my lord: in mine own direct Hel. O! I believe with him, knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as In argument of praise, or to the worth my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite Of the great count himself, she is too mean and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner To have her name repeated: all her deserving of no one good quality, worthy your lordship's enterIs a reserved honesty, and that tainment. I have not heard examin'd. Fr. Gent. It were fit you knew him, lest reposing Dia. Alas, poor lady! too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at'T is a hard bondage, to become the wife some great and trusty business in a main danger, fail Of a detesting lord. you. Wid. I write' good creature: wheresoever she is Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her try him. A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. Fr. Gent. None better than to let him fetch off his Hel. How do you mean? drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake May be, the amorous count solicits her to do. In the unlawful purpose. Fr. Env. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sudWid. He does, indeed; denly surprise him: such I will have, whom, I am And brokes with all that can in such a suit sure, he knows not from the enemy. We will bind Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard, but that he is carried into the leaguerC of the adversaIn honestest defence. ries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but Enter with drum and colours, a party of the Florentine your lordship present at his examination, if he do not, army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES. for the promise of his life, and in the highest compullMar. The gods forbid else sion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all Wid. So, now they come.- the intelligence in his power against you, and that That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest sonv with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath,'never That, Escalus. trust my judgment in any thing. Hel. Which is the Frenchman? Fr. Gent. 0! for the love of laughter. let him fetch Dia. He; offs his drum: he says he has a stratagem for It. When That with the plume:'t is a most gallant fellow; your lordship sees the bottom of his success in It, and I would he lov'd his wife. If he were honester, to what metal this counterfeit lump of ores6 will be He were much goodlier; is't not a handsome gentleman? melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainHel. I like him well. ment,7 your inclining cannot be removed. Here he Dia.'T is pity, he is not honest. Yond's that same comes. knave, Enter PAROLLES. That leads him to these places: were I his lady, Fr. Env. O! for the love of laughter, hinder not the I would poison that vile rascal. honour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any Hel. Which is he! hand. 1 Ay, right: in 2d folio. 2 on: in 2d.folio. 3 Low, cowardly fellow. 4 Camp. 5 This word is not in f. e. 6 ore: in f. e. 7 A common phrase, meaning to turn one out of doors. 246 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT III. Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely Fr. Gent. But, you say, she's honest. in your disposition.' Ber. That s all the fault. I spoke with her but once, Fr. Gent. A pox on't! let it go:'t is but a drum. And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, Par. But a drum! Is It but a drum? A drum so By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, lost!-There was an excellent command, to charge in Tokens and letters which she did re-send; with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature: own soldiers! Will you go see her? Fr. Gent. That was not to be blamed in the com- Fr. Gent. With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt. mand of the service: it was a disaster of war that SCENE VII.-Florence. A Room in the Widow's Cssar himself could not have prevented, if he had oee. been there to command. Ber. Well. we cannot greatly condemn our success: Enter HELENA and Widow. some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, it is not to be recovered. I know not how I shall assure you farther, Par. It might have been recovered. But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Ber. It might; but it is not now. Wid. Though my estate be falln, I was well born, Par. It is to be recovered. But that the merit of Nothing acquainted with these businesses, service is seldom attributed to the true and exact per- And would not put my reputation now former, I would have that drum or another, or hicjccet. In any staining act. Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, if Hel. Nor would I wish you. you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this First, give me trust, the count he is my husband, instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will. grace Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot, the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, it, the Duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you Err in bestowing it. what farther becomes his greatness, even to the utmost Wid. I should believe you: syllable of your worthiness. For you have show'd me that, which well approves Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. You are great in fortune. Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. Hel. Take this purse of gold, Par. I'11 about it this evening: and I will presently And let me buy your friendly help thus far, pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my cer- Which I will over-pay, and pay again, tainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and by When I have found it. The count he woos your midnight look to hear farther from me. daughter, Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, gone about it? Resolved to carry her: let her, in fine, consent, Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; As we'11 direct her how't is best to bear it. but the attempt I vow. Now, his important3 blood will nought deny Ber. I know thou art valiant, and to the possibility That she'11 demand: a ring the county wears, of thy soldiership will subscribe for thee. Farewell. That downward hath succeeded in his house Par. I love not many words. [Exit. From son to son, some four or five descents Fr. Env. No more than a fish loves water.-Is not Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire to undertake this business, which he knows is not to To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, be done, damns himself to do, and dares better be Howe'er repented after. damned than to do It? Wid. Now I see Fr. Gent. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: The bottom of your purpose. certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's Hel. You see it lawful then. It is no more, favour, and for a week escape a great deal of discove- But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, ries; but when you find him'out, you have him ever after. Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all In fine, delivers me to fill the time, of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto? Herself most chastely absent. After this, Fr. Env. None in the world, but return with an in- To marry her, I 11 add three thousand crowns vention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies. To what is past already. But we have almost embossed' him, you shall see his Wid. I have yielded. fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, respect, That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, Fr. Gent. We'11 make you some sport with the fox, May prove coherent. Every night he comes, ere we case2 him. He was first smoked by the old With musics of all sorts, and songs composed lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us, me what a sprat you shall find him, which you shall To chide him from our eaves, for he persists see this very night. As if his life lay on't. Fr. Env. I must go look my twigs: he shall be caught. Hlel. Why then, to-night Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, Fr. Gent. As't please your lordship. Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, Fr. Env. I'll leave you. [Exit. And lawful meaning in a lawful act; Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact. The lass I spoke of. But let's about it. [Exeunt. 1 Run him down till he foams at the mouth. 2 Flay. 3 Importunate. CENE nr. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 247 ACT IV. Fr. Env. [Aside.] You shall hear one anon. SCENE I.-Without the Florentine Camp. Pa. A of the enemys! Enter French Envoy, with five or six soldiers in ambush. [Alarum within. Fr. Env. He can come no other way but by this Fr. Env. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. hedge corner. When you sally upon him, speak what All. Cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo. terrible language you will: though you understand it Par. O! ransom, ransom!-Do not hide mine eyes. not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to [They seize and blindfold him. understand him, unless some one among us, whom we 1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. must produce for an interpreter. Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment; 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. And I shall lose my life for want of language. Fr. Env. Art not acquainted with him? knows he [f there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, not thy voice? Italian, or French, let him speak to me: 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. I will discover that which shall undo Fr. Env. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak The Florentine. to us again? 1 Sold. Boskos vauvado:1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me. I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. — Fr. Env. He must think us some band of strangers Kerelybonto.-Sir, i' the adversary's entertainment. Now, he hath a Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore, we Are at thy bosom. must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know Par. 0! what we speak one to another; so we seem to know is 1 Sold. O! pray, pray, pray.to go straight to our purpose: chough's language, gab- Manka revania dulche. ble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, Fr. Env. Oscorbidulchos volivorcho. you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he 1. Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet, comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to And, hoodwinked as thou art, will lead thee on return and swear the lies he forges. [They stand back.' To gather from thee: haply, thou may'st inform Enter PAROLLES. Something to save thy life. Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours It will be Par. 0! let me live, time enough to go home. What shall I say I have And all the secrets of our camp I'11 show; done? It must be a very plausive invention that car- Their force, their purposes: nay, I 11 speak that ries it. They begin to smoke me, and disgraces have Which you will wonder at. of late knocked too often at my door. I find, my 1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully? tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Par. If I do not, damn me. Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the 1 Sold. Acordo linta.reports of my tongue. Come on: thou art granted space. Fr. Env. [Aside.] This is the first truth that e'er [Exit with PAROLLES guarded. thine own tongue was guilty of. Fr. Env. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my broPar. What the devil should move me to undertake ther, the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I muffled, must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in Till we do hear from them. exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it: they will 2 Sold. Captain, I will. say, " Came you off with so little?" and great ones I Fr. Env. Al will betray us all unto ourselves: dare not give. Wherefore? what Is the instance? Inform on that. Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, 2 Sold. So I will, sir. and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you Fr. Env. Till then, I'1 keep him dark, and safely prattle me into these perils. lock'd. [Exeunt. Fr. Env. [Aside.] Is it possible, he should know SCENE.-Florence. A Room in the Widow's what he is, and be that he is? Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. Eter BERTRAM and DIANA. Fr. Env. [Aside.] We cannot afford you so. Ber. They told me that your name was Fontibell. Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say, it was Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. in stratagem. Ber. Titled goddess, Fr. Env. [Aside.]'T would not do. And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. In your fine frame hath love no quality? Fr. Env. [Aside.] Hardly serve. If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window of You are no maiden, but a monument: the citadel- When you are dead, you should be such a one Fr. Env. [Aside.] How deep? As you are now, for you are cold and stone; Par. Thirty fathom. And now you should be as your mother was, Fr. Env. [Aside.] Three great oaths would scarce When your sweet self was got. make that be believed. Dia. She then was honest. Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's: I Ber. So should you be. would swear I recovered it. Dia. No: Not in f. e. stern: in f. e. 248 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT IV. My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As if she sat in's heart: she says, all men As you owe to your wife. I Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me, Ber. No more o' that: When his wife's dead; therefore I'11 lie with him, I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows. When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid3, I was compelled to her; but I love thee Marry that will, I live and die a maid: By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin, Do thee all rights of service. To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit. Din. Ay, so you serve us, SCENE III.-The Florentine Camp. Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, Enter the two French]mene and two or three Soldiers. And mock us with our bareness. Fr. Gent. You have not given him his mother's letter. Ber. How have I sworn? Fr. Env. I have delivered it an hour since: there is Dia.'T is not the many oaths that make the truth, something in It that stings his nature, for on the readBut the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. ing it he changed almost into another man. What is not holy, that we swear not by, Fr. Gent. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, But take the highest to witness: then, pray you, tell me, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, Fr. Env. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty When I did love you ill? this has no holding,. to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but To swear by him, whom I protest to love, you shall let it dwell darkly within you. That I will work against him. Therefore, your oaths Fr. Gent. When you have spoken it, It is dead, and Are words, and poor conditions; but unseald, I am the grave of it. At least, in my opinion. Fr. Env. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman, Ber. Change it, change it. here in Florence, of a most chaste renown, and this Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy, night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himThat you do charge men with. Stand no more off, self made in the unchaste composition. But give thyself unto my sick desires. Fr. Gent. Now. God delay our rebellion: as we are Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever ourselves, what things are we! My love, as it begins, shall so persever. Fr. Env. Merely our own traitors: and as in the Dia. I see, that men make hopes in such a suit' common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal That we'11 forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends, so he Ber. I 11 lend it thee, my dear; but have no power that in this action contrives against his own nobility, To give it from me. in his proper stream o'erflows himself. I Dia. Will you not, my lord? Fr. Gent. Is it not most4 damnable in us. to be trumBer. It is an honour'longing to our house, peters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then Bequeathed down from many ancestors, have his company to-night. Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world Fr. Env. Not till after mridnight, for he is dieted to In me to lose. his hour. Dia. Mine honour s such a ring: Fr. Gent. That approaches apace: I would gladly My chastity s the.jewel of our house, I have him see his companion5 anatomized, that he might Bequeathed down from many ancestors, take a measure of his own judgment, wherein so curiW ehich It were the great-est obloquy i' the world ously he had set this counterfeit. In me to lose. Thus, your own proper wisdom Fr. Env. We will not meddle with him till he come, Brings in the champion, honour, on my part for his presence must be the whip of the other. Against your vain assault. Fr. Gent. In the mean time, what hear you of these Ber. Here, take my ring: wars? My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, Fr. Env. I hear there is an overture of peace. And I'11 be bid by thee. I Fr. Gent. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chanber Fr. Env. What will count Rousillon do then? will window: he travel higher, or return again into France? I'11 order take my mother shall not hear. Fr. Gent. I perceive by this demand you are not Now will I charge you in the band of truth, altogether of his council. When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Fr. Env. Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me. deal of his act. My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them, Fr. Gent. Sir. his wife some two months since fled When back again this ring shall be delivered: from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to saint And on your finger, in the night, I'11 put Jaques le Grand, which holy undertaking with most Another ring: that what in time proceeds austere sanctimony she accomplished; and, there reMay token to the future our past deeds. siding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won to her grief; in fine made a groan of her last breath, A wife of me, though there my hope be none2. and now she sings in heaven. Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Fr. Env. How is this justified? [Exit. Fr. Gent. The stranger6 part of it by her own letters, Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven which make her story true, even to the point of her and me! death: her death itself. which could not be her office You may so in the end, to say, is come, and7 faithfully confirmed by the rector My mother told me just how he would woo, of the place. 1 f. e.: make ropes in such a scarre. 2 done: in f. e. 3 Deceitful. 4 meant: in f. e. 5 company: in f. e. 6 stronger: in f. e, 7was: in f. e SCENE III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 249 Fr. Env. Hath the count all this intelligence? Par. And truly, as I hope to live. Fr. Gent. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point 1 Sold.' First, demand of him how many horse the from point, to the full arming of the verity. duke is strong." What say you to that? Fr. Env. I am heartily sorry that he 711 be glad of this. Par. Five or six thousand: but very weak and unFr. Gent. How mightily, sometimes, we make us serviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the comcomforts of our losses. manders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and Fr. Env. And how mightily, some other times, we credit, and as I hope to live. drown our gain in tears. The great dignity, that his 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be Par. Do: I'll take my sacrament on't, how and encountered with a shame as ample. which way you will. Fr. Gent. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 1 Sold. All s one to him.2 good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if Ber. What a past-saving slave is this our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would Fr. Gent. Y; are deceived, my lord: this is monsieur despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own Enter a Servant. phrase) that had the whole theorick of war in the knot of How now? where Is your master? his scarf, and the practice in the chape3 of his dagger. Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom Fr. Env. I will never trust a man again for keeping he hath taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next his sword clean; nor believe he can have every thing morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters in him by wearing his apparel neatly. of commendations to the king. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Fr. Env. They shall be no more than needful there, Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said,-I will say if they were more than they can commend. true,-or thereabouts, set down,-for I 11 speak truth. Enter BERTRAM. Fr. Gent. He Is very near the truth in this. Fr. Gent. They cannot be too sweet for the king's Ber. But I coni him no thanks for't, in the nature tartness. Here 7s his lordship now.-How now, my he delivers it. lord! is It not after midnight? Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen businesses, 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success: I Par. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth's a truth: have cong'ed with the duke, done my adieu with his the rogues are marvellous poor. nearest, buried a wife, mourned for her, writ to my 1 Sold. " Demand of him, of what strength they lady mother I am returning, entertained my convoy; are a-foot." What say you to that? and between these main parcels of despatch effected Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present many nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio a hundred I have not ended yet. and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Jaques Fr. Env. If the business be of any difficulty, and so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of hundred fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, your lordship. Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each: so that the Ber. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they this counterfeit medal: he has deceived me, like a shale themselves to pieces. double-meaning prophesier. Ber. What shall be done to him? Fr. Env. Bring him forth. [Exeunt Soldiers.] He Fr. Gent. Nothing, but let him have thanks.has sat i' the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have Ber. No matter; his heels have deserved it, in usurp- with the duke. ing his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. " You shall demand Fr. Env. I have told your lordship already; the stocks of him, whether one captain Dumaine be i the camp, carry him. But, to answer you as you would be un- a Frenchman: what his reputation is with the duke, derstood, he weeps, like a wench that had shed her what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or milk. He hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom whether he thinks, it were not possible with wellhe supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remem- weighing sums of gold to corrupt him to a revolt.7 brance, to this very instant disaster of his sitting i' the What say you to this? what do you know of it? stocks, and what think you he hath confessed? Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular Ber. Nothing of me, has he? of the intergatories: demand them singly. Fr. Env. His confession is taken, and it shall be 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumaine? read to his face: if your lordship be in t, as I believe Par. I know him: he was a botcher's'prentice in you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the Re-enter Soldiers, with PARoLLEs. sheriffs fool with child; a dumb innocent; that could Ber. A plague upon him! muffled? he can say no- not say him, nay. [Dumaine lifts up his hand in anger. thing of me: hush! hush! Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though, Fr. Gent. Hoodman' comes!-Portotartarossa. I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures: what will you say 1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's without'em? camp? Par. I will confess what I know without constraint: Par. Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy. if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. Fr. Gent. Nay, look not so upon me we shall hear 1 Sold. Bosko chimurko. of your lordship anon. Fr. Gent. Boblibindo chicurmurco. 1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke? 1 Sold. You are a merciful general.-Our general Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. officer of mine, and writ to me this other day to turn An allusion to blind man's buff. —Knight. 2 f. e. give these words to Bertram. 3 Hook, by which it was attached. 4 Owe. 250 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT TV. him out o7 the band: I think, I have his letter in my more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that pocket. country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place 1 Sold. Marry, we ll search. there called Mile-end,2 to instruct for the doubling of Par. In good sadness, I do not know: either it is files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other letters, this I am not certain. in my tent. Fr. Gent. He hath out-villained villany so far, that 1 Sold. Here'tjis; here's a paper: shall I read it to the rarity redeems him. you? Ber. A pox on him! he Is a cat still. Par. I do not know if it be it, or no. 1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need Ber. Our interpreter does it well. not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. Fr. Gent. Excellently. Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu3 he will sell the fee-simple 1 Sold. [Reads.] " Dian, the count's a fool, and full of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the of gold,"- entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir: that is an for it perpetually. advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, 1 Sold. What Is his brother, the other captain Duto take heed of the allurement of one count Rousillon, maine? a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very ruttish. I Fr. Env. Why does he ask him of me? pray you, sir, put it up again. 1 Sold. What's he? 1 Sold. Nay, I'11 read it first, by your favour. Par. E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether Par. My meaning in t, I protest, was very honest so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, yet count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a his brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. retreat he out-runs any lackey: marry, in coming on Ber. Damnable, both-sides rogue! he has the cramp. 1 Sold. [Reads.] " When he swears oaths, bid him 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake to drop gold, and take it; betray the Florentine? After he scores, he never pays the score: Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count RouHalf won is match well made; match, and well make it: sillon. He ne'er pays after debts; take it before, 1 Sold. I ll whisper with the general, and know And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this. his pleasure. Men are to melll with, boys are not to kiss: Par. [Aside.] I'11 no more drumming; a plague of For count of this, the count Is a fool, I know it, all drums!Only to seem to deserve well, and to Who pays before, but not where he does owe it. beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy "Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who PAROLLES." would have suspected an ambush, where I was taken? Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with 1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. this rhyme in 7s forehead. The general says, you, that have so traitorously disFr. Env. This is your devoted friend, sir; the mani- covered the secrets of your army, and made such pesfold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. tiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and world for no honest use; therefore you must die. now he Is a cat to me. Conme headsman: off with his head. 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by our general's looks, we Par. 0 Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my shall be fain to hang you. death! Par. My life, sir, in any case! not that I am afraid 1 Sold. That shall you; and take your leave of all to die; but that, my offences being many, I would your friends. [Unmuffling him. repent out the remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, So, look about you: know you any here? in a dunge'on, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live. Ber. Good-morrow, noble captain. 1 Sold. We I11 see what may be done, so you confess Fr. Env. God bless you, captain Parolles. freely: therefore, once more to this captain Dumaine. Fr. Gent. God save you, noble captain. You have answered to his reputation with the duke, Fr. Env. Captain, what- greeting will you to my and to his valour: what is his honesty? lord Lafeu? I am for France. Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for Fr. Gent. Good captain, will you give me a copy of rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He pro- the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count fesses not keeping of oaths: in breaking them he is Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'd compel it stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such of you; but fare you well. volubility, that you would think truth were a fool. [Exeunt BERTRAM, Frenchmen, c(c. Drunkenness is his best virtue; for he will be swine- 1 Sold. You are undone, captain: all but your scarf, drunk, and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his that has a knot on't yet. bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions, Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, 1 Sold. If you could find out. a country where but sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that an honest women were, that had received so much shame, you man should not have; what an honest man should might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir; have, he has nothing. I am for France too: we shall speak of you there. [Exit. Fr. Gent. I begin to love him for this. Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A pox'T would burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; upon him! for me he is more and more a cat. But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war? As captain shall: simply the thing I am Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, English tragedians,-to belie him, I will not,-and Let him fear this; for it will come to pass, 1 Meddle, do. 2 A place where the Londoners were often mustered and trained. 3 About eight-pence English. SCENE V. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 251 That every braggart shall be found an ass. Laf.:T was a good lady,'t was a good lady: we maw Rust. sword! cool, blushes! and Parolles. live pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such another Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! herb. There's place and means for every man alive. Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the I 11 after them. [Exit. salad, or, rather the herb of grace. Laf. They are not pot-herbs4, you knave: they are SCENE IV.-Florence. A Room in the Widow's nose-herbs. House. Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA. much skill in grass. Hel. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave, or you, a fool? One of the greatest in the Christian world Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service and a knave Shall be my surety;'fore whose throne,'t is needful, at a man's. Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. Laf. Your distinction? Time was I did him a desired office, Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife and do his Dear almost as his life; which gratitude service. Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth Laf. So you were a knave at his service indeed And answer, thanks. I duly am informed, Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble5, sir, to His grace is at Marseilles, to which place do her service. We have convenient convoy. You must know, Laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knave I am supposed dead: the army breaking, and fool. My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, Clo. At your service. And by the leave of my good lord the king, Laf. No, no, no. We'11 be before our welcome. Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as Wid. Gentle madam, great a prince as you are. You never had a servant, to whose trust Laf. Who's that? a Frenchman? Your business was more welcome. Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an English name6; but his Hel. Nor you, mistress, phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour Laf. What prince is that? To recompense your love: doubt not, but heaven Clo. The black prince, sir; alias, the prince of darkHath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, ness; alias, the devil. As it hath fated her to be my motive, Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not And helper to a husband. But 0, strange men! this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of: That can such sweet use make of what they hate, serve him still. When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved Defiles the pitchy night! so lust doth play a great fire; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a With what it loathes, for that which is away. good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let But more of this hereafter.-You, Diana, the nobility remain in Is court. I am for the house Under my poor instructions, yet must suffer with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for Something in my behalf. pomp to enter: some, that humble themselves, may; Dia. Let death and honesty but the many will be too chill and tender, and they'll Go with your impositions, I am yours be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate, Upon your will to suffer. and the great fire. Hel. Yet I pray you: Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee; But with the world1 the time will bring on summer, and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well looked And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; to, without any tricks. Our waggon is prepar'd, and time reviles2 us: Clo. If I put any tricks upon'em, sir, they shall be " All's well that ends well:" still the fine Is the crown; jades' tricks, which are their own right by the law of Whatever the course, the end is the renown. nature. [Exit. [Exeunt. Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy7. Count. So a' is. My lord, that's gone, made himself SCENE V.-Rousillon. A Room in the COUNTESS's much sport out of him: by his authority he remains Palace. here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness: Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown. and, indeed. he has no place8, but runs where he will. Laf. No, no, no; your son was misled with a snipt- Laf. I like him well;'t is not amiss. And I was taffata fellow there whose villanous saffron3 would about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a death, and that my lord, your son, was upon his return nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had been home, I moved the king, my master, to speak in the alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed humble- both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, bee I speak of. did first propose. His highness hath promised me to do Count. I would I had not known him. It was the it; and to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ever against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does nature had praise for creating: if she had partaken of your ladyship like it? my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother Count. With very much content, my lord; and I I could not have owed her a more rooted love. wish it happily effected. t word: in f. e. 2 revives: in f. e, 3 Saffron was used to color starch, a yellow hue being then fashionable in dress. It was also used to color pie-crust. 4 salad-herbs: in f. e. 5 A short stick, with a fool's head, or a small figure, at the end of it. An inflated bladder was sometimes attached. 6 Old copies: maine. 7 Mischievous. 8 pace: in f. e. 252 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT V. Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as Re-enter Clown. able body as when he numbered thirty: a' will be here Clo. 0, madam! yonder Is my lord your son with a to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intel- patch of velvet on Is face: whether there be a scar ligence hath seldom failed. under it, or no, the velvet knows; but t is a goodly Count. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night: and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. I shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good they meet together. livery of honour; so, belike, is that. Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. might safely be admitted. Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. talk with the young noble soldier. Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, Clo.'Faith, there Is a dozen of'em, with delicate fine I thank my God, it holds yet. hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Marseilles. A Street. SCENE II.-Rousillon. The inner Court of the Enter H:ELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two CouNTrSS's Palace. Attendants. Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, ill-favoured.2 Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it; this letter. I have ere now, sir, been better known to But, since you have made the days and nights as one, you, when I have held familiarity with fiesher clothes; To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and Be bold, you do so grow in my requital smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. As nothing can unroot you. In happy time, Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it Enter a Gentleman, a Stranger.' smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth This man may help me to his majesty's ear, eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the If he would spend his power.-God save you, sir. wind. Gent. And you. Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir: I Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. spake but by a metaphor. Gent. I have been sometimes there. Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, From the report that goes upon your goodness; get thee farther. And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Which lay nice manners by, I put you to Clo. Foh! pr'ythee, stand away: a paper from forThe use of your own virtues, for the which tune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here I shall continue thankful. he comes himself. Gent. What Is your will? Enter LAFEU. Hel. That it will please you Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortunes cat, To give this poor petition to the king, (but not a musk-cat) that has fallen into the unclean And aid me with that store of power you have, fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says. is muddied To come into his presence. [Giving it to him. withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may, for he Gent. The king's not here. looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally Hel. Not here, sir? knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, Gent. Not, indeed: and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown. He hence removed last night, and with more haste Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath Than is his use. cruelly scratched. Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains! Laf. And what would you have me to do?'t is too Hel. All's well that ends well yet, late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit.- the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, I do beseech you, whither is he gone? who of herself is a good lady, and would not hare Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu Whither I am going. for you. Let the justices make you and fortune friends; Hel. I do beseeeh you, sir, I am for other business. Since you are like to see the king before me, Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single Commend the paper to his gracious hand; word. Which, I presume, shall render you no blame, Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall But rather make you thank your pains for it. ha't; save your word. I will come after you, with what good speed Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Our means will make us means. Laf. You beg more than one word, then.-Cox' my Gent. This I 11 do for you. passion! give me your hand.-How does your drum? Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Par. 0, my good lord! you were the first that found Whate'er falls more. —We must to horse again:- me. [thee. Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. Laf. Was 1, in sooth? and I was the first that lost 1 a gentle Astringer: in f. e. 2 This word is not added in f. e. SCENE III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 253 Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of time grace, for you did bring me out. Steals, ere we can effect them. You remember Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me The daughter of this lord. at once both the office of God and the devil? one Ber. Admiringly. brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. My liege, at first [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming I know by his I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart trumpets.-Sirrah, inquire farther after me: I had talk Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, Where the impression of mine eye infixing, you shall eat: go to, follow. Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. Which warp'd the line of every other favour, -The ame. A R7oom in the Scorn'd a fair colour, or expressed it stolen, SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in the COUNTEss s Extended or contracted all proportions, Palace. To a most hideous object. Thence it came, Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, Lords; That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, Gentlemen, Gutards, Ac. Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye King. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem The dust that did offend it. Was made much poorer by it; but your son, King. Well excused: As mad in folly, lacked the sense to know That thou didst love her strikes some scores away Her estimation home. From the great compt. But love, that comes too late, Count. IT is past, my liege; Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, And I beseech your majesty to make it To the great sender turns a sore2 offence, Natural rebellion, done iv the blaze' of youth Crying, that's good that's gone. Our rash faults When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, Make trivial price of serious things we have, O'erbears it, and burns on. Not knowing them, until we know their grave: King. My honour'd lady, Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, I have forgiven and forgotten all, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust; Though my revenges were high bent upon him Our own love, waking, cries to see what Is done,3 And watch'd the time to shoot. While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Laf. This I must say.- Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. But first I beg my pardon,-the young lord Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, The main consents are had; and here we'11 stay Offence of mighty note, but to himself To see our widowers second marriage-day. The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife, Laf. Which better than the first, 0; dear heaven, Whose beauty did astonish the survey bless!4 Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; Or, ere they meet, in me: 0 nature, cease5. Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Come on. my son, in whom my house's name Humbly call'd mistress. Must be digested, give a favour from you, King. Praising what is lost To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, Makes the remembrance dear. - Well, call him That she may quickly come.-By my old beard, hither. And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, We are reeoneil'd, and the first view shall kill Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, All repetition.-Let him not ask our pardon: The last time ere she6 took her leave at court, The nature of his great offence is dead I saw upon her finger. And deeper than oblivion we do bury Ber. Hers it was not. The incensing relies of it: let him approach, King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, A stranger, no offender and inform him, While I was speaking, oft was fastened to t.So't is our will he should. This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit Gentleman. I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Kinig. What says he to your daughter? have you Necessitied to help, that by this token spoke? I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her Laf. All that he is hath reference to your high- Of what should stead her most? ness. Ber. My gracious sovereign, King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, sent me The ring was never hers. That set him high in fame. Count. Son, on my life, Enter BERTRAM. I have seen her wear it; and she reckoned it Laf. He looks well on't. At her life's rate. King. I am not a day of season, Laf. I am sure I saw her wear it. For thou may'st see a sunshine and a hail Ber. You are deceiv'd: my lord, she never saw it. In me at once; but to the brightest beams In Florence was it from a easement thrown me, Distracted clouds give way: so stand thou forth; Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name The time is fair again. Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought Ber. My high repented blames I stood engaged; but when I had subscribed Dear sovereign, pardon to me. To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully King. All is whole; I could not answer in that course of honour Not one word more of the consumed time. As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, Let's take the instant by the forward top, In heavy satisfaction, and would never For we are old, and on our quickest decrees Receive the ring again. 1 blade: in f. e. 2 sour: in f. e. 3 This and the next line are erased by the MS. emendator of the folio, 1632. 4 f. e. assign this and the next line to the Countess. 5 Old copies: cesse. 6 ere I: in f. e. 254 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT V. King. Plutus himself, My suit, as I do understand, you know, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, And therefore know how far I may be pitied, Hath not in nature's mystery more science, Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Than I have in this ring:'t was mine, t was Helen's, Both suffer under this complaint we bring, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know And both shall cease, without your remedy. That you are well acquainted with't yourself, King. Come hither, county6. Do you know these Confess't was hers, and by what rough enforcement women? You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety, Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny That she would never put it from her finger, But that I know them. Do they charge me farther? Unless she gave it to yourself in bed. Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife? Where you have never come, or sent it us [Rising.7 Upon her great disaster. Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. Ber. She never saw it. Dia. If you shall marry, King. Thou speak7st it falsely, as I love mine honour, You give away this hand, and that is mine; And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove You give away myself, which is known mine; That thou art so inhuman,-'t will not prove so;- For I by vow am so embodied yours, And yet I know not:-thou didst hate her deadly, That she which marries you must marry me; And she is dead;-which nothing, but to close Either both, or none. Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, Laf. [To BERTRAM.] Your reputation comes too More than to see this ring.-Take him away.- short for my daughter: you are no husband for her. [Guards seize BERTRAM.. Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, My fore-past proofs, howeler the matter fall, Whom sometime I have laughed with. Let your Shall tax my fears of little vanity, highness Having vainly fear'd too little.-Away with him! Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, We'11 sift this matter farther. Than so to think that I would sink it here. [friend, Ber. If you shall prove King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour, Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Than in my thought it lies. Where yet she never was. [Exit BERTRAM, guarded. Dia. Good my lord, Enter the Gentleman, a Stranger.2 Ask him upon his oath, if he does think King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. He.had not my virginity. Gent. Gracious sovereign, King. What say st thou to her? Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not: Ber. She's impudent, my lord; Here's a petition from a Florentine, And was a common gamester to the camp. Who hath, for four or five removes, come short Dia. He does me wrong, my lord: if I were so, To tender it herself. I undertook it, He might have bought me at a common price: Vanquished thereto by the fair grace and speech Do not believe him. 0! behold this ring, Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, Whose high respect, and rich validity, Is here attending: her business looks in her Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that, With an importing visage; and she told me, He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern If I be one. Your highness with herself. Count. He blushes, and't is his.8 King. [Reads.] " Upon his many protestations to Of six preceding ancestors, that gem marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, Conferred by testament to the sequent issue, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower: Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to That ring's a thousand proofs. him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I King. Methought, you said, follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, 0 You saw one here in court could witness it. king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flour- Dia. I did, my lord, but loth am to produce ishes, and a poor maid is undone. " DIANA CAPILET." So bad an instrument: his name Is Parolles. Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll3 Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. him: for this, I'11 none of him. King. Find him, and bring him hither. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, Ber. What of him? To bring forth this discovery.-Seek these suitors.- He Is quoted for a most perfidious slave, Go speedily, and bring again the count. With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debauched, [Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, Am I or that, or this, for what he'11 utter, Was foully snatch'd. That will speak any thing? Count. Now, justice on the doers! King. She hath that ring of yours. Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded. Ber. I think, she has: certain it is, I lik'd her, King. I wonder, sir, for, wives are monsters to you;4 And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth. And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Yet you desire to marry.-What woman's that? Madding my eagerness with her restraint, Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and DIANA. As all impediments in fancy's course Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Derived from the ancient Capilet: [Kneeling.5 Her infinite cunning,9 with her modern grace, 1 An allusion to the Alchemists. 2 Enter a Gentleman: in f. e. 3 A "toll" was paid for the privilege of selling a horse at a fair. 4 This word is inserted in place of " sir," in Lord F. Egerton's MS. annotated folio, 1623. 5 Not in f. e. 6 count: in f. e. 7 Not in f. e. 8 Old copies: hit (the old form of it). 9 insuit coming: in f. e. __ - -. - - I_41__- - _-T T ~II-hI ii; __I_______ ill ~ liIYL 1 IQkl F IIA i(Iffimmiifit M0\i J,ig~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~i i lii l t'ii~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~l l i i 1 1 1 1 i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~iL~~~~~~ j j /:i~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ il _ _ ~ ~ ~ /i I; iYIi C i il i _ _ All's Well hat Ends Wll. Act V.i/li~ Scen 3. X; FIJI,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I k fill;, JI; 1;1i! 1; 11 1! 1111; 1 i 11$iii i! Hiiii " I; i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TI Qii::~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~'i ii~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A ~~~~ iiilillls W lltht nd Wll.Ac V Sei 3 SCENE III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 255 Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring, King. Who lent it you? And I had that, which any inferior might Dia. It was not lent me neither. At market-price have bought. King. Where did you find it then? Dia. I must be patient: Dia. I found it not. You, that turn'ed off a first so noble wife, King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, May justly diet me. I pray you yet, How could you give it him? (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband) Dia. I never gave it him. Send for your ring; I will return it home Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord: she And give me mine again, goes off and on at pleasure. Ber. I have it not. King. This ring was mine: I gave it his first King. What ring was yours, I pray you? wife. Dia. Sir, much like Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. The same upon your finger. King. Take her away: I do not like her now. King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of To prison with her; and away with him.late. Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. Thou diest within this hour. King. The story then goes false,-you threw it Dia. I'll never tell you. him King. Take her away. Out of a casement. Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. Dia. I have spoke the truth. King. I think thee now some common customer. Enter PAROLLES. Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man,'t was you. Ber. My lord,I do confess, the ring was hers. King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts while? you.- Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty. is this the man you speak of? He knows I am no maid, and he l11 swear to't: Dia. Ay, my lord. I'11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not. King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life! you, I am either maid, or else this old man Is wife. Not fearing the displeasure of your master, [Pointing to LAFEU. (Which, on your just proceeding, I l11 keep off) King. She does abuse our ears. To prison with By him, and by this woman here, what know you? her! Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.-[Exit Widow.] an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, Stay, royal sir: which gentlemen have. The jeweller that owes the ring, is sent for, King. Come, come; to the purpose. Did he love And he shall surety me. But for this lord, this woman? Who hath abused me, as he knows himself, Par.'Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? Though yet he never harmed me, here I quit him. King. How, I pray you? He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd, Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a And at that time he got his wife with child: woman. Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: King. How is that? So there's my riddle, one that's dead is quick; Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. And now behold the meaning. King. As thou art a knave, and no knave.- Re-enter Widow, with HELENA. What an equivocal companion is this! King. Is there no exorcist Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? command. Is It real, that I see? Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty Hel. No, my good lord: orator.'T is but the shadow of a wife you see; Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage? The name, and not the thing. Par.'Faith, I know more than I 711 speak. Ber. Both, both! 0, pardon! [Kneeling.2 King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? Hel. 0! my good lord, when I was like this maid, Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her,- And look you, here's your letter: this it says: for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, When from my finger you can get this ring, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what: yet And are by me with child," &c.-This is done: I was in that credit with them at that time, that I Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this promising her marriage, and things that would derive clearly, [Rising.3 me ill will to speak of: therefore, I will not speak I l11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. what I know. Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou Deadly divorce step between me and you!canst O! my dear mother, do I see you living? Say they are married. But thou art too fine Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon.In thy evidence; therefere, stand aside.- Good Tom Drum, [To PAROLLES.] lend me a handkerThis ring, you say, was yours? chief: so, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I'11 make Dia. Ay, my good lord. sport with thee: let thy courtesies alone, they are King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it scurvy ones. you? King. Let us from point to point this story know, Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. To make the even truth in pleasure flow.f. e. have tund. 2 3 Not in f. e 256 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT V. [To DIANA.] If thou beast yet a fresh uncropped Of that, and all the progress, more and less, flower, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: Choose thou thy husband, and I'11 pay-thy dower; All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, For I can guess. that by thy honest aid The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.- [Flourish. EPILOGUE BY THE KING.' The king's a beggar, now the play is done. With strife to please you, day exceeding day: All is well ended, if this suit be won, Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; That you express content; which we will pay, Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. [Exeunt omnes. 1 This line is not in f. e. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. ORSINO, Duke of Illyria. MALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia. SEBASTIAN Brother to Viola. FABIAN, C~ow}: Servants to Olivia. ANTONIO, a Sea Captain, Friend to Sebastian. Clown, Soervants to Oll;a A Sea Captain, Friend to Viola. VALENTINE ntlemen atnding on th. Duke. OLIVIA, a rich Countess. CURIO, VIOLA in Love with the Duke. Sir TOBY BELCH, Uncle to Olivia. MARIA Olivia's Woman. Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants. SCENE, a City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it. ACT I. SEEtin the Palace. To pay this debt of love but to a brother, SCENE I.-An Apartment Fin the DUKES Palaceg How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Enter DUKE, CURIO, Lords. Music playing. Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else Duke. If music be the food of love, play on: That live in her: when liver, brain, and heart, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, The appetite may sicken, and so die. (Her sweet perfections) with one self king.That strain again;-it had a dying fall: Away, before me to sweet beds of flowers; O! it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,2 Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. That breathes upon a bank of violets, [Exeunt. Stealing, and giving odour.-Enough! no more: SCEE.-The Sea-coast.'[Music ceases.3 SCENE II.-The Sea-coast.,'[Music ceases.?'T is not so sweet now, as it was before. Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors. 0, spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou, Vio. What country, friends, is this? That, notwithstanding thy capacity Cap. This is Illyria, lady. Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? Of what validity: and pitch soe'er, My brother he is in Elysium. But falls into abatement and low price, Perchance, he is not drown'd:-what think you, sailors? Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy, Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd. That it alone is high-fantastical. Vio. 0, my poor brother! and so, perchance, may Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? he be. Duke. What/ Curio? Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance, Cur. The hart. Assure yourself, after our ship did split, Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. When you, and those poor number saved with you, O! when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Methought she ptrged the air of pestilence: Most provident in peril, bind himself That instant was I turned into a hart, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea; E'er since pursue me.5-How now! what news from her? Where, like Arion on' the dolphin's back, Enter VALENTINE. I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, So long as I could see. -But from her handmaid do return this answer:- Vio. For saying so there's gold. The element itself, till seven years' heat, Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Shall not behold her face at ample view; Whereto thy speech serves for authority, But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, The like of him. Know'st thou this country? And water once a day her chamber round Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born, With eye-offending brine: all this, to season Not three hours' travel from this very place. A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh Vio. Who governs here? And lasting in her sad remembrance. Cap. A noble duke, in nature Duke. 0! she that hath a heart of that fine frame, As in name. I Musicians attending: in f. e. 2 The old copies read: sound; Pope made the change. 3 Not in f. e. 4 Value. 5 My thoughts, like hounds, pursue me to my death.-" Daniel's Delia," 1592. 17 258 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT I. Vio. What is his name? Mar. Ay, but he'11 have but a year in all these Cap. Orsino. ducats: he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: Sir To. Fie, that you'11 say so! he plays o' the He was a bachelor then. viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages Cap. And so is now, or was so very late; word for word without book, and hath all the good For but a month ago I went from hence, gifts of nature. And then't was fresh in murmur, (as, you know, 1iar. He hath, indeed.-all most natural: for, besides What great ones do the less will prattle of) that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath Vio. What's she? in quarrelling,'t is thought among the prudent he would Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count quickly have the gift of a grave. That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and subIn the protection of his son, her brother, stractors that say so of him. Who are they? Who shortly also died: for whose dear love, Mlar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly They say, she hath abjur'd the company, in your company. And sight' of men. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece. I'11.Vio. 0! that I serv'd that lady, drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, And might not be delivered to the world; and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a coistril,3 Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, that will not drink to my niece. till his brains turn o' What my estate is. the toe like a parish-top.* What, wench! Castiliano Cap. That were hard to compass, vulgo,5 for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Because she will admit no kind of suit, Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. No, not the duke's. Sir. And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby Belch? Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain, Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew. And though that nature with a beauteous wall Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee Mar. And you too, sir. I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. With this thy fair and outward character. Sir. And. What's that? I pr'ythee, (and I'll pay thee bounteously) Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Conceal me what I am, and be my aid Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acFor such disguise as haply shall become quaintance. The form of my intent. I'11 serve this duke: Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is front her, And speak to him in many sorts of music, board her, woo her, assail her. That will allow me very worth his service. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in What else may hap to time I will commit; this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Only, shape thou thy silence to my wit. MAlar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'11 be: Sir To. An thou let her6 part so. sir Andrew, would When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. thou mightst never draw sword again! Vio.. I thank thee. Lead me on. [Exeunt. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might SEN.-A Room in OLIvIs H. never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you SCENE I!I.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House, have fools in hand? Enter Sir TOBY BELC-H, and MARIA. Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy hand. to life. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring Mar. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your exceptions to your ill hours. metaphor? Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. It's dry,7 sir. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the Sir And. Why, I think so: I am not such an ass, but modest limits of order. I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? Sir To. Confine? I'11 confine myself no finer than Mllar. A dry jest, sir. I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and Sir And. Are you full of them? so be these boots too: an they be not, let them hang liar. Ay. sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: mar. themselves in their own straps. ry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit MARIA. flMar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I Sir To. 0 knight! thou lack'st a cup of canary. heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish When did I see thee so put down? knight, that you brought in one night here to be her Sir And. Never in your life,I think; unless you see wooer. canary put me down. Methinks, sometimes I have no Sir. To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has; Mar. Ay, he. but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does Sir To. He's as tall2 a man as any's in Illyria. harm to my wit. Mar. What's that to the purpose? Sir To. No question. Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'11 year. ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. 1 Old eds.: sight, and company. 2 Fine, brave. 3 From kestrel, a mongrel kind of hawk. 4 A large top was formerly kept in parishes or towns, for the use of the public. 5 Sir Toby's mistake, says Yerplanck, for volto-Put on a grave face. 6 This word is not in f. e. 7 This was considered a sign of debility. SCENE V. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 259 Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight? Thou know'st no less but all: I have unclasp'd Sir And. What is pourquoi? do or not do? I would To thee the book even of my secret soul; I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her: in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. 0, had I but Be not denied access, stand at her doors, followed the arts! And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, Sir To. Then hadst thou an excellent head of hair. Till thou have audience. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Vio. Sure, my noble lord, Sir To. Past question; for, thou seest, it will not If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow, curl by nature. As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does It not? Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Sir To. Excellent: it hangs like flax on a distaff, Rather than make unprofited return. and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her Vio. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? legs, and spin it off. Duke. 0! then unfold the passion of my love; Sir And.'Faith, I'11 home to-morrow, Sir Toby: Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to It shall become thee well to act my woes; one she'11 none of me. The count himself, here hard She will attend it better in thy youth, by, woos her. Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. Sir To. She'II none o' the count: she'll not match Vio. I think not so, my lord. above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I Duke. Dear lad, believe it, have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. For they shall yet belie thy happy years, Sir And. I'11 stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' That say thou art a man: Diana's lip the strangest mind i' the world: I delight in masques Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe and revels sometimes altogether. Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? And all is semblative a woman's part. Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, I know, thy constellation is right apt under the degree of my betters: and yet I will not For this affair.-Some four, or five, attend him; compare with an old man. All, if you will, for I myself am best, Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard,' knight? When least in company.-Prosper well in this, Sir And.'Faith, I can cut a caper. And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. To call his fortunes thine. Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply Vio. I'll do my best, as strong as any man in Illyria. [Dances fantastically.2 To woo your lady: [Aside.] yet, O,10 barful" strife! Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt. have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Malls3 picture? why dostENE A Room OLIIA House thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in Enter MARIA, and Clown. a coranto?4 My very walk should be a jig: I would Mar. Nay; either tell me where thou hast been, or not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace.5 I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy I did think, by the.excellent constitution of thy leg, it absence. was formed under the star of a galliard. Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in Sir And. Ay, t is strong, and it does indifferent well this world needs to fear no colours. in a dun-coloured6 stock. Shall we set about some revels? Mar. Make that good. Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born Clo. He shall see none to fear. under Taurus? Mar. A good lenten answer, I can tell thee where Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart.7 that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Sir To. No. sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? thee caper. [Sir AND. dances again.]8 Ha! higher: Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say ha. ha!-excellent! [Exeunt. in your foolery. SCENET I-A Rm in th D s P Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and SCENE IV.-A Room in the DuKE's Palace. 7 I those that are fools, let them use their talents. Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire. Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long abVal. If the duke continue these favours towards you, sent: or. to be turned away, is not that as good as a Cesario, you are like to be much advanced: he hath hanging to you? known you but three days, and already you are no Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; stranger. and for turning away, let summer bear it out. Vio. You either fear his humour or my negligence, Mar. You are resolute then? that you call in question the continuance of his love. Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points.'2 Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if Val. No, believe me. both break, your gaskinsl3 fall. Enter DUKE, CURIO, and Attendants. Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go thy Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. way: if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more on that. Here Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. [Curio, e't. retire.9 comes my lady: make your excuse wisely; you were -Cesario, best. [Exit. 1 A quick, lively dance. 2 Not in f. e. 3 Mary Frith, a great notoriety of the time, who went about in male attire; a wood cut of her may be found prefixed to "The Roaring Girl," in Dodsley'sOld Plays, Vol.VI.. and in the Pictorial Shakspere. 4 Quick dance for two persons. 5 The name of a dance, the measures whereof are regulated by the number five.-Sir John Hawkins. c flame-coloured: in f. e. I An allusion to the representation of man, and the signs of the zodiac in old almanacs. s 9 Not in f. e. 10 a: in f. e. "lFull of bars or impediments. 12 13 Points were strings to hold up the gaskins or hose, 260 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT I. Enter OLIVIA, and MALVOLIO. Re-enter MARIA. Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleThose wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove man much desires to speak with you. fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee may pass for a Oi. From the count Orsino, is it? wise man: for what says Quinapalus? Better a witty Mar. I know not, madam: It is a fair young man, fool, than a foolish wit.-God bless thee, lady! and well attended. Oli. Take the fool away. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. lady. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you: he speaks nothing Oli Go to, you Ire a dry fool; I 11 no more of you: but madman. Fie on him! [Exit MARIA.] Go you, besides, you grow dishonest. Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good coun- not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit MALsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the VOLlO.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself, and people dislike it. if he mend, he is no longer dishonest: if he cannot, Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy let the botcher mend him. Any thing that Is mended eldest son should be a fool, whose skull Jove cram with is but patched: virtue that transgresses is but patched brains; for here comes one of thy kin, that has a most with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with weak pia mater. virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; Enter Sir TOBY BELCH. if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at cuckold but calamity, so beauty is a flower.-The lady the gate, cousin? bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take Sir To. A gentleman. her away. Oli. A gentleman! What gentleman? Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Sir To.'T is a gentleman here.-A plague o' these Clo. Misprision in the highest degree!-Lady, cu- pickle-herrings!-How now, sot? cullus non facit monachum: that's as much as to say, Clo. Good sir Toby,I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by me leave to prove you a fool. this lethargy? Oli. Can you do it? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna. the gate. Oli. Make your proof. Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will; I care not: my mouse of virtue, answer me. give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness I'1l bide Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? your proof. Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. mads him, and a third drowns him. Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna. Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. o0 my coz, for he's in the third degree of drink; he's Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your drown'ed: go, look after him. brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall gentlemen. look to the madman. [Exit Clown. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he Re-enter MALVOLIO. not mend? Mal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake speak with you. I told him you were sick: he takes him: infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to the better fool. speak with you. I told him you were asleep: he seems Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, that I am no fox, but he will not pass his word for two- lady? he's fortified against any denial. pence that you are no fool. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Ol. How say you to that, Malvolio? Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'11 stand Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such at your door like a sheriff's post,1 or2 be the supporter a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day to a bench, but he'll speak with you. with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a Oli. What kind of man is he? stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already: Mal. Why, of man kind. unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is Oli. What manner of man? gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow Mal. Of very ill manner: he'll speak with you, will so at these set kind of fools, to be no better than the you, or no. fools' zanies. Oli. Of what personage, and years is he? Oli. 0, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless. enough for a boy; as a squash3 is before It is a peascod, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird- or a codling when't is almost an apple:'t is with him bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets. There is no e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly: rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of he do nothing but reprove. him. Clo. Now, Mercury endue thee with leasing for thou Oli. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman. speakest well of fools. Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. 1 A post at the door of a sheriff, to which proclamations and placards were affixed. 2 and: in f. e. 3 An unripe pod. SCENE V. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 261 Re-enter MARIA. negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face. but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picWe ll once more hear Orsino's embassy. ture. Look you, sir; such a one I am at this preEnter VIOLA. sent4: is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will? Oli.'T is in grain, sir: It will endure wind and Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable weather. beauty,-I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the Vio.'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good If you will lead these graces to the grave, beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptiblel And leave the world no copy. even to the least sinister usage. Oli. O! sir, I will not be so hard-hearted. I will Oli. Whence came you, sir? give out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and inventoried, and every particle, and utensil, labelled that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give to my will; as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one that I may proceed in my speech. chin and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. I see what you are: you are too proud; Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very But, if you were the devil, you are fair. fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are My lord and master loves you: 0! such love you the lady of the house? Should be but recompens'd, though you were crowned Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. The nonpareil of beauty! Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp Oli. — How does he love me? yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to Vio. With adorations, fertile tears, reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. with my speech in your praise, and then show you the Oli. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love heart of my message. him: Oli. Come to what is important in It: I forgive you Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, the praise. Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; Vio. Alas! I took great pains to study it, and t is In voices well divulgpd, free, learnsd, and veliant, poetical. And in dimension, and the shape of nature, Oli. It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you, A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him. keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates, and He might have took his answer long ago. allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have With such a suffering, such a deadly life, reason, be brief:'t is not that time of moon with me In your denial I would find no sense: to make one in so skipping a dialogue. I would not understand it. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Oli. Why, what would you? Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull2 here a little Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, longer.-Some mollification for your giant3, sweet lady. And call upon my soul within the house; Tell me your mind: I am a messenger. Write loyal cantons5 of contemned love, Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, office. And make the babbling gossip of the air Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over- Cry out. Olivia! O! you should not rest ture of war, no taxation of homage. I hold the olive Between the elements of air and earth, in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter. But you should pity me. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what Oli. You might do much. What is your parentage? would you? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well Vio. The rudeness that hath appearld in me, have I I am a gentleman. learn'd from my entertainment. What I am. and Oli. Get you to your lord: what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your I cannot love him. Let him send no more, ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. Unless, perchance, you come to me again, Oli. Give us the place alone. We will hear this To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, sir; what is your I thank you for your pains. Spend this for me. text? [Offering her purse.6 Vio. Most sweet lady,- Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse: Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said My master, not myself, lacks recompense. of it. Where lies your text? Love make his heart of flint that you shall love, Vio. In Orsino's bosom. And let your fervour, like my master's, be Oli. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom? Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit. Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his Oli. What is your parentage? heart. " Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: Oli.! I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no I am a gentleman.7'-I'11 be sworn thou art: more to say? Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Do give thee five-fold blazon.-Not too fast:-soft! Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to soft! Sensitive. 2.Lie, or remain. 3 An allusion to the wardens of ladies in old romances. 4 I was this present: in f. e. 5 An old word for cantos. 6 Not in f. e. 262 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. AOT n. Unless the master were the man.-How now? Would I, or not: tell him, 11 none of it. Even so quickly may one catch the plague. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, Nor hold him up with hopes: I am not for him. With an invisible and subtle stealth, If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.- I'11 give him reasons for It. Hie thee Malvolio. What, ho! Malvolio.- Mal. Madam, I will. [Exit. Re-enter MALVOLIO. Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find Mal. Here, madam, at your service. Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Oli. Run after that same peevish1 messenger, Fate show thy force: ourselves we do not owe2; The county's man: he left this ring behind him, What is decreed must be, and be this so! [Exit. ACT II. Vio. Even now, sir: on a moderate pace I have SCENE I.-The Sea-coast. since arrived but hither. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir: you might Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourthat I go with you? self. She adds, moreover, that you should put your Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. over me: the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to distemper yours; therefore, I shall crave of you your come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your leave, that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad lord's taking of this: receive it so. recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Vio. She took no4 ring of me!-I'11 none of it. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. Mal. Come, sir; you peevishly threw it to her, and Seb. No,'sooth, sir. My determinate voyage is mere her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth extravagancy; but I perceive in you so excellent a stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me that finds it. [Exit. what I am willing to keep in: therefore, it charges me Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this lady? in manners the rather to express myself. You must Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her! know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, She made good view of me; indeed, so much, which I called Roderigo. My father was that Sebastian That, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he For she did speak in starts distractedly. left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion hour. If the heavens had been pleased, would we had Invites me in this churlish messenger. so ended! but, you, sir, altered that; for some hour None of my lord's ring? why he sent her none. before you took me from the breach of the sea was my I am the man:-if it be so as't is, sister drowned. Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Ant. Alas, the day! Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resem- Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. bled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, How easy is it, for the proper false though I could not with self-estimation wander so far to In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! believe that3; yet thus far I will boldly publish her- Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She For such as we are made, if such we be. is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem How will this fadge5. My master loves her dearly; to drown her remembrance again with more. And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. Seb. O, good Antonio! forgive me your trouble. What will become of this? As I am man, Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me My state is desperate for my master7s love, be your servant. As I am woman, now, alas the day.! Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. 0 time! thou must untangle this, not I; Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; It is too hard a knot for me t' untie. [Exit. and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales SCENE III.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House. of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: fare- Enter Sir TOBY BELCI, and Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. well. [Exit. Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! midnight is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, I have many enemies in Orsino's court, thou know'st — Else would I very shortly see thee there; Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I But, come what may, I do adore thee so, know, to be up late, is to be up late. That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. Sir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, - SENE II.-~A Street. is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following. to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia? elements? 1 Foolish. 2 Own. 3 with such estimable wonder overfar believe that: in f. e. 4 the: in f. e. 5 Suit. 6 diluculo surgere saluberrimum est. An adage quoted in Lily's Latin Grammar. j:/j,,,,,,~ ~l l,,~,t "!, ~ ~,,,,~,,,~! i ~,,,,~,,,l i! 11!tliilit!~1Nil Aliiii jlfjl? 111~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~6 i~~l~w~~i I j 1 it! i''"'''!';iii~~~~~~~ii~~11~!t!~,''~,~' I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ V"j~~II~ii,!Mel nesian II,,, ffmffI.~L,,il?/,,. I~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~'ii'~ I'",,', RI...... j i l~~~~~~~~~~!~~~~~~, l i i l l j~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~j I~~~~~~~ j / l j jjjj I ilj~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ll I j ti,~IIIltF'lil;l ttt~ ~ limits.7 India"~~~~~~ [li ~il j itsel li T -—: A......... ~ii. ili' i~ ~~~_ — ~-.... — ~ ~ ~-~~_~,- ~__._~._~__~__': ~ _ ~~~i~~~~~t ~ ~ ~ ~ I A N D )~E A GUEHEEK TOBY BEL/t NDCLOrN Twelfth Ni~'h~,Act II. Scene SCENE in. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 263 Sir And.'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather Sir And. Good i' faith. Come, begin. consists of eating and drinking. [They sing a catch. Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and Enter MARIA. drink.-Marian, I say!-a stoop of wine! Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If Enter Clown. my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and Sir And. Here comes the fool, i faith. bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Clo. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the Sir To. My lady's a Cataian7' we are politicians; picture of we three?1 Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey8, and " Three merry men Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let Is have a catch. be we.". Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent blood? Tilly-valley, lady! "'There dwelt a man in breast.' I had rather than forty shillings I had such a Babylon, lady, lady!10" [Singing. leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night fooling. when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, passing the equinoctial of Queubus:'t was very good, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy lemon3: hadst it? do it more natural. Clo. I did impeticote thy gratuity: for Malvolio's Sir To. " 0! the twelfth day of December,"nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and [Singing. the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Mar. For the love oG God, peace! Sir And. Excellent! Why this is the best fooling, Enter MALVOLIO. when all is done. Now, a song.Mal. My masters. are you mad? or what are you? Sir To. Come on: there is sixpence for you; let's Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble have a song. like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an Sir And. There's a testril of me, too: if one knight alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your give away sixpence so will I give another: go to a song.4 coziers7' catches without any mitigation or remorse of Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, life? in you? Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. Snick up " SONG. _Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Clo. 0, mistress mine! where are you roaming? lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you 0! stay, for here5 your true love Is coming, as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. That can sing both high and low. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, Trip no farther, pretty sweeting; you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would Journeys end in lovers' meeting, please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to Every wise man's son doth know. bid you farewell. Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith. Sir To. "Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs Sir To. Good, good. be gone."13 [Singing." Clo. What is love?'t is not hereafter; I ar. Nay, good sir Toby. Present mirth hath present laughter; Clo. "His eyes do show his days are almost done." What's to come is still unsure:[Singing.1 In delay there lies no plenty; Mal. Is't even so? Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Sir To. " But I will never die." Youth's a stuff will not endure. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Mal. This is much credit to you. Sir To. A contagious breath. Sir To. " Shall I bid him go?" Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. Clo. " What an if you do?" Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in conta- Sir To. " Shall I bid him go, and spare not?" gion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Clo. "0! no, no, no, no, you dare not." Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw Sir To. Out o) tunel6!-Sir, ye lie. Art any more three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art Sir And. An you love me let Is do't: I am a dog virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?17 at a catch. Clo. Yes, by saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. the mouth too. Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be "Thou Sir To. Thou Irt i the right.-Go, sir: rub your Kna+ve.":6 chain with crumbs8. —A stoop of wine, Maria! Clo.' Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour be constrained in It to call the knave, knight. at any thing more than contempt, you would not give Sir And. IT is not the first time I have constrained means for -this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins, "Hold this hand. [Exit. thy peace. Mar. Go shake your ears. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And.'T were as good a deed as to drink when a 1 A common tavern sign and print, of two fools, with the inscription, "we be three"-the spectator forming the third. 2 Used synonymoasly with voice. a Mistress. 4 f. e. end this speech thus: if one knight give a-" 5 and hear: in f. e. 6 Contained in Ravenscroft's " Deuteromelia," 1609, where the air is given to these words: " Hold thy peace, and Ipr'ythee hold thy peace, Thou knave, thou knave! hold thy peace, thou knave." 7 May mean a sharper or a Chinese. 8 A popular tune. 9 The burden, with variations, as "Three merry boys,: &c.. of several old songs. o1 From the ballad of The Godly arid Constant wyfe, Susannah-a stanza is in Percy's Reliques, Vol. I. 1 Botchers'. 12 The derivation of this is not'known; it means, " Go, and be hanged." 13 The ballad from which this is taken is in Percy's Reliques, Vol. I. 14 15 Not in f. e. 16 So the old copies; Theobald reads: time. 17 These dainties were eaten on Saints' days, greatly to the horror of the Puritans, for whose benefit the passage may have been intended, 18 Stewards wore gold chains, which were cleaned with crumbs. 264 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT I. man's a-hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then, Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, to break promise with him; and make a fool of him. That old and antique song, we heard last night; Sir To. Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge, or Methought, it did relieve my passion much, I 11 deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. More than light airs, and recollected terms, Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night. Since Of these most brisk and giddy-paced tunes5: that youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she Come; but one verse. is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nayword', should sing it. and make him a common recreation, do not think I Duke. Who was it? have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know, I Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord: a fool, that the lady can do it. [him. Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the Sir To. Possess us, possess us: tell us something of house. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Sir And. 0! if I thought that,I d beat him like a dog. [Exit CURIO.-Music again.6 Sir To. What! for" being a Puritan? thy exquisite Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love, [To VIOLA.7 reason, dear knight? In the sweet pangs of it remember me; Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have For such as I am all true lovers are: reason good enough. Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 3lar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing Save in the constant image of the creature constantly, but a time pleaser; an affectioned2 ass, that That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat the best persuaded of himself; so crammed, as he thinks, Where Love is thron'd. with excellences, that it is his ground of faith, that all Duke. Thou dost speak masterly. that look on him love him; and on that vice in him My life upon It, young though thou art, thine eye will my revenge find notable cause to work. Hath stay'd upon some favour8 that it loves; Sir To. What wilt thou do? Hath it not, boy? M1ar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles Vio. A little, by your favour. of love; wherein, by tle colour of his beard, the shape Duke. What kind of woman is t? of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his Vio. Of your complexion. eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years i' most feelingly personated. I can write very like my faith? lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly Vio. About your years, my lord. make distinction of our hands. Duke. Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman take Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. An elder than herself; so wears she to him, Sir And. I have It in my nose, too. So sways she level in her husband's heart: Sir To. He shall think, by the letter that thou wilt For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, drop; that it comes from my niece, and that she is in Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, love with him. More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, 3Iar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Than women's are. Sir And. And your horse, now, would made him an ass. Vio. I think it well, my lord. 31ar. Ass I doubt not. Duke. Then, let thy love be younger than thyself, Sir And. 0! It will be admirable. Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; 1Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic For women are as roses, whose fair flower, will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. fool make a third, where he shall find the letter: ob- Vio. And so they are: alas! that they are so; serve his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and To die, even when they to perfection grow! dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. Re-enter CURIO, and Clown. Sir To. Good night Penthesilea. Duke. 0, fellow! come, the song we had last night.Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred and one that The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, adores me: what o' that? And the free9 maids, that weave their thread with bones, Sir And. I was adored once too. Do use to chaunt it: it is silly sooth, Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send And dallies with the innocence of love, for more money. Like the old age. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul Clo. Are you ready, sir? way out. Duke. Ay, pr'ythee, sing. [Music. Sir To. Send for money, knight: if thou hast her THE SONG. not i the end, call me cut., d Sir And. If I do not, never trust me; take it how Clo. Come awad cme away death you will. And in sad cypress let me be laid; Sir To. Come, come: I'11 go burn some sack,'t is too Fl auay, fly away, breath; late to go to bed now. Come, knight: come, knight. am ain by a fair cruel mad. [ Exeunt. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 0! prepare it: SCENE IV.-A Room in the DUKE;S Palace. My part of death no one so true Enter DUKE, VIOLA. CURIO, and others. Did share it. Duke. Give me some music. [Music.4] —Now, good Not a flower, not a flower sweet, morrow, friends.- On my black coffin let there be strouwn; 1 By-word, a lautghing-stocl. 2 Affected. 3 Curtail horse. 4 Not in f. e. 5 times: in f. e. 6 Music: in f. e. 7 Not in f. e. 8 Countenance. 9 Chaste, pure. SCENE V. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 265 Not a friend, not a friend greet To her in haste: give her this jewel; say, Mypoor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exeunt. A thousand thousand sighs to save, SCENE V.-OLIvIA7s Garden. Lay me, 0! where Sad true lover neverfind my grave, Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, and To weep there. FABIAN. Duke. There's for thy pains. [Giving him money." Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Clo. No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir. Fab. Nay, I'11 come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the nigor another. gardly, rascally sheep-biter come by some notable Duke. I give thee now leave to leave me.2 shame? Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee, and the Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata: for thy out o' favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here. mind is a very opal!-I would have men of such con- Sir To. To anger him, we ll have the bear again, stancy put to sea that their business might be every- and we will fool him black and blue;-shall we not, thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that sir Andrew? always makes a good voyage of nothing.-Farewell. Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. [Exit CLOWN. Enter MARIA. Duke. Let all the rest give place.- Sir To. Here comes the little villain.-How now, [Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. my metal of India?3 Once more, Cesario, Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio s Get thee to yond' same sovereign cruelty: coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the sun, Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour. Prizes not quantity of dirty lands: Observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] But It is that miracle, and queen of gems, Lie thou there; [drops a letter] for here comes the That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA. Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir? Enter MALVOLIO. Duke. I cannot be so answered. ial. IT is but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once Vio. Sooth, but you must. told me, she did affect me; and I have heard herself Say, that some lady, as perhaps there is, come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be Hath for your love as greait a pang of heart one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her: more exalted respect than any one else that follows You tell her so; must she not then be answerd? her. What should I think on t? Duke. There is no woman's sides Sir To. Here Is an over-weening rogue! Can bide the beating of so strong a passion Fab. 0, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey. As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart cock of him: how he jets under his advanced So big to hold so much: they lack retention. plumes! Alas! their love may be call'd appetite, Sir And.'Slight, I could so beat the rogue.No motion of the liver, but the palate, Sir To. Peace,! I say. That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; Mal. To be count Malvolio.But mine is all as hungry as the sea, Sir To. Ah, rogue! And can digest as much. Make no compare Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Between that love a woman can bear me, Sir To. Peace! peace! And that I owe Olivia. Mal. There is example for't: the lady of the Strachy Vie. Ay, but I know — married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Duke. What dost thou know? Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel. Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: Fab. 0, peace! now he's deeply in: look, how imaIn faith, they are as true of heart as we. gination blows him. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitAs it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, ting in my state,I should your lordship. Sir To. 0, for a stone bow4 to hit him in the eye! Duke. And what's her history? Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,- velvet gown, having come from a day-bed, where I But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud have left Olivia sleeping:Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought: Sir To. Fire and brimstone! And, with a green and yellow melancholy, Fab. 0, peace! peace! She sat like patience on a monument Mal. And then to have the honour5 of state; and Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? after a demure travel of regard,-telling them, I know We men may say more, swear more; but, indeed, my place, as I would they should do theirs,-to ask for Our shows are more than will, for still we prove my kinsman TobyMuch in our vows, but little in our love. Sir To. Bolts and shackles! Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Fab. 0, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Vio. T am all the daughters of my father's house, Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, And all the brothers too; and yet I know not.- make out for him. I frown the while; and, perchance, Sir, shall I to this lady? wind up my watch, or play with my-some rich jewel. Duke. Ay, that's the theme. Toby approaches; courtesies there to me. Not in f. e. 2 Give me now leave to aveve thee: in f e. Heart of gold. 4 A bow for throwing stones. 5 humour: in f. e. 266 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT II. Sir To. Shall this fellow live? sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us by th' but 0 does. ears'; yet peace! Fab And 0! shall end, I hope. Mal. I extend my hind to him thus, quenching my Sir To. Ay, or I'11 cudgel him, and make him cry, 0! familiar smile with an austere regard of control. Mal. And then I comes behind. Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might lips then? see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before lMal. Saying,'' Cousin Toby, my fortunes, having cast you. me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech."- Mal. M, 0, A, I:-this simulation is not as the Sir To. What, what? former;-and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow rMal. " You must amend your drunkenness." to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Sir To. Out, scab! Soft! here follows prose.-[Reads.] " If this fall into Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but Mal. " Besides, you waste the treasure of your time be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some with a foolish knight." achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. them. Thy fates open their hands; let thy blood and Mal. "'One sir Andrew." spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what Sir And. I knew't was I; for many do call me fool. thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear Mal. [Seeing the letter.] What employment have we fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants: here? let thy tongue tang arguments of state: put thyself Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee, Sir To. 0. peace! and the spirit of humours inti- that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy mate reading aloud to him! yellow stockings; and wished to see thee ever crossMial. [Taking up the letter.] By my life, this is my gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, lady's hand! these be her very C's, her U's, and her if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a stewT's; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in con- ard still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch tempt of question, her hand. fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter serSir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why that? vices with thee, Mal. [Reads.]' To the unknown beloved, this, and The fortunate-unhappy./ my good wishes:" her very phrases!-By your leave Day-light and champaign6 discovers not more: this is wax.-Soft!-and the impressure her Lucre.ce, with open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I which she uses to seal:'t is my lady. To whom should will baffle sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, this be? I will be point-device7 the very man. I do not now Fab. This wins him, liver and all. fool myself, to let imagination jade me, for every Mal. [Reads.] Jove knows, I love; reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She But who? did commend my yellow stockings of late; she did Lips do not move: praise my leg being cross-gartered; and in this she No man must know." manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injuncu No man must know.' -What follows? the number's tion drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank altered.-" No man must know:' —if this should be my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in thee, Malvolio? yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock2! swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised! lal. [Reads.] " I may command, where I adore; -Here is yet a postscript. [Reads] " Thou canst not But silence, like a Lucrece knife, choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore: love, let it appear in thy smiling: thy smiles become M, O0 A, I, doth sway my life.7 thee well; therefore in my presence still smile, dear Fab. A fustian riddle. my sweet, I pr'ythee."7-Jove, I thank thee.-I will Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. smile: I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. Mal. " M, O A, I, doth sway my life. —Nay, but [Exit. first, let me see,-let me see,-let me see. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a penFab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him! sion of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel3 checks Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. at it! Sir And. So could I too. Mal. "I may command where I adore." Why, she Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such may command me: I serve her; she is my lady. Why, another jest. this is evident to any formal4 capacity. There is no Sir And. Nor I neither. obstruction in this.-And the end,-what should that Enter MARIA. alphabetical position portend? if I could make that Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. resemble something in me.-Softly!-M, 0, A, I.- Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? Sir To. 0! ay, make up that. He is now at a cold Sir And. Or o' mine either? scent. Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip,8 and Fab. Sowter5 will cry upon It, for all this, though it become thy bond-slave? be not as rank as a fox. Sir And. I' faith, or I either? Mleal. M,-Malvolio:-M,-why that begins my Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, name. that when the image of it leaves him he must run mad. Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur Mar. Nay, but say true: does it work upon him? is excellent at faults. Sir To. Like aqua-vitie with a midwife. Mal. M.-But then there is no consonancy in the Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 1 with ears: in f.. 2 Badger. 3 A species of hawk. 4 One in his senses. S The name of a dog. 6 An open country. 7 Exactly. Some game of dice. SCENE I. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WIHAT YOU WILL. 267 mark his first approach before my lady: he will come that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. to her in yellow stockings, and't is a colour she abhors; If you will see it, follow me. and. cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will Sir To. To the gates of Tartarus, thou most excelsmile upon her. which will now be so unsuitable to her lent devil of wit! disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, Sir And. I'11 make one too. [Exeunt. ACT III. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging SCENE I. —OLIVIASs Garden. but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is Enter VIOLA, and Clown playing on pipe and tabor. within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou who you are, and what you would, are out of my live by thy tabor? welkin: I might say element, but the word is overClo. No, sir; I live by the church. worn. [Exit. Vio. Art thou a churchman? Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool, Clo. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by He must observe their mood on whom he jests, the church. The quality of persons, and the time, Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lives by a beggar, Not4 like the haggard5, check at every feather if a beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by That comes before his eye. This is a practice thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. As full of labour as a wise man's art; Clo. You have said, sir-To see this age!-A sen- For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit, tence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how But wise men's folly fall'n quite taints6 their wit. quickly the wrong side may be turned outward! Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW Vio. Nay, that's certain: they, that daily nicely with AGUE-CHEEK. words, may quickly make them wanton. [sir. Sir To. Save you, gentleman. Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, Vio. And you, sir. Vio. Why, man? Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally Vio. Et vous aussi: votre serviteur. with that word, might make my sister wanton. But, Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is them. desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. Vio. Thy reason, man? Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; the list' of my voyage. and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove Sir To. Taste your legs, sir: put them to motion. reason with them. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest understand what you mean by bidding me taste my for nothing. legs. Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance. to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you But we are prevented8. invisible. Enter OLIVIA and MARIA. Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: odours on you! she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier. "Rain are as like husbands, as pilchards are to herrings, the odours!" well. husband's the bigger. I am, indeed, not her fool, but Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your her corrupter of words. own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. Vio. 1 saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Sir And. " Odours," "pregnant,7 and "vouchClo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the safed:- I'11 get'em all three all ready. sun: it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, [Writing in his table-book. but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there. my hearing. [Exeunt Sir ToBY, Sir ANDREW, and MARIA. Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'11 no more with Give me your hand. sir. thee. Hold; there's expenses for thee. [Giving money.2 Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send Oli. What is your name? thee a beard. Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. Vio. By my troth, I'1 tell thee: I am almost sick Oli. My servant, sir?'T was never merry world, for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin. Since lowly feigning was called compliment. Is thy lady within? You're servant to the count Orsino, youth. Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, bring a Cressida to this Troilus.'Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! Vip. I understand you, sir:'t is well begg'd. Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts [Giving more.3 On his behalf.1 Kid. 2 3 Not in f. e. 4 And: in f. e. 5 Wild, untrained hawk. 6 So the old copies, which Tyrwhitt changed to "men, folly-fallen, quite taint." 7 Limit, aim. 8 Anticipated. 9 Not in f. e. 268 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WIIAT YOU WILL. ACT Ir. Oli. O! by your leave, I pray you: Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir Andrew. I bade you never speak again of him; Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours But, would you undertake another suit, to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed I had rather hear you to solicit that upon me: I saw't i' the orchard. Than music from the spheres. Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell Vio. Dear lady,- me that. Oli. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, Sir And. As plain as I see you now. After the last enchantment you did here, Fab. This was a great argument of love in her A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse toward you. Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you. Sir And.'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? Under your hard construction must I sit, Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths To force that on you, in a shamefaced: cunning, of judgment and reason. Which you knew none of yours: what might you think? Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men since Have you not set mine honour at the stake, before Noah was a sailor. And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts [ing Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your sight That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiv- only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, Enough is shown; a cyprus2, not a bosom, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver. Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak. You should then have accosted her, and with some Vio. I pity you. excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have Oli. That Is a degree to love. banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for Vio. No, not a grise3; for It is a vulgar proof, at your hand, and this was baulked: the double gilt of That very oft we pity enemies. this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are Oli. Why, then, methinks, t is time to smile again. now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where 0 world, how apt the poor are to be proud! you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, If one should be a prey, how much the better unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, To fall before the lion, than the wolf? [Clock strikes, either of valour, or policy. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.- Sir And. An't be any way, it must be with valour, Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist5 as a And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, politician. Your wife is like to reap a proper man. Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the There lies your way, due west. basis of valour: challenge me the count's youth to fight Vio. Then westward ho!i with him; hurt him in eleven places,: my niece shall Grace, and good disposition'tend your ladyship. take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no loveYou'11 nothing, madam, to my lord by me? broker in the world can more prevail in man's comOli. Stay: mendation with woman, than report of valour. I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew. Vio. That you do think you are not what you are. Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. him? Vio. Then think you right: I am not what I am. Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst Oli. I would, you were as I would have you be! and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am? and full of invention: taunt him with the license of I wish it might; for now I am your fool. ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be Oli. O! what a deal of scorn looks beautiful amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of In the contempt and anger of his lip! paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon of Ware in England. set'cm down. Go, about it. Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou Cesario, by the roses of the spring, write with a goose-pen, no matter. About it. By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing Sir And. Where shall I find you? I. love thee so, that, maugre all my pride Sir To. We'11 call thee at the cubiculo. Go. Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. [Exit Sir ANDREW. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby. For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two But rather, reason thus with reason fetter: thousand strong, or so. " Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. t iFab. We shall have a rare letter from him; but Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth you'11 not deliver it. I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. Sir To. Never trust me then: and by all means stir And that no woman has; nor never none on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wainShall mistress be of it, save I alone. ropes cannot hale them together. For sir Andrew. if And so adieu, good madam: never more he were opened, and you find so much blood in his Will I my master's tears to you deplore. liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I 11 eat the rest of Oli. Yet come again; for thou, perhaps, may'st move the anatomy.'That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeunt. Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage SCENE I.- A Room in OLIVIA'S House. no great presage of cruelty. Enter MARIA. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine and FABIAN. comes.;Sir And. No, faith, I'11 not stay a jot longer. Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourSir To. Thy reason, dear venom: give thy reason. selves into stitches, follow me. Yond' gull Malvolio is 1 shameful: in f. e. 2 A veil of cyprus or crape. 3 Step. 4 A common phrase, used by the Thames watermen. 5 A sect (afterwards the Independents) much ridiculed by the writers of the time. SCENE IV. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR WHAT YOU WILL. 269 turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Seb. I'l be your purse-bearer and leave you for an Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly, hour. can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. Ant. To the Elephant.He's in yellow stockings. Seb. I do remember. [Exeunt. Sir To. And cross-gartered? Mar. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps aSCENE IV.OLIVIA's Garden. school i' the church.-I have dogged him like his Enter OLIvIA and MARIA. murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that Olh. I have sent after him: he says, he'll come. I dropped to betray him: he does smile his face into How shall I feast him? what bestow of 5 him? more lines than are in the new map, with the aug- For youth is bought more oft, than begged, or borrow'd. mentation of the Indies'. You have not seen such a I speak too loud.thing as't is; I can hardly forbear hurling things at Where is Malvolio?-he is sad, and civil.6 him. I know, my lady will strike him: if she do, And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.h'11l smile, and take't for a great favour. Where is Malvolio? Sir To. Come, bring us; bring us where he is. [Exeunt. Mlar. He Is coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He is sure possess'd, madam. SCEiNE 3III.A-A SAtreet.OI Oli. Why, what's the matter? does he rave? Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO. Mar. No, madam; he does nothing but smile: your Seb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you; ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if he But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, come, for sure the man is tainted in Is wits. I will no farther chide you. Oli. Go call him hither. [Exit MARIA.7]-I am as Ant. I could not stay behind you: my desire, mad as he, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth: If sad and merry madness equal be.And not all love to see you, (though so much, Enter MALVOLIO and MARIA.8 As might have drawn one to a longer voyage) How now, Malvolio? But jealousy what might befall your travel, Mal. Sweet lady, ha, ha! [Smiles ridiculously. Being skilless in these parts: which to a stranger, Oli. Smil'st thou? Unguided, and unfriended, often prove I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. Rough and unhospitable: my willing love, 3al. Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make The rather by these arguments of fear, some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but Set forth in your pursuit. what of that? if it please the eye of one, it is with me Seb. My kind Antonio as the very true sonnet hath it, " Please one, and please I can no other answer make, but, thanks, all.' And thanks, still thanks,2 and very' oft good turns Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay; with thee? But, were my wealth, as is my conscience, firm, Mal. Not black in my mind, though yellow9 in my You should find better dealing. What's to do? legs. It did come to his hands, and commands shall Shall we go see the reliques of this town? be executed: I think we do know the sweet Roman Ant. To-morrow, sir: best first go see your lodging. hand. Seb. I am not weary, and't is long to night. Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes Mal. To bed? ay, sweet-heart, and I 11 come to thee. With the memorials, and the things of fame, Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, That do renown this city. and kiss thy hand so oft? Ant.'Would, you'd pardon me: Mar. How do you, Malvolio? I do not without danger walk these streets. Mal. At your request! Yes; nightingales answer Once, in a sea-fight'gainst the county's galleys daws. I did some service; of such note, indeed, Mlar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answerd. before my lady? Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. Mal. "Be not afraid of greatness:"-'T was well Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature, writ. Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel, Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? Might well have given us bloody argument. Mal. " Some are born great,: — It might have since been answer'd in repaying Oli. Ha? What we took from them; which, for traffick's sake, Mal. " Some achieve greatness.7 — Most of our city did: only myself stood out; Oli. What say'st thou? For which, if I be lapsed in this place, Mal. " And some have greatness thrust upon them," I shall pay dear. Oli. Heaven restore thee! Seb. Do not, then, walk too open. Mal. " Remember, who commended thy yellow Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir here Is my purse. stockings;.In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, Oli. Thy yellow stockings? Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet, Mal. " And wished to see thee cross-gartered.2 Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge, Oli. Cross-gartered? With viewing of the town: there shall you have me. Mal. "' Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest to be Seb. Why I your purse? so:Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy Oli. Am I made? You have desire to purchase; and your store, Mal. I If not, let me see thee a servant still." I think, is not for idle markets, sir. Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. A map engraved for Linschoten's Voyages, a translation of which was published in 1598. A portion, showing its many lines, is engraved in'Knight's Pictorial Shakspere.' 2 The words, "still thanks," are not in f. e. 3 ever: in f. e. 4 worth: in f. e. 5 On G Grave and formal. 7 Not in f. e. 8 Enter MALVOLIO: in f. e. 9 There was an old ballad-tune, called " Black and Yellow." 2T0 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT nI. Enter Servant. Mal. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count things: I am not of your element. You shall know Orsino's is returned. I could hardly entreat him back: more hereafter. [Exit. he attends your ladyship's pleasure. Sir To. Is't possible? Oli. I'11 come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good Maria, Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I could let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin Toby? condemn it as an improbable fiction. Let some of my people have a special care of him. I Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. the device man. [Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA. Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air, Mal. Oh, ho! do you come near me now? no worse and taint. man than sir Toby to look to me? This concurs Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, that Mar. The house will be the quieter. I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to Sir To. Come. we'll have him in a dark room, and that in the letter. " Cast thy humble slough," says bound. My niece is already in the belief that he's she;-" be opposite with a kinsman, surly with ser- mad: we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, and his vants —let thy tongue tang with arguments of state,- penance. till our very pastime, tired out of breath, put thyself into the trick of singularity:'-and conse- prompts us to have mercy on him; at which time, we quently sets down the manner how; as, a sad face, a will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some finder of madmen. But see, but see. sir of note and so forth. I have limed her; but it is Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful. And when Fab. More matter for a May morning. she went away now, "Let this fellow be looked to:" Sir And. Here's the challenge; read it: I warrant, fellow,l not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. there's vinegar and pepper in't. Why, every thing adheres together, that no dram of a Fab. Is't so saucy? scruple, no scruple of a scruple. no obstacle no incred- Sir And. Ay, is t, I warrant him: do but read. ulous or unsafe circumstance-What can be said? Sir To. Give me. [Reads.] "Youth; whatsoever Nothing that can be can come between me and the full thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow." prospect of my hopes. Well. Jove, not I, is the doer Fab. Good, and valiant. of this, and he is to be thanked. Sir To. " Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, Re-enter MARIA, with Sir ToBY BELCH, and FABIAN. why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? for't." If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion Fab. A good note that keeps you from the blow of himself possess him. yet I 11 speak to him. the law. Fab. Here he is, here he is. —How is't with you, sir? Sir To. " Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in my how is't with you, man? sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in thy throat; Mal. Go off; I discard you: let me enjoy my privacy: that is not the matter I challenge thee for." go off. Fab. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense-less. Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Sir To. " I will way-lay thee going home; where, if did not I tell you?-Sir Toby, my lady prays you to it be thy chance to kill me,"have a care of him. Fab. Good. Mal. Ah, ha! does she so? Sir To. " Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain." Sir To. Go to, go to: peace! peace! we must deal Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: good. gently with him; let me alone.-How do you, Malvo- Sir To. " Fare thee well: and God have mercy upon lio? how is't with you? What, man! defy the devil: one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; consider, he's an enemy to mankind. but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy Mal. Do you know what you say? friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy: Mar. La, you! an you speak ill of the devil, how he ANDRE AGUE-CHEEK." If this letter move him not, takes it at heart. Pray God, he be not bewitched! his legs cannot. I'll give It him. Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. Mar. You may have very fit occasion for t: he is 0MIar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morn- now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and ing, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more by depart. than I'll say. Sir To. Go to, sir Andrew: scout me for him at the Mal. How now, mistress? corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailie. So soon as Mar. 0 lord! ever thou seest him, draw, and, as thou drawest, swear Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace: this is not the horrible; for it comes to pass oft, that a terrible oath, way. Do you not see you move him? let me alone with a swaggering accent, sharply twanged off, gives with him. manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the have earned him. Away! fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit. Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost thou, Sir To. Now, will not I deliver his letter; for the chuck? behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of Meal. Sir! good capacity and breeding: his employment between Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! It is his lord and my niece confirms no less; therefore this not for gravity to play at cherry-pit2 with Satan. Hang letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terhim, foul collier! ror in the youth: he will find it comes from a clodpole. Mar. Get him to say his prayers; good sir Toby, get But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth; him to pray. set upon Ague-cheek a notable report of valour, and Mal. My prayers, minx! drive the gentleman, (as, I know, his youth will aptly Mar. No, I warrant you; he will not hear of godliness. receive it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, 1Taken in the old sense of companion. 2 Played by pitching cherry-stones into a hole. SCENE IV. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 271 skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them l Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by both,. that they will kill one another by the look, like this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir TOBY. cockatrices. Vio. Pray you. sir, do you know of this matter? Fab. Here he comes with your niece. Give them Fab. I know, the knight is incensed against you, way, till he take leave, and presently after him. even to a mortal arbitrement, but nothing of the cirSir To. I will meditate the while upon some horrid cumstance more. message for a challenge. Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? [Exeunt Sir TOBy, FABIAN, and MARIA. Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read Re-enter OLIVIA) with VIOLA. him by his form, as you are like to find him in the Oli. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most skilAnd laid mine honour too unchary on't. i ful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly There's something in me that reproves my fault, have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk toBut such a headstrong potent fault it is, wards him? I will make your peace with him, if I That it but mocks reproof. can. Vio. With the same'haviour that your passion bears, Vio. I shall be much bound to you for t: I am one, Go on my masters griefs. that would rather go with sir priest, than sir knight: I Oli. Here; wear this jewel for me:'t is my picture. care not who knows so much of my mettle. [Exeunt. Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you; Re-enter Sir TOBY, with Sir ANDREW hanging back." And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil, I have not What shall you ask of me, that I'11 deny, seen such a firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, That, honour sav'd, may upon asking give? scabbard, and all. and he gives me the stuck in. with Vio. Nothing but this; your true love for my master. such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable; and on the lOli. How with mine honour may I give him that, answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit the Which I have given to you? ground they step on. They say, he has been fencer to Vio. I will acquit you. the Sophy. Oli. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well: Sir And. Pox on t, I'1 not meddle with him. A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. [Exit. Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian Re-enter Sir'ToBY BELCH, and FABIAN.! can scarce hold him yonder. Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. Sir And. Plague on't; an I thought he had been Vio. And you, sir. valiant, and so cunning in fence, I Id have seen him Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't: damned ere I'd have challenged him. Let him let of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I the matter slip, and I'11 give him my horse, grey know not; but thy intercepter, full of despight, bloody Capulet. as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dis- Sir To. I'11 make the motion. Stand here; make a mount thy tuck'; be yare2 in thy preparation, for thy good show on't. This shall end without the perdition assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. of souls. [Aside.] Marry, I'11 ride your horse as well Vio. You mistake, sir: I am sure, no man hath any as I ride you. quarrel to me. My remembrance is very free and Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA, unwillingly.7 clear from any image of offence done to any man. I have his horse [To FAB.] to take up the quarrel. I Sir To. You'11 find it otherwise, I assure you: have persuaded him, the youth Is a devil. therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him: [To Sir you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him TOBY] and pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man his heels. withal. Sir To. There's no remedy, sir: [To VIOLA] he will Vio. I pray you, sir. what is he? fight with you for's oath sake. Marry, he hath betSir To. He is a knight, dubbed with unhatch'd3 ter bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that rapier, and on carpet consideration,4 but he is a devil now scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw for in a private brawl: souls and bodies hath he divorced the supportance of his vow: he protests, he will not three and his incensement at this moment is so im- hurt you. placable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of Vio. [Aside.] Pray God defend me!'A little thing death and sepulchre. Hob, nob,6 is his word; give't, would make me tell them how much I lack of a man. or take't. Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy: the some conduct of the lady: I am no fighter. I have gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one bout heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels purposely with you: he cannot by the duello avoid it; but he on others to taste their valour belike, this is a man l has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, of that quirk. he will not hurt you. Come on; to't. Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out Sir And. Pray God, he keep his [They draw, and of a very competent injury: therefore, get you on, and oath! f give him his desire. Back you shall not to the house, Vio. I do assure you, t is against go r unless you undertake that with me, which with as my will. much safety you might answer him: therefore, on, strip Enter ANTONIO. your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's Ant. Put up your sword.-If this young gentleman certain, or forswear to wear iron about you. Have done offence, I take the fault on me: Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you, If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. do me this courteous office, as to know of the knight Sir To. You, sir? why, what are you? what my offence to him is: it is something of my neg- Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more, ligence, nothing of my purpose. Than you have heard him brag to you he will, 1 Rapier. 2 Nimble, 3 Unhacked, 4 Referring to carpet-knights, or those who were not dubbed on the field of battle, or for service. A A corruption of hap, or ne hap. 6 The words':hanging back," are not in f. e. 7 This word is not added in f. e. 8 Draws: in f. e. 272 TWELFTH NIGIHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT IV. Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you. Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption [Drawing. Inhabits our frail blood. Enter Officers. Ant. 0, heavens themselves! Fab. 07 good sir Toby, hold! here come the officers. 2 Off. Come, sir: I pray you, go. [see here Sir To. I 1ll be with you anon. Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth, that you Vio. Pray, sir; put your sword up, if you please. I snatched one half out of the jaws of death; Sir And. Marry, will I, sir:-and, for that I pro- Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, mised youI 11 be as good as my word. He will bear And to his image, which, methought, did promise you easily. and reins well. Most veritable' worth. did I devotion. 1 Off. This is the man: do thy office. 1 Off. What Is that to us? The time goes by: away! 2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit Ant. But, 0, how vile an idol proves this god!Of count Orsino. Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. Ant. You do mistake me, sir. In nature there's no blemish but the mind; 1 Off. No, sir, no jot: I know your favour well, None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind: Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.- Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil Take him away: he knows I know him well. Are empty trunks, oerflourish'd by the devil. Ant. I must obey.-[To VIOLA.] This comes with 1 Off. The man grows mad: away with him seeking you; Come, come, sir. But there Is no remedy: I shall answer it. Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers, with ANTONIO. What will you do? Now my necessity Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion fly, Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me That he believes himself; so do not I. Much more for what I cannot do for you, Prove true, imagination, 0! prove true, Than what befalls myself. You stand amazTd, That I, dear brother, be now taen for you! But be of comfort. Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian: 2 Off. Come, sir, away. we 11 whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws. Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. Vio. He named Sebastian: I my brother know Vio. What money, sir? Yet living in my glass; even such, and so, For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, In favour was my brother; and he went And part, being prompted by your present trouble, Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, Out of my lean and low ability, For him I imitate. 0! if it prove, I'11 lend you something. My having is not much: Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! [Exit. I 71 make division of my present with you. Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a Hold, there Is half my coffer. coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears, in leaving Ant. Will you deny me now? his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for Is't possible, that my deserts to you his cowardship, ask Fabian. [it. Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery, Fab. A coward, a most devout coward: religious in Lest that it make me so unsound a man, Sir And.'Slid, I'11 after him again, and beat him. As to upbraid you with those kindnesses Sir To. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy That I have done for you. sword. Vio. I know of none; Sir And. An I do not,- [Exit. Nor know I you by voice, or any feature. Fab. Come, let Is see the event. I hate ingratitude more in a man, Sir To. I dare lay any money t will be nothing yet. Than lying vainness, babbling drunkenness, [Exeunt. ACT IV. I vent to her that thou art coming? SCENE I.-The Street before OxIVIA's House. I vent to her that thou art coming Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek3, depart from me. Enter SEBASTIAN and Clown. There Is money for thee: if you tarry longer, Clo. Will you make me believe that I am not sent I shall give worse payment. for you? Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand.-These Seb. Go to, go to; thou art a foolish fellow: wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good Let me be clear of thee. report after fourteen years' purchase.4 Clo. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know Enter Sir ANDREW, Sir TOBY, and FABIAN. you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady to bid you Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's come speak with her; nor your name is not master for you. [Striking SEbASTIAN. Cesario: nor this is not my nose neither.-Nothing, Seb. Why, there Is for thee, and there, and there.that is so, is so. Are all the people mad? [Beating Sir ANDREW. Seb. I pr'ythee vent thy folly somewhere else: Sir To. Hold, sir, or I 11 throw your dagger o'er the Thou know'st not me. house. Clo. Vent my folly! He has heard that word of Clo. This will I tell my lady straight. I would not some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent be in some of your coats for two-pence. [Exit Clown. my folly! I am afraid this great lubberly world2 will Sir To. Come on, sir: hold! [Holding SEBASTIAN. prove a cockney. I pr'ythee now, ungird thy strange- Sir And. Nay, let him alone; I ll go another way ness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall to work with him: I ll 11 have an action of battery 1 venerable: in f. e. 2 this great lubber, the world: in f. e. 3 foolish and merry Greek, were terms applied to jocular persons. 4 This was a high (twelve being the usual) rate of purchase.-Verplanck. SCENE I. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 273 against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas. go to my struck him first; yet it's no matter for that. lady. Seb. Let go thy hand. Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you-go. Come, my man. Talkest thou nothing but of ladies? young soldier, put up your iron: you are well fleshed. Sir To. Well said, master parson. Come on. Mat. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged.Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou Good sir Topas, do not think I am mad: they have now? [Breaking away.' laid me here in hideous darkness. If thou dar'st tempt me farther, draw thy sword. Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee bythe Sir To. What, what! Nay then, I must have an most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones, ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. that will use the devil himself with courtesy. Say'st [They draw andfence.2 thou that house is dark? Enter OLIVIA. Mal. As hell, sir Topas. Oli. Hold, Toby! on thy life, I charge thee, hold! Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows transparent as barSir To. Madam- ricadoes, and the clear stories7 towards the south-north Oli. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch! are lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves obstruction? Where manners ne'er were preach'd. Out of my Mal. I am not mad, sir Topas. I say to you, this sight!- house is dark. Be not offended, dear Cesario.- Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say there is no darkRudesby, be gone!-I pr'ythee, gentle friend, ness but ignorance, in which thou art more puzzled [Exeunt Sir TOBY, Sir ANDREW, and FABIAN. than the Egyptians in their fog. Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway Mal. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though In this uncivil, and unjust extent ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, there was Against thy peace. Go with me to my house: never man thus abused. I am no more mad than And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks you are; make the trial of it in any constant quesThis ruffian hath botch d up, that thou thereby tion. May'st smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go: Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me, wild-fowl? He started one poor heart of mine in thee. Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inSeb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream? habit a bird. Or I am mad, or else this is a dream. Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion? Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; Mal. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve If it be thus to dream. still let me sleep. his opinion. Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee. Would thou'dst be Clo. Fare thee well: remain thou still in darkness. rul'd by me! Thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will Seb. Madam, I will. allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest Oli. 0! say so, and so be. [Exeunt. thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee SCN.,-A well. [Closing the door.8 SCENE I A Rom OLIVIAs House. Mal. Sir Topas! sir Topas!Enter MARIA and Clown. Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas. Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and this Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. beard: make him believe thou art sir Topas, the cu- Mar. Thou mightst have done this without thy rate: do it quickly I'11 call sir Toby the whilst. beard, and gown: he sees thee not. [Exit MARIA. Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me Clo. Well, I'11 put it on, and I will dissemble my- word how thou findest him; I would, we were all well self in't: and I would I were the first that ever dis- rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently delisembled in such a gown. [Putting it on.3] I am not vered, I would he were; for I am now so far in offence tall4 enough to become the function well, nor lean with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety enough to be thought a good student; but to be said this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chaman honest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly ber. [Exeunt Sir TOBY and MARIA. as to say a careful man, and a great scholar. The Clo. "Hey Robin, jolly Robin, competitors5 enter. Tell me how thy lady does."9 [Singing. Enter Sir TOBY BELCHE and MARIA. Mal. Fool! Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. Clo. " My lady is unkind, perdy." Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Mal. Fool! Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said Clo. " Alas, why is she so T? to a niece of king Gorboduc, "That, that is, is;" so I, Mal. Fool, I say. being master parson, am master parson,-for what is Clo. " She loves another"-Who calls ha? that, but that? and is, but is? [Opening the door.10 Sir To. To him, sir Topas. Mail. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at Clo. What, ho! I say.-Peace in this prison. my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper. [Opening a door.6 As I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. for't. Mal. [Within.] Who calls there? Clo. Master Malvolio! Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Mal- Mal. Ay, good fool. volio the lunatic. Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? 1 Not in f. e. 2 Draws: in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. 4 Lustysttout. 5 Confederates. 6 Not in f. e. 7 The clere-story of a church, is the' upper wall above the aisles, having generally a row of windows. 9 Not in f. e. 9 This ballad may be found in Percy's Reliques. 10 Not in. e.1. ~~~~~~~~~~18 274 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT V. Mal. Fool, there was never man so notoriously Like a mad lad, abused: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. Pare thy nails, dad, Clo. But as well? then you are mad, indeed, if you Adieu, goodman drivels. [Exit. be no better in your wits than a fool. Mal. They have here propertied1 me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses! and do all they Enter SEBASTIAN. can to face me out of my wits. Seb. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; Clo. Advise you what you say: the minister is here. This pearl she gave me, I do feel't, and see't; [Speaking as sir Topas.2]-Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits And though't is wonder that enwraps me thus, the heavens restore! endeavour thyself to sleep, and Yet't is not madness. Where Is Antonio then? leave thy vain bibble babble. I could not find him at the Elephant; Mal. Sir Topas,- Yet there he was, and there I found this credit, Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow.- That he did range the town to seek me out. Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b' wi' you, good sir His counsel now might do me golden service: Topas.-Marry, amen.-I will, sir, I will. For though my soul disputes well with my sense, Mial. Fool, fool, fool, I say. That this may be some error, but no madness, Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune shent3 for speaking to you. So far exceed all instance, all discourse, Mal. Good fool, help me to some light, and some That I am ready to distrust mine eyes, paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me man in Illyria. To any other trust but that I am mad: Clo. Well-a-day, that you were, sir! Or else the lady Is mad: yet, if It were so, MIal. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, She could not sway her house, command her followers, paper, and light, and convey what I will set down to Take, and give back, and thus despatch affairs, my lady: it shall advantage thee more than ever the With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, bearing of letter did. As, I perceive, she does. There's something in't, Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit? Enter OLIVIA and a Priest. Mal. Believe me, I am not: I tell thee true. Oli. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, Clo. Nay, I 711 ne'er believe a madman, till I see his Now go with me, and with this holy man, brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. Into the chantry by; there, before him, Mal. Fool, I'11 requite it in the highest degree: I And underneath that consecrated roof, prlythee, be gone. Plight me the full assurance of your faith; Clo. [Singing.]4 I am gone, sir, That my most jealous and too doubtful soul And anon, sir, May live at peace: he shall conceal it, I 11 be with you again, Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, With5 a trice What time we will our celebration keep Like the6 old vice'7 According to my birth.-What do you say? Your need to sustain; Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you, And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. Who with dagger of lath, Oli. Then lead the way, good father; and heavens In his rage and his wrath, so shine, Cries, Ak, ha! to the devil: That they may fairly note this act of mine! [Exeunt. ACT V. O A H s. Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, arnd make an ass SCENE I.-The Street before OLIVIA'S Houe. of me: now, my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so Enter Clown and FABIAN. that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of Fab. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter. myself, and by my friends I am abused; so that, conClo. Good master Fabian grant me another request. elusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make Fab. Any thing. your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my Clo. Do not desire to see this letter, friends, and the better for my foes. Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recompense Duke. Why, this is excellent. desire my dog again. Clo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to Enter DUKE, VIOLA, and Attendants. be one of my friends. Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me: there's Clo. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings. gold. [Giving money.9 Duke. I know thee well: how dost thou, my good Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I fellow? would you could make it another. Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the Duke. O! you give me ill counsel. worse for my friends. Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends. once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. Clo. No, sir, the worse. Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a Duke. How can that be? double dealer: there's another. 1 Taken possession of. 2 Not in f. e. 3 Rebuked. 4 Not in f. e. 6 In: in f. e. 6 To the, ec.: in f. e. 7 A character in the early English drama. 8 devil: in f. e. 9 Not in f. e. SCENE I. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 275 Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the But more of that anon.-Take him aside. old saying is, the third pays for all: the triplet', sir, is Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not have, a good tripping measure; or the bells of St. Bennet, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?sir, may put you in mind-one, two, three. Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at Vio. Madam? this throw: if you will let your lady know I am here Duke. Gracious Olivia,to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it Oli. What do you say, Cesario?-Good my lord,may awake my bounty further. Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I come Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear, that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness; As howling after music. but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will Duke. Still so cruel? awake it anon. [Exit Clown. Oli. Still so constant, lord. Enter ANTONIO and Officers. Duke. What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady, Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars Duke. That face of his I do remember well; My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd, That e'er devotion tender'd. What shall I do? [him. As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war. Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall become A bawbling vessel was he captain of, Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, For shallow draught and bulk unprizable, Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, With which such scathful grapple did he make Kill what I love?3 a savage jealousy, With the most noble bottom of our fleet, That sometimes savours nobly.-But hear me this: That very envy, and the tongue of loss, Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, Cried fame and honour on him.-What's the matter? And that I partly know the instrument 1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, That screws me from my true place in your favour, That took the Phoenix, and her fraught, from Candy; Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still; And this is he, that did the Tiger board, But this your minion, whom, I know, you love, When your young nephew Titus lost his leg. And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, In private brabble did we apprehend him. Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.Vio. He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side, Come boy, with me: my thoughts are ripe in mischief: But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me; I'11 sacrifice the lamb that I do love, I know not what't was, but distraction. To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going. Duke. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies To do you rest a thousand deaths would die. [Following. Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, Oli. Where goes Cesario? Hast made thine enemies? Vio. After him I love, Ant. Orsino, noble sir, More than I love these eyes, more than my life, Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me: More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate, If I do feign, you witnesses above Though, I confess, on base and ground enough Punish my life for tainting of my love! Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: Oli. Ah me! detested? how am I beguild! That most ingrateful boy there, by your side, Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong? From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?Did I redeem: a wreck past hope he was. Call forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant. His life I gave him, and did thereto add Duke. Come away. [To VIOLA. My love, without retention, or restraint, Oli. Whither, my lord?-Cesario, husband, stay. All his in dedication: for his sake, Duke. Husband? Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Oli. Ay, husband: can he that deny? Into the danger of this adverse town; Duke. Her husband, sirrah? Drew to defend him, when he was beset: Vio. No, my lord, not I. Where being apprehended, his false cunning Oli. Alas! it is the baseness of thy fear, (Not meaning to partake with me in danger) That makes thee strangle thy propriety. Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, Fear not, Cesario: take thy fortunes up; And grew a twenty-years-removed thing, Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art While one would wink; denied me mine own purse As great as that thou fear'st.-O, welcome, father! Which I had recommended to his use Re-enter Attendant with the Priest. Not half an hour before. Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, Vio. How can this be? Here to unfold (though lately we intended Duke. When came he to this town? To keep in darkness, what occasion now Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months before, Reveals before't is ripe) what thou dost know, No interim, not a minute's vacancy, Hath newly past between this youth and me. Both day and night did we keep company. Priest. A contract and4 eternal bond of love, Enter OLIVIA and Attendants. Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Duke. Here comes the countess: now heaven walks Attested by the holy close of lips, on earth!- Strengthened by interchangement of your rings; But for thee, fellow; fellow, thy words are madness: And all the ceremony of this compact Three months this youth hath tended upon me; Seal'd in my function, by my testimony: 1 triplex: in f. e. 2 From the Saxon dere, hurt. 3 Thyamis, in the Greek romance, the "Ethiopics" of Heliodorus) translated into |English near the end of the sixteenth century. 4 of: in f. e. 276 TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT V. Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave An apple cleft in two is not more twin I have travelled but two hours. Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? Duke. 0, thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be, Oli. Most wonderful! When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?1 Seb. Do I stand there? I never had a brother; Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, Nor can there be that deity in my nature, That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? Of here and every where. I had a sister, Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet, Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd.Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. [To VIOLA.] Of charity, what kin are you to me? Vio. My lord, I do protest,- What countryman? what name? what parentage? Oli. 0! do not swear:' Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father; Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. Such a Sebastian was my brother too, Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, with his head broken. So went he suited to his watery tomb. Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon! send one If spirits can assume both form and suit, presently to Sir Toby. You come to fright us. Oli. What's the matter? Seb. A spirit I am indeed; Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has But am in that dimension grossly clad, given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of Which from the womb I did participate. God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, at home. I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, Oli. Who has done this, sir Andrew? And say-thrice welcome, drowned Viola! Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario. We Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incar- Seb. And so had mine. dinate. Vie. And died that day, when Viola from her birth Duke. My gentleman, Cesario? Had number'd thirteen years. Sir And. Od's lifelings! here he is.-You broke my Seb. 0! that record is lively in my soul. head for nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to He finished, indeed, his mortal act do't by sir Toby. That day that made my sister thirteen years. Vie. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you: Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both, You drew your sword upon me, without cause; But this my masculine usurp'd attire But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. Do not embrace me, till each circumstance Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, hurt me: I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. That I am Viola: which to confirm, Enter Sir ToBY BELCH, drunk, led by the Clown. I'11 bring you to a captain's in this town, Here comes sir Toby halting: you shall hear more: Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled I was preserved to serve this noble count. you othergates than he did. All the occurrence of my fortune since Duke. How now, gentleman; how is It with you? Hath been between this lady, and this lord. Sir To. That's all one: he has hurt me, and there's Seb. So comes it, lady, [To OLIVIA.] you have been the end on It.-Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot? mistook; Clo. 0! he Is drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone: his But nature to her bias true5 in that. eyes were set at eight in the morning. You would have been contracted to a maid, Sir To. Then he's a rogue, and a passy-measures Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd: pavin.2 I hate a drunken rogue. You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. Oli. Away with him! Who hath made this havoc Duke. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood.with them? If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, Sir And. I'1 help you, sir Toby, because we'11 be I shall have share in this most happy-wreck. dressed together. Boy, [To VIOLA.] thou hast said to me a thousand times, Sir To. Will you help? An ass-head, and a cox- Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. comb, and a knave! a thin-faced knave, a gull! Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear, Oli. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to. And all those swearings keep as true in soul, [Exeunt Clown, Sir TOBY, and Sir ANDREw. As doth that orbed continent, the fire Enter SEBASTIAN (all start3). That severs day from night. Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; Duke. Give me thy hand; But had it been the brother of my blood, And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. I must have done no less with wit and safety. Vie. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action, I do perceive it hath offended you: Is now in durance at Malvolio's suit, Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. We made each other but so late ago. Oli. He shall enlarge him.-Fetch Malvolio hither:Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons; And yet, alas! now I remember me, A natural perspective,4 that is, and is not! They say, poor gentleman, he s much distract. Seb. Antonio! 0, my dear Antonio! A most distracting6 frenzy of mine own How have the hours racked and tortured me, From my remembrance clearly banished his.Since I have lost thee! Re-enter Clown, with a letter. Ant. Sebastian are you? How does he, sirrah? Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the stave's Ant. How have you made division of yourself?- end, as well as a man in his case may do. He has hero 1 Skin. 2 The pavin, or peacock dance, was slow and heavy; the passa mezzo, was a formal step. 3 " all start," not in f. e. 4 A picturepaintedon a board, so cut asato present a different appearance when looked at in front or at the side. 5 drew: in f. e. 6 extracting: in f. o. SCENE I. TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 277 writ a letter to you: I should have given it you to-day Though, I confess, much like the character; morning; but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, But, out of question,'t is Maria's hand: so it skills' not much when they are delivered. And now I do bethink me, it was she Oli. Open it, and read it. First told me thou wast mad; thou5 cam'st in smiling, Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool de- And in such forms which here were preimpos'd6 livers the madman:-[Reads.] " By the Lord, ma- Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content: dam,"- This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee; Oli. How now? art thou mad? But when we know the grounds and authors of it, Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow Of thine own cause. vox. Fab. Good madam, hear me speak; Oli. Pr'ythee, read i' thy right wits. And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come, Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits, Taint the condition of this present hour, is to read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and Which I have wondered at. In hope it shall not, give ear. Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby, Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To FABIAN. Set this device against Malvolio here, Fab. [Reads.] " By the Lord, madam, you wrong Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts me, and the world shall know it: though you have put We had conceived against him. Maria writ me into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule The letter at sir Toby's great importance; over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as In recompense whereof he hath married her. your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, me to the semblance I put on: with the which I doubt May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, not but to do myself much right, or you much shame. If that the injuries be justly weigh'd, Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little That have on both sides past. unthought of, and speak out of my injury. Oli. Alas, poor soul,' how have they baffled thee! " The madly-used MALVOLIO.7 Clo. Why' some are born great, some achieve Oli. Did he write this? greatness. and some have greatness thrust8 upon them.2 Clo. Ay, madam. I was one, sir, in this interlude; one sir Topas, sir; Duke. This savours not much of distraction. but that Is all one. — By the Lord, fool, I am not mad; Oli. See him delivered, Fabian: bring him hither. -But do you remember? " Madam, why laugh you [Exit FABIAN. at such a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagg'd:" My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. To think me as well a sister as a wife, Mal. I 11 be reveng'd on the whole pack of you. [Exit. One day shall crown the alliance, and' so please you, Oli. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. Here at my house, and at my proper cost. Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace. Duke. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer.- He hath not told us of the captain yet; [To VIOLA.] Your master quits you; and for your ser- When that is known and golden time convents, vice done him, A solemn combination shall be made So much against the mettle of your sex, Of our dear souls:-mean time, sweet sister, So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, We will not part from hence.-Cesario, come; And since you call'd me master for so long, For so you shall be, while you are a man, Here is my hand; you shall from this time be But when in other habits you are seen, Your master's mistress. Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Exeunt. Oli. A sister: you are she. Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO,3 with straw about him, Clown sings,9 to pipe and tabor. Duke.as from prison. When that I was and a little tiny boy. Duke. Is this the madman? Oli. Ay, my lord, this same. With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, How now, Malvolio? A foolish thing was but a toy, Mal. Madam, you have done me wrong, For the rain it raineth every day. Notorious wrong. But when I came to man's estate, Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no. With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, Mal. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter: ) Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, You must not now deny it is your hand, For the rain it raineth every day. Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase; Or say,'t is not your seal, nor your invention: But when I came, alas! to wive, You can say none of this. Well, grant it then, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, And tell me, in the modesty of honour, By swaggering could I never thrive, Why you have given me such clear lights of favour, For the rain it raineth every day. Bade me come smiling, and cross-garter'd to you, But when I cme no m be To put on yellow stockings, and to frown With hey, ho, the wind and the rain Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people? With toss-pots still I"0 had drunken head, And, acting this in an obedient hope, For the rain it raineth every day. Why have you sufferld me to be imprison'd, Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, A great while ago the world begun And made the most notorious geck' and gull, With hey, ho, the wind and the rainl That e'er invention played on? tell me why. But that's all one, our play is done, Oli. Alas! Malvolio, this is not my writing, And we'11 strive to please you every day. 1 Signifies. 2 the alliance on't: in f. e. 3 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 4 Object of scorn. 5 then: in f. e. I presuppoaed: in f. e.' fool: in f. e. 8 thrown: in f. e. 9 The rest of this direction not in f. e. lo " I": not in f. e. THE WINTER'S TALE. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. LEONTES, King of Sicilia. An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita. MAMILLIUS, young Prince of Sicilia. Clown, his Son. QAMILLO, Servant to the old Shepherd. ANTIGONUS, lr of Sicilia AUTOLYCUS, a Rogue. CLEOMENES, Los Time, the Chorus. DION, J ROGERO, a Gentleman of Sicilia. HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes. Officers of a Court of Judicature. PERDITA, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione. POLIXENES, King of Bohemia. PAULINA, Wife to Antigonus. FLORIZEL, Prince of Bohemia. EMILIA, a Lady attending the Queen. ARCHIDAMUS, a Lord of Bohemia. MOPA, Shpherdsses. A Mariner. DORCAS, Gaoler. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs, Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &c. SCENE; sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia. ACT I. Arch. I think, there is not in the world either SCENE I.-Sicilia. An Antechamber in LEONTES malice, or matter to alter it. You have an unspeak~Palace.g ~able comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS. gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into Arch. If you should chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, my note. on the like occasion whereon my services are now on Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference him. It is a gallant child; one that, indeed, physics betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. the subject, makes old hearts fresh: they, that went Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their life to Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he see him a man. justly owes him. Arch. Would they else be content to die? Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they we will be justified in our loves; for, indeed,- should desire to live. Cam. Beseech you,- Arch. If the king had no son they would desire to Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my know- live on crutches till he had one. [Exeunt. ledge: we cannot with such magnificence-in so rare A m f e i SCENE II.-The Same. A Room of State in the -I know not what to say.-We will give you sleepy- e alae. drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insuffi- a cience may, though they cannot praise us, as little Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES; HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, accuse us. CAMILLO, and Attendants. Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what Is given Pol. Nine changes of the watery star have been freely. The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding in- Without a burden: time as long again structs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks; Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohe- And yet we should for perpetuity mia. They were trained together in their childhoods; Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher, and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection, Yet standing in rich place, I multiply which cannot choose but branch now. Since their With one we-thank-you many thousands more more mature dignities, and royal necessities, made That go before it. separation of their society, their encounters, though Leon. Stay your thanks awhile, not personal, have been so' royally attorney'd, with And pay them when you part. interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, that Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow. they have seemed to be together, though absent, shook I am questioned by my fears, of what may chance, hands, as over a vast, and embraced, as it were, from Or breed upon our absence: may there2 blow the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue No sneaping3 winds at home, to make us say, their loves! "This is put forth too early*." Besides, I have stayed This word is not in f. e. 2 that may: in f. e. s Nipping. 4 truly: in f. e. SCENE II. THE WINTER'S TALE. 279 To tire your royalty. The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dreamed Leon. We are tougher, brother That any did. Had we pursued that life, Than you can put us to't. And our weak spirits ne'er been higher reared Pol. No longer stay. With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Leon. One seven-night longer. Boldly:" not guilty;" the imposition clear'd, Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. Hereditary ours. Leon. We'11 part the time between's then; and in that Her. By this we gather, I'll no gain-saying. You have tripp'd since. Pol. Press me not, beseech you. Pol. O! my most sacred lady, There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world Temptations have since then been born to's; for So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now, In those unfledged days was my wife a girl: Were there necessity in your request, although Your precious self had then not crossed the eyes'T were needful I denied it. My affairs Of my young play-fellow. Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder, Her. Grace to boot! Were in your love a whip to me, my stay Of this make no conclusion, lest you say, To you a charge, and trouble: to save both Your queen and I are devils: yet, go on: Farewell, our brother. Th' offences we have made you do, we'11 answer; Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, sir With any, but with us. Charge him too coldly: tell him, you are sure Leon. Is he won yet? [Coming forward.8 All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction Her. He'11 stay, my lord. The by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him Leon. At my request he would not. He's beat from his best ward. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st Leon. Well said, Hermione. [He walks apart.' To better purpose. Her. To tell he longs to see his son were strong: Her. Never? But let him say so then, and let him go; Leon. Never, but once. But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, Her. What? have I twice said well? when was't We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.- [venture before? Yet of your royal presence [To POLIXENES.] I 11 ad- I pr'ythee, tell me. Cram's with praise, and makers The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia As fat as tame things: one good deed, dying tongueless, You take my lord, I'11 give him my commission Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. To let him there a month behind the gest2 Our praises are our wages: you may ride's Prefix'd for's parting; yet, good deed,3 Leontes, With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere I love thee not a jara o' the clock behind With spur we clear6 an acre. But to the good7What lady should her lord. You'11 stay? My last good deed was to entreat his stay: Pol. No, madam. What was my first? it has an elder sister, Her. Nay, but you will? Or I mistake you: 0, would her name were Grace! Pol. I may not, verily. But once before I spoke to the purpose: When? Her. Verily! Nay, let me have't; I long. You put me off with limber vows; but I, Leon. Why, that was when Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Should yet say, " Sir, no going." Verily, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, You shall not go: a lady's verily is And clap8 thyself my love: then didst thou utter As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? " I am yours for ever." Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Her. It is Grace, indeed.Not like a guest, so you shall pay your fees, Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice: When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? The one for ever earn'd a royal husband, My prisoner, or my guest? by your dread verily Th' other for some while a friend. One of them you shall be. [Giving her hand to POLIXENES. Pol. Your guest then, madam: Leon. Too hot, too hot! [Aside. To be your prisoner should import offending; To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. Which is for me less easy to commit, I have tremor cordis on me:-my heart dances, Than you to punish. But not for joy,-not joy.-This entertainment Her. Not your jailor, then, May a free face put on; derive a liberty But your kind hostess. Come, I11 question you From heartiness, from bounty's fertile9 bosom, Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys; And well become the agent:'t may, I grant; You were pretty lordlings then. But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, Pol. We were, fair queen As now they are; and making practis'd smiles, Two lads, that thought there was no more behind As in a looking-glass;-and then to sigh, as't were But such a day to-morrow as to-day, The mort10 o' the deer; O! that is entertainment And to be boy eternal. My bosom likes not, nor my brows.-Mamillius, Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two? Art thou my boy? Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' the Mlam. Ay, my good lord. sun, Leon. I' fecks? And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd, Why, that's my bawcock.'1 What! hast smutch'd thy Was innocence for innocence; we knew not nose?lNot in f. e. 2 Period; a word derived from the French, giste.3 Inadeed. 4 A tick. 5 Not in f. e. 6 heat: in f. e. 7 goal: in f. e. 8 To clap, or join hands, was part of the betrothal. 9 from bounty, fertile &c.: in f. e. 10 The long blast sounded at the death of the deer.;I Supposed to be derived from beau coq. 280 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT I. They say, it is a copy out of mine. How thou lov'st us, show in our brothers welcome: Come, captain, Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap. We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: Next to thyself, and my young rover, he Is And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, Apparent to my heart. Are all call'd neat.-Still virginallingl Her. If you would seek us, [Observing POLIXENES and HERMIONE. We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there? Upon his palm?-How now, you wanton calf: Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you l11 be Art thou my calf? found, Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. Be you beneath the sky.-[Aside.] I am angling now, Leon. Thou want-st a rough pash,2 and the shoots Though you perceive me not how I give lines that I have, Go to, go to! To be full3 like me:-yet, they say, we are How she holds up the neb, the bill to him; Almost as like as eggs: women say so, And arms her with the boldness of a wife That will say any thing: but were they false To her allowing husband. Gone already! As our dead' blacks, as wifid, as waters; false [Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and Attendants. As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd No bourn'twixt his and mine; yet were it true one! To say this boy were like me.-Come, sir page, Go play, boy, play;-thy mother plays, and I Look on me with your welkin' eye: sweet villain! Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue Most dear'st! my collop!-Can thy dam?-may't be Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour Affection?6 thy intention stabs the' centre; Will be my knell.-Go play, boy, play.-There have Thou dost make possible things not so held, been, Communicat'st with dreams;- (how can this be?) — Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; With what Is unreal thou coactive art, And many a man there is, (even at this present, And fellow'st nothing. Then,'t is very credent, Now, while I speak this) holds his wife by th' arm, Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost, That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence, And that beyond commission; and I find it, And his pond fished by his next neighbour, by And that to the infection of my brains, Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there Is comfort in't And hardening of my brows. Whiles other men have gates, and those gates opened, Pol. What means Sicilia? As mine, against their will. Should all despair Hier. He something seems unsettled. That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Pol. How, my lord! Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none: Leon. What cheer? how is't with you, best brother? It is a bawdy planet, that will strike [Holding his forehead." Where't is predominant; and't is powerful, think it, Her. You look, From east, west, north, and south: be it concluded As if you held a brow of much distraction: No barricado for a belly: know it; Are you mov'd, my lord? It will let in and out the enemy, Leon. No, in good earnest.- With bag and baggage. Many a thousand on's How sometimes nature will betray its folly, [Aside.9 Have the disease, and feel't not.-How now, boy? Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime |1am. I am like you, they say. To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines [To them.'0 Leon. Why, that's some comfort.Of my boy's face, my" thoughts I did recoil What! Camille there? Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd, Cam. Ay, my good lord. In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled, Leon. Go play, Mamillius. Thou'rt an honest man. Lest it should bite its master, and so prove [Exit MAMILLIUS. As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold: This squash,l2 this gentleman.-Mine honest friend, When you cast out, it still came home. Will you take eggs for money?13 Leon. Didst note it? Mam. No, my lord, I ll fight. Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; made Leon. You will? why, happy man be his dole!1- His business more material. My brother, Leon. Didst perceive it?Are you so fond of your young prince, as we They re here with me,5 already; whispering, roundDo seem to be of ours? ing,6 Pol. If at home, sir, " Sicilia is a"-so forth.'T is far gone, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter: When I shall gust17 it last.-How came't Camillo, Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; That he did stay? My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. He makes a July's day short as December; Leon. At the queen's, be't: good should be pertinent; And with his varying childness cures in me But so it is, it is not. Was this taken Thoughts that would thick my blood. By any understanding pate but thine? Leon. So stands this squire For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, More than the common blocks:-not noted, is't, And leave you to your graver steps.-Hermione, But of the finer natures? by some severals, 1 Playing with her fingers, as on a virginal, which was an oblong musical instrument, played with keys, like a piano. 2 Head. 3 Fully. 4 p'er-.dyed: in f. e. 5 Blue, like the sky. 6 This passage is usually pointed, with a period before affection-which thus commences a sentence-it has the sense, taken in connection with this reading, of imagination-intention, that of intensity. The punctuation of the text is that of the old copies. The passage (to the end of the speech) is crossed out by the MS. emendator of the folio of 1632. 7 to the (of the heart). 8 9 10 Not in f. e. 11 Old copies: me: my is the MS. emendation of Lord F. Egerton's folio, 1623. 12 Unripe pea-pod. 13 A proverb for bearing an affront. 14 Portion, or lot; this is another old proverb. 15 They are aware of my condition. 16 An old word for whispering. 17 Taste, or be aware of. SCENE II. THE WINTER'S TALE. 281 Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes, Of breaking honesty) horsing foot on foot? Perchance, are to this business purblind: say. Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? Cam. Business, my lord? I think, most understand Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes blind Bohemia stays here longer. With the pin and web', but theirs, theirs only, Leon. - Ha? That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? Cam. Stays here longer. Why, then the world, and all that is in't. is nothing; Leon. Ay, but why? The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, Of our most gracious mistress. If this be nothing. Leon. Satisfy Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd The entreaties of your mistress?-satisfy?- Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo For't is most dangerous. With all the nearest things to my heart, as well Leon. Say, it be;'t is true. My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like. thou Cam. No, no; my lord. Hast cleans'd my bosom: I from thee departed Leon. It is; you lie, you lie: Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, In that which seems so. Or else a hovering temporizer, that Cam. Be it forbid, my lord! Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, Leon. To bide upon't —thou art not honest; or, Inclining to them both: Were my wife's liver If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward, Infected as her life, she would not live Which hoxes2 honesty behind, restraining The running of one glass. From course required; or else thou must be counted Cam. Who does infect her? A servant grafted in my serious trust, Leon. Why he, that wears her like a5 medal, hanging And therein negligent; or else a fool, About his neck, Bohemia: who-if I That seest a game played home, the rich stake drawn, Had servants true about me, that bare eyes And tak'st it all for jest. To see alike mine honour as their profits, Cam. My gracious lord, Their own particular thrifts, they would do that I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou, In every one of these no man is free, His cup-bearer,-whom I from meaner form But that his negligence, his folly, fear, Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship, who may'st see Amongst the infinite doings of the world Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven, Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, How I am galled,-mightst bespice a cup, If ever I were wilful-negligent, To give mine enemy a lasting wink, It was my folly; if industriously Which draught to me were cordial. I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Cam. Sure, my lord, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful I could do this, and that with no rash potion, To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, But with a lingering dram, that should not work Whereof the execution did cry out Maliciously, like poison; but I cannot Against the non-performance,'t was a fear Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord So sovereignly being honourable, Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty I have lov'd thee.Is never free of: but, beseech your grace, Leon. Make that thy question, and go rot! Be plainer with me: let me know my trespass Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, By its own visage; if I then deny it To appoint myself in this vexation? sully'T is none of mine. The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, (Which to preserve is sleep; which, being spotted, (But that Is past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,) Is thicker than a cuckold's horn) or heard, Give scandal to the blood o' the prince, my son, (For, to a vision so apparent, rumour (Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine) Cannot be mute) or thought, (for cogitation Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? Resides not in that man that does not think it) Could man so blench?6 My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, Cam. I must believe you, sir: Or else be impudently negative, I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought, then say, Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness My wife's a hobbyhorse; deserves a name Will take again your queen, as yours at first, As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing Before her troth-plight: say't, and justify't. The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear Known and allied to yours, My sovereign mistress clouded so, without Leon. Thou dost advise me My present vengeance taken.'Shrew my heart, Even so as I mine own course have set down. You never spoke what did become you less I'11 give no blemish to her honour, none. Than this: which to reiterate, were sin Cam. My lord, As deep as that, though true, Go then; and with a countenance as clear Leon. Is whispering nothing? As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? And with your queen, I am his cupbearer; Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career If from me he have wholesome beverage, Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible Account me not your servant, 1 People sitting at lower tables-the lower classes. a Ham-strings. 3 " it," was added in the 2d folio. 4 An old name for a cataract in the eyes. 5 his: in f. e. 6 Start, or fly of. 282 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT I. Leon. This is all: If not, how best to bear it. Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Cam. Sir, I will tell you; Do't not, thou split'st thine own. Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him Cam. I'11 do It. my lord. That I think honourable. Therefore, mark my counsel, Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as [Exit. I mean to utter it, or both yourself and I Cam. 0, miserable lady!-But, for me, Cry, "lost/I and so good-night. What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Pol. On, good Camillo. Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. Is the obedience to a master; one, Pol. By whom, Camillo? Who, in rebellion with himself, will have Cam. By the king. All that are his so too -To do this deed, Pol. For what? Promotion follows; if I could find example Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, Of thousands that had struck anointed kings, As he had seen't, or been an instrument And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since To vice' you to't-that you have touch'd his queen Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Forbiddenly. Let villany itself forswear't. I must Pol. 0! then my best blood turn Forsake the court: to do' t, or no, is certain To an infected jelly, and my name To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now! Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best i Here comes Bohemia. Turn then my freshest reputation to Enter POLIXENES. A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril Pol. This is strange. Methinks, Where I arrive; and my approach be shunn'd, My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?- Nay, hated too, worse than the greatest infection Good-day, Camillo. That e'er was heard, or read! Cam. Hail, most royal sir! Cam. Swear this though over Pol. What is the news i7 the court? By each particular star in heaven, and Cam. None rare, my lord. By all their influences, you may as well Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, As he had lost some province, and a region As, or by oath, remove, or counsel, shake, Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him The fabric of his folly, whose foundation With customary compliment, when he, Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling The standing of his body. A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and Pol. How should this grow? So leaves me to consider what is breeding Cam. I know not; but, I am sure, It is safer to That changes thus his manners. Avoid what is grown, than question how't is born. Cam. I dare not know, my lord. If therefore you dare trust my honesty, Pol. How! dare not? do not! Do you know, and That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you dare not Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night. Be intelligent to me?'T is thereabouts; Your followers I will whisper to the business; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns, And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror My fortunes to your service, which are here Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; A party in this alteration, finding For, by the honour of my parents, I Myself thus alter'd with't. Have utter'd truth, which if you seek to prove, Cam. There is a sickness I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer Which puts some of us in distemper; but Than one condemned by the king's own mouth, I cannot name the disease, and it is caught Thereon his execution sworn. Of you, that yet are well. Pol. I do believe thee: Pol. How caught of me? I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand: Make me not sighted like the basilisk: Be pilot to me, and thy places shall I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo — My people did expect my hence departure As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto Two days ago.-This jealousy Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns Is for a precious creature: as she's rare, Our gentry than our parents' noble names, Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty, In whose success we are gentle,-I beseech you, Must it be violent; and as he does conceive If you know aught which does behove my knowledge He is dishonour'd by a man which ever Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must In ignorant concealment. In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me: Cam. I may not answer. Good expedition be my friend: heaven comfort' Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well? The gracious queen, part of his dream3, but nothing I must be answer'd.-Dost thou hear, Camillo, Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo: I conjure thee, by all the parts of man I will respect thee as a father, if Which honour does acknowledge,-whereof the least Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid. Is not this suit of mine,-that thou declare Cam. It is in mine authority to command What incidency thou dost guess of harm The keys of all the posterns. Please your highness Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; To take the urgent hour. Come, sir: away! Which way to be prevented, if to be; [Exeunt. 1 Screw, or incite. 2 Good expedition, be my friend, and comfort, &c.: in f. e. 3 theme: in f. e. SCENE I. THE WINTER'S TALE. 283 ACT II. All's true that is mistrusted:-that false villain, Etr SCERINE I.-The Same. Laie. Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him. Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and Ladies. He has discovered my design, and I Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick5'T is past enduring. For them to play at will.-How came the posterns 1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord: [To them.6 Shall I be your play-fellow? So easily open? Mam. No, I'll none of you. 1 Lord. By his great authority; 1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord? Which often hath no less prevail'd than so, Miam. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if On your command. I were a baby still.-I love you better. Leon. I know't too well.2 Lady. And why so, my lord? Give me the boy. [To HERMIONE.] I am glad, you did Maim. Not for because not nurse him: Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Become some women best, so that there be not Have too much blood in him. Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle, Her. What is this? sport? Or a half-moon made with a pen. Leon. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about 2 Lady. Who taught this? her. Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces.-Pray now, Away with him: and let her sport herself What colour are your eyebrows? With that she's big with; for't is Polixenes 1 Lady. Blue, my lord. Has made thee swell thus. Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose Her. But, I'd say he had not, That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. And, I'11 be sworn, you would believe my saying, 2 Lady. Hark ye. Howe'er you lean to the nayward. The queen, your mother, rounds apace: we shall Leon. You, my lords, Present our services to a fine new prince, Look on her, mark her well: be but about One of these days, and then you'd wanton with us, To say, " she is a goodly lady," and If we would have you. The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 1 Lady. She is spread of late'c T is pity she's not honest, honourable:" Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her! Praise her but for this her without-door form, Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir; (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech) and straight now The shrug, the hum, or ha (these petty brands, I am for you again: pray you, sit by us, That calumny doth use,-O, I am out!And tell's a tale. That mercy does, for calumny will sear Mam. Merry, or sad, shall't be? Virtue itself)-these shrugs, these hums, and ha's Her. As merry as you will. When you have said, " she's goodly," come between, 1lam. A sad tale's best for winter. Ere you can say " she's honest." But be't known, I have one of sprites and goblins. From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, Her. Let's have that, good sir. She's an adulteress. Come on; sit down:-come on, and do your best Her. Should a villain say so, To fright me with your sprites: you're powerful at it. The most replenished villain in the world, Mam. There was a man.- He were as much more villain: you, my lord, Her. Nay, come, sit down; then on. Do but mistake. Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard.-I will tell it softly; Leon. You have mistook, my lady, Yond' crickets shall not hear it. Polixenes for Leontes. 0, thou thling! Her. Come on then, Which I 11 not call a creature of thy place, And give't me in mine ear. Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and others. Should a like language use to all degrees, Leon. Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him? And mannerly distinguishment leave out 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them: never Betwixt the prince and beggar!-I have said Saw I men scour so on their way. I eyed them She's an adult'ress; I have said with whom: Even to their ships. More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is Leon. How bless'd am I [Aside.1 A feodary with her, and one that knows In my just censure! in my true opinion!- What she should shame to know herself, Alack, for lesser knowledge!-How accurs'd, But with her most vile principal, that she's In being so blest!-There may be in the cup A bed swerver, even as bad as those A spider steep'd, and one may drink a part,2 That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy And yet partake no venom,3 for his knowledge To this their late escape. Is not infected; but if one present Her. No, by my life, The abhorred ingredient to his eye, make known Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that With violent hefts.4-I have drunk, and seen the spider. You thus have published me? Gentle my lord, Camillo was his help in this, his pander.- You scarce can right me thoroughly then, to say There is a plot against my life, my crown: You did mistake. 1 Not in f. e. 2 drink, depart, &c.: in f. e. 3 It was an old popular belief that spiders were poisonous. 4 Reavings. 5 Puppet. N Not in f. e, 284 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT I. Leon. No; if I mistake 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, In those foundations which I build upon Upon this ground; and more it would content me The centre is not big enough to bear To have her honour true, than your suspicion, A school-boy's top.-Away with her to prison! Be blam'd for't how you might. He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty, Leon. Why, what need we But that he speaks. Commune with you of this, but rather follow Her. There's some ill planet reigns: Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative I must be patient, till the heavens look Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness With an aspect more favourable.-Good my lords, Imparts this; which, if you (or stupified, I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Or seeming so in skill) cannot, or will not, Commonly are, the want of which vain dew, Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves, Perchance, shall dry your pities; but I have We need no more of your advice: the matter, That honourable grief lodged here, which burns The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords Properly ours. With thoughts so qualified as your charities Ant. And I wish, my liege, Shall best instruct you, measure me;- and so You had only in your silent judgment tried it, The king's will be performed. Without more overture. Leon. Shall I be heard? [To the Guards. Leon. How could that be? Her. Who is't that goes with me?-Beseech your Either thou art most ignorant by age, highness, Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, My women may be with me; for you see, Added to their familiarity, My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; (Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, There is no cause: when you shall know, your mistress That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation Has deserved prison, then abound in tears, But only seeing, all other circumstances As I come out: this action, I now go on, Made up to the deed) doth push on this proceeding: Is for my better grace.-Adieu, my lord: Yet, for a greater confirmation, I never wish'd to see you sorry: now, (For in an act of this importance't were I trust, I shall.-My women, come; you have leave. Most piteous to be wild) I have despatched in post, Leon. Go, do our bidding: hence! To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 1 Lord. Beseech your highness, call the queen again. Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle Ant. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had, Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well? Yourself, your queen, your son. 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 1 Lord. For her, my lord, Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir, Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Please you t' accept it, that the queen is spotless Give rest to the minds of others; such as he, [ the eyes of heaven, and to you: I mean, Whose ignorant credulity will not In this which you accuse her. Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good, Ant. If it prove From our free person she should be confin'd, She's otherwise, 1'll keep me istablel where Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; Be left her to perform. Come, follow us: Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust her; We are to speak in public; for this business For every inch of woman in the world, Will raise us all. Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false, Ant. [Aside.] To laughter, as I take it, If she be. If the good truth were known. [Exeunt. Leon. Hold your peaces! Lord. olGood my lords SCENE II.-The Same. The outer Room of a Prison. Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves, Enter PAULINA and Attendants. You are abus'd, and by some putter-on, Paul, The keeper of the prison,-call to him: That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain, [Exit an Attendant. I would lamback2 him,. Be she honour-flaw'd,- Let him have knowledge who I am.-Good lady! I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven No court in Europe is too good for thee, The second, and the third, nine, and some five; What dost thou then in prison?-Now, good sir, If this prove true, they ll pay for't: by mine honour, Re-enter Attendant, with the Jailor. I'll geld them all: fourteen they shall not see, You know me, do you not? To bring false generations: they are co-heirs, Jailor. For a worthy lady, And I had rather glib myself, than they And one whom much I honour. Should not produce fair issue, Paul. Pray you then, Leon. Cease! no more. Conduct me to the queen. You smell this business with a sense as cold Jailor. I may not, madam: to the contrary As is a dead man's nose; but I do see:t, and feel t I have express commandment. As you feel doing thus, and see withal Paul. Here's ado, The instruments that feel. To lock up honesty and honour from Ant, If it be so, Th access of gentle visitors!-Is't lawful, pray you, We need no grave to bury honesty: To see her women? any of them? Emilia? There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten Jailor. So please you, madam, Of the whole dungy earth. To put apart these your attendants, I Leon. What! lack I credit? Shall bring Emilia forth. 1 my stables: in f. e. 2 land-damn: in f. e.; lamback, is to beat. SCENE III. THE WINTER'S TALE. 285 Paul. I pray now, call her.- The cause were not in being, part o' the cause, Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend. She, th' adulteress; for the harlot king Jailor. And, madam, Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank I must be present at your conference. And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she Paul. Well, be't so, pr'ythee. [Exit Jailor. I can hook to me: say, that she were gone; Here Is such ado to make no stain a stain, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest As passes colouring. Might come to me again.-Who's there? Re-enter Jailor, with EMILIA. 1 Atten. My lord. Dear gentlewoman, Leon. How does the boy? How fares our gracious lady? 1 Atten. He took good rest to-night: Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, T is hop'd, his: sickness is discharg'd. May hold together. On her frights, and griefs, Leon. To see his nobleness! (Which never tender lady hath borne greater) Conceiving the dishonour of his, mother, She is, something before her time, deliverd. He: straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply, Paul. A boy? Fastenedl and fix'd the shame on't in himself, Emil. A daughter; and a goodly babe, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, Lusty, and like to live: the queen receives And downright languish'd.-Leave me solely:-go, Much comfort in'7t says, " My poor prisoner See how he fares. [Exit Attend.]-Fie, fie! no thought I am innocent as you." of him:Paul. I dare be sworn:- The very thought of my revenges that way These dangerous, unsanel lunes i' the king, beshrew Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty, them! And in his parties, his alliance;-let him be, He must be told on'tj and he shall: the office Until a time may serve: for present vengeance, Becomes a woman best; I'11 take It upon me. Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow: And never to my red-look'd anger be They should not laugh, if I could reach them; nor The trumpet any more.-Pray you, Emilia, Shall she, within my power. Commend my best obedience to the queen: Enter PAULINA, behind2, with a Child. If she dares trust me with her little babe, 1 Lord. You must not enter. I'11 show't the king, and undertake to be Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me. Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, How he may soften at the sight o' the child: Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul, The silence often of pure innocence More free than he is jealous. Persuades, when speaking fails. Ant. That's enough. Emil. Most worthy madam, 1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; comYour honour, and your goodness, are so evident, manded That your free undertaking cannot miss None should come at him. A thriving issue: there is no lady living Paul. Not so hot, good sir: So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship I come to bring him sleep. IT is such as you,To visit the next room, I 11 presently That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer, At each his needless heavings, such as you Who, but to-day, hammered of this design, Nourish the cause of his awaking: I But durst not tempt a minister of honour, Do come with words as medicinal as true, Lest she should be denied. Honest as either, to purge him of that humour, Paul. Tell her, Emilia, That presses him from sleep. I 11 use that tongue I have: if wit flow from it Leon. What noise there, ho? As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference, I shall do good. [Coming forward.3 Emil. Now, be you blest for it! About some gossips for your highness. I 11 to the queen.-Please you, come something nearer. Leon. How?Jailor. Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe, Away with that audacious lady. Antigonus, I know not what I shall incur to pass it I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me: Having no warrant. I knew she would. Paul. You need not fear it, sir: Ant. I told her so, my lord, The child was prisoner to the womb, and is, On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, By law and process of great nature, thence She should not visit you. Freed and enfranchis'd; not a party to Leon. What! canst not rule her? The anger of the king, nor guilty of, Paul. From all dishonesty he can: in this, If any be, the trespass of the queen. (Unless he take the course that you have done, Jailor. I do believe it.:Commit me for committing honour) trust it, Paul. Do not you fear: upon mine honour, I He shall not rule me. Will stand betwixt you and danger. [Exeunt. Ant. Lo, you now! you hear. When she will take the rein, I let her run; SCENE II. —The Same. A Room in the Palace. B, t she'11 not stumble. Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and other Paul. Good my liege, I come,Attendants. And, I beseech you, hear me, who professes Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest. It is but weak- Myself your loyal servant, your physician, ness Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dares To bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If Less appear so in comforting4 your evils, 1 unsafe: in f. e. 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 Not in f. e. 4 Encouraging. 286 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT II. Than such as most seem yours,-I say, I come Ant. Hang all the husbands From your good queen; That cannot do that feat, you ll leave yourself Leon. Good queen! Hardly one subject. Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say, Leon. Once more, take her hence. good queen; Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord And would by combat make her good, so were I Can do no more. A man, the worst about you. Leon. I'll ha' thee burn'd. Leon. Force her hence. Paul. I care not: Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes It is an heretic that makes the fire, First hand me. On mine own accord I l11 off, Not she which burns in It. I Ill not call you tyrant; But first I 1ll do my errand.-The good queen, But this most cruel usage of your queen For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter: (Not able to produce more accusation Here't is; commends it to your blessing. Than your own weak hinged fancy) something savours [Laying down the Child. Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, Leon. Out! Yea, scandalous to the world. A mankind' witch! Hence with her, out o' door: Leon. On your allegiance, A most intelligencing bawd! Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, Paul. Not so: Where were her life? She durst not call me so, I am as ignorant in that, as you If she did know me one. Away with her! In so entitling me, and no less honest Paul. I pray you, do not push me; I'11 be gone. Than you are mad; which is enough, I 11 warrant, Look to your babe, my lord;'t is yours: Jove send her As this world goes, to pass for honest. A better guiding spirit!-What need these hands?Leon. Traitors! You that are thus so tender o'er his follies, Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.- Will never do him good, not one of you.'Thou, dotard, [To ANTIGONUS.] thou art woman-tird,2 So, so:-farewell; we are gone. [Exit. unroosted Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.By thy dame Partlet here.-Take up the bastard: My child? away with't!-even thou, that hast Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, Paul. For ever And see it instantly consumed with fire: Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight. Tak'st up the princess by that forced baseness Within this hour bring me word It is done, Which he has put upon t! (And by good testimony) or I'll seize thy life, Leon. He dreads his wife. With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, Paul. So I would you did; then, It were past all doubt, And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; You'd call your children yours. The bastard-brains with these my proper hands Leon. A nest of-traitors! Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire, Ant. I am none, by this good light. For thou sett'st on thy wife. Paul. Nor I; nor any, Ant. I did not, sir: But one that's here, and that Is himself; for he These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, Can clear me in't. His hopeful son's; his babe's, betrays to slander, 1 Lord. We can: my royal liege, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's, and will not He is not guilty of her coming hither, (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse Leon. You're liars all. He cannot be compell'd to It) once remove 1 Lord. Beseech your highness, give us better credit. The root of his opinion, which is rotten We have always truly served you, and beseech you As ever oak, or stone, was sound. So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg, Leon. A callat3, (As recompense of our dear services, Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, Past, and to come) that you do change this purpose; And now baits me!-This brat is none of mine: Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must It is the issue of Polixenes. Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel. Hence with it; and, together with the dam, Leon. Am I a feather for each wind that blows? Commit them to the fire. Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel Paul. It is yours; And call me father? Better burn it now, And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live:So like you. It is the worse.-Behold, my lords, It shall not neither.-You, sir, come you hither; Although the print be little, the whole matter [To ANTIGONUS. And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip, You, that have been so tenderly officious The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, With lady Margery, your midwife, there, The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his smiles; To save this bastard's life,-for It is a bastard, The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.- So sure as thy5 beard Is grey,-what will you adventure And, thou, good goddess Nature which hast made it To save this brat's life? So like to him that got it, if thou hast Ant. Any thing, my lord, The ordering of the mind too,'mongst all colours That my ability may undergo, No yellow in It; lest she suspect, as he does And nobleness impose: at least, thus much; Her children not her husband's. I ll pawn the little blood which I have left, Leon. A gross hag!- To save the innocent; any thing possible. And, lozel*, thou art worthy to be hangd, Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword That wilt not stay her tongue. Thou wilt perform my bidding. 1 Masculine. 2 Ienl-pecked. 3 A woman of low character. 4 A worthless fellow. Old copies: this; thy is the MS. emendation of Lord F. Egerton's folio, 1623. SCENE I. THE WLNTER'S TALE. 287 Ant. I will, my lord. In more than this deed doth require!-And blessing Leon. Mark, and perform it, seest thou; for the fail Against this cruelty fight on thy side, Of any point in't shall not only be Poor thing, condemned to loss! [Exit with the Child. Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife, Leon. No; I'11 not rear Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, Another's issue. As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry 1 Atten. Please your highness, posts This female bastard hence: and that thou bear it From those you sent to the oracle are come To some remote and desert place, quite out An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion, Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed, Without more mercy, to its own protection, Hasting to the court. And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, Hath been beyond account. On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, Leon. Twenty-three days That thou commend it strangely to some place, They have been absent:'t is good speed, foretels, Where chance may nurse, or end it. Take it up. The great Apollo suddenly will have Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords: Had been more merciful.-Come on, poor babe: Summon a session, that we may arraign [Taking it up.' Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens, Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have To be thy nurses. Wolves, and bears, they say, A just and open trial. While she lives, Casting their savageness aside, have done My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me, Like offices of pity.-Sir, be prosperous And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt. ACT III. Even to the guilt, or the purgation.SCENE I.-The Same. A Street in some Town. Produce the prisoner. Enter CLEOMENES and DION. Offi. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen Cleo. The climate Is delicate, the air most sweet, Appear in person here in court. [Silence. Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing Enter HERMIONE) to her trial,3 guarded; PAULINA and The common praise it bears. Ladies attending. Dion. I shall report, Leon. Read the indictment. For most it caught me, the celestial habitsOffi. "Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, (Methinks, I so should term them) and the reverence king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly! king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take It was i' the offering! away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal Cleo. But, of all, the burst husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances And the ear-deafening voice o7 the oracle, partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense, and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid That I was nothing. them, for their better safety, to fly away by night." Dion. If th' event o' the journey Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that Prove as successful to the queen,-O, be't so!- Which contradicts my aceusation, and As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, The testimony on my part no other The time is worth the use on t. But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me Cleo. Great Apollo To say " Not guilty:" mine integrity, Turn all to the best! These proclamations Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, So forcing faults upon Hermione, Be so receiv'd. But thus:-If powers divine I little like. Behold our human actions, (as they do) Dion. The violent carriage of it I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make Will clear, or end, the business: when the oracle, False accusation blush, and tyranny (Thus by Apollo's great divine sealed up) Tremble at patience.-You, my lord, best know, Shall the contents discover, something rare. (Who least will seem to do so) my past life Even then, will rush to knowledge.-Go,-fresh Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, horses;- As I am now unhappy; which is more And gracious be the issue. [Exeunt. Than history can pattern, though devis'd, And play'd to take spectators. For behold me SCENE II.-The Same. A Court of Justice. f o A fellow of the royal bed, which owe4 Enter LEONTES, Lords, and Officers. A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, Leon. This sessions (to our great grief we pronounce) The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing Even pushes'gainst our heart: the party tried, To prate and talk for life, and honour,'fore The daughter of a king; our wife, and one Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour, Of being tyrannous, since we so openly'T is a derivative from me to mine, Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, And only that I stand for. I appeal 1 Not in f. e. a Printed as a stage direction in the 1st folio; the others omit it. Mod. eds., with Malone, usually add it to the previous speech. 3 The words, " to her trial," not in f e. 4 Own. 2'!S THE WirTER'S TALE. ACT II. To your owni conscience, sir, before Polixenes 1 I prize it not a straw; but for mine honour, Came to your court, how I was in your grace, (Which I would free) if I shall be condemn'd Hbow meited to be so; since he came, Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else With what encounter so uncurrent I But what your jealousies awake, I tell you, Have strayed''t appear thus: if one jot beyond IT is rigour, and not law.-Your henours all, The bound of honour, or, in act, or will, I do refer me to the oracle: That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts Apollo be my judge. Of all that hear me, and my nearest of kin 1 Lord. This your request Cry, 1 Fie!" upon my grave. Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth, Leon. I ne'er heard yet, And in Apollo's name, his oracle. [Exeunt Officers. That any of these bolder vices wanted Her. The emperor of Russia was my father: Less impudence to gainsay what they did, O! that he were alive, and here beholding Than to perform it first. His daughter's trial; that he did but see Her. That's true enough: The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes Though It is a saying, sir, not due to me. Of pity, not revenge! Leon. You will not own it. Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DON. Her. More than mistress of, Ofi. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought (With whom I am accus'd) I do confess This sealdd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd, Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then, With such a kind of love as might become You have not dar'd to break the holy seal, A lady like me; with a love, even such, Nor read the secrets in't. So and no other, as yourself commanded: Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. Which not to have done, I think, had been in me Leon. Break up the seals, and read. Both disobedience and ingratitude Offi. [Reads.] " Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameTo you, and toward your friend, whose love had spoke, less, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, Even since it could speak from an infant, freely, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, live without an heir, if that which is lost be not I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd found." For me to try how: all I know of it Lords. Now, blessed be the great Apollo! Is, that Camillo was an honest man; Her. Praised! And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Leon. Hast thou read truth? Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. Oi. Ay, my lord; even so Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know As it is here set down. What you have underta'en to do in's absence. Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle. Her. Sir, The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood. You speak a language that I understand not: Enter a Servant, in haste. My life stands in the level2 of your dreams, Serv. My lord the king, the king Which I'll lay down. Leon. What is the business? Leon:. Your actions are my dreams: Serv. 0 sir! I shall be hated to report it: You had a bastard by Polixenes, The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear And I but dream'd it.-As you were past all shame, Of the queen's speed,3 is gone. (Those of your fact are so) so past all truth, Leon. How! gone? Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as Serv. Is dead. [HERIIONE swoons. Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself Leon. Apollo 2s angry, and the heavens themselves No father owning it, (which is indeed, Do strike at my injustice. How now there! More criminal in thee than it) so thou Paul, This news is mortal to the queen.-Look Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage down, Look for no less than death. And see what death is doing. Her. Sir, spare your threats: Leon. Take her hence: The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.To me can life be no commodity: I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion:The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, Beseech you, tenderly apply to her I do give lost: for I do feel it gone Some remedies for life.-Apollo, pardon But know not how it went. My second joy, [Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERM. And first-fruits of my body, from his presence My great profaneness'gainst thine oracle!I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort, I ll reconcile me to Polixenes, Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo, The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; Haled out to murder: myself on every post For, being transported by my jealousies Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred, To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose The child-bed privilege denied, which'longs Camillo for the minister, to poison To women of all fashion: lastly, hurried My friend Polixenes: which had been done, Here to this place,'i the open air, before But that the good mind of Camillo tardied I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege My swift command; though I with death, and with Tell me what blessings I have here alive Reward, did threaten and encourage him, That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed. Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane, But yet hear this; mistake me not.-No: life, And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest strain'd: in f. e. 2 Is the object at which aim is taken. 3 Of how the queen may speed-the issue. ----— _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 1~~~~~~~~~~~K K. "~-~~~"""-"c-"""`"-"~~ ~,~~~~~~~~~~~I/ C' —-- ~ ~ ~ -C- - ~ ----— ~.- --—: —"AN OL HPED \'Vinter 1 aI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A~~~~~t III ~ ~ ~ ~ — ~~-~-cene 37-~~-' — SCENE II. THE WINTER'S TALE. 289 Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here, Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, Which you knew great, and to the hazard Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: Of all incertainties himself commended The love I bore your queen,-lo, fool again!No richer than his honour.-How he glistersI'11 speak of her no more, nor of your children; Thorough my rust! and how his piety I ll not remember you of my own lord, Does my deeds make the blacker! Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, Re-enter PAULINA. And I 11 say nothing. Paul. Woe the while! Leon. Thou didst speak but well, 0, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, When most the truth, which I receive much better, Break too! Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady? To the dead bodies of my queen, and son. Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? One grave shall be for both: upon them shall What wheels? racks? fires? What flaying? burning, The causes of their death appear, unto boiling Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'11 visit In lead, or oil? what old, or newer torture The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there Must I receive, whose every word deserves Shall be my recreation: so long as nature To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny, Will bear up with this exercise, so long Together working with thy jealousies,- I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle To these sorrows. [Exeunt. For girls of nine,-O! think, what they have donea. Dert C try nar And then run mad, indeed; stark mad, for all Sea. Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, It was nothing Enter ANTIGONUS, with the Babe; and a Mariner. That did but show thee of a fool, inconstant, Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch'd upon And damnable ungrateful: nor was It much, The deserts of Bohemia? Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, Mar. Ay, my lord; and fear To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly, More monstrous standing by! wherefore I reckon And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter: The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, To be or none, or little; though a devil And frown upon us. Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't: Ant. Their sacred wills be done! —Go get aboard; Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Look to thy bark: I'11 not be long, before Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts I call upon thee. (Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart Mar. Make your best haste, and go not That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Too far i' the land: It is like to be loud weather: Blemished his gracious dam: this is not, no, Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Laid to thy answer: but the last,-0O lords! Of prey that keep upon't. When I have said, cry, woe!-the queen, the queen, Ant. Go thou away: The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance I 11 follow instantly. for't Mar. I am glad at heart Not dropped down yet. To be so rid o: the business. [Exit. 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid! Ant. Come, poor babe:Paul. I say, she Is dead; I'11 swear't: if word, nor I have heard, (but not believ'd) the spirits o' the dead oath May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Prevail not, go and see. If you can bring Appeard to me last night, for ne'er was dream Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye, So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'11 serve you Sometimes her head on one side, some another; As I would do the gods.-But, 0 thou tyrant! I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, Do not repent these things, for they are heavier So filld, and so o'er-running2: in pure white robes, Than all thy woes can stir; therefore, betake thee Like very sanctity, she did approach To nothing but despair. A thousand knees My cabin where I lay, thrice bow'd before me, Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Upon a barren mountain, and still winter, Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon In storm perpetual, could not move the gods Did this break from her.-" Good Antigonus, To look that way thou wert. " Since fate, against thy better disposition, Leon. Go on; go on; " Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Thou canst not speak too much: I have deserved Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, All tongues to talk their bitterest. Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 1 Lord. Say no more: "There wend.3 and leave it crying; and, for the babe Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault'Is counted lost for ever, Perdita I' the boldness of your speech. "I pr'ythee, call't: for this ungentle business, Paul. I am sorry for t:' Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, Thy wife Paulina more:"-and so, with shrieks I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much She melted into air. Affrighted much, The rashness of a woman. He is touchd I did in time collect myself, and thought To the noble heart.-What's gone, and what Is past help, This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys; Should be past grief: do not receive affliction Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, At repetition,' I beseech you; rather, I will be squared by this. I do believe, Let me be punish'd, that have minded you Hermione hath suffer'd death; and that 1 my petition: in f. e. 2 becoming: in fe.. weep: in f. e. 19 290 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV. Apollo would, this being indeed the issue point. 0, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid, sometimes to see'em, and not to see'em: now the Either for life or death, upon the earth ship boring the moon with her mainmast; and anon Of its right father.-Blossom, speed thee well! swallowed with yest and froth, as you Id thrust a cork [Laying down the Babe. into a hogshead. And then for the land service:-to There lie; and there thy character': there these, see how the bear tore out his shoulder bone; how he [Laying down a Bundle. cried to me for help, and said his name was AntigoWhich may, if fortune please. both breed thee, pretty, nus, a nobleman.-But to make an end of the ship: And still rest thine.-The storm begins.-Poor wretch! -to see how the sea flap-dragoned it2-but, first, how That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd [Thunder. the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them;To loss, and what may follow.-Weep I cannot, and how the poor gentleman roared. and the bear But my heart bleeds, and most accurs'd am I, mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or To be by oath enjoined to this.-Farewell! weather. The day frowns more and more: thou art like to have Shep. Name of mercy! when was this, boy? A lullaby too rough. I never saw [clamour?- Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these The heavens so dim by day. [Bear roars.] A savage sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the Well may I get aboard!-This is the chase; bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it now. I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a bear. Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old Enter an old Shepherd. man! Shep. I would there were no age between ten and Clo. I would you had been by the ship's side, to three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the have helped her: there your charity would have lacked rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting footing. wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee fighting.-Hark you now! -Would any but these here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou met'st with things boiled-brains of nineteen, and two-and-twenty, hunt dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for this weather? They have scared away two of my best thee; look thee: a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! sheep; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than the Look thee here: take up, take up, boy; open't. So, master: if any where I have them,'t is by the sea-side, let's see. It was told me I should be rich by the browzing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what fairies: this is some changeling.-Open't: what's have we here? [Taking up the Babe.] Mercy on's, a within, boy? barn; a very pretty barn! A boy, or a child, I wonder? Clo. You're a made old man: if the sins of your A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure some scape: youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gen- gold! tlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair- Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and t will prove so: up work, some trunk-work, some behind-door work: they with it, keep it close; home, home, the next way. We were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but I'll take it up for pity' yet I'11 tarry till my son come: secrecy.-Let my sheep go.-Come, good boy, the next he hallood but even now.-Whoa, ho hoa! way home. Enter Clown. Clo. Go you the next way with your findings: I 11 Clo. Hilloa, loa! go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how Shep. What! art so near? If thou'it see a thing to much he hath eaten: they are never curst, but when talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. they are hungry. If there be any of him left I'11 What ail'st thou, man? bury it. Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by Shep. That's a good deed. If thou may'st discern land!-but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a the sight of him. bodkin's point. Clo. Marry, I will: and you shall help to put him Shep. Why, boy, how is it? i' the ground. Clo. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how it Shep.'T is a lucky day, boy, and we'11 do good deeds rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not to the on't. [Exeunt. ACT IV. r the Chorus. The times that brought them in; so shall I do Enter TIME, the Chozrus. To the freshest things now reigning and make stale Time. I, that please some, try all: both joy. and terror, The glistering of this present, as my tale Of good and bad; that make, and unfold error, Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime As you had slept between. Leontes leaving To me, or my swift passage, that I slide Th' effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried That he shuts up himself, imagine me, Of that wide gap; since it is in my power Gentle spectators, that I now may be To overthrow law, and in one self-born hour In fair Bohemia; and remember well, To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, I now name to you; and with speed so pace Or what is now receiv'd: I witness to To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 1 Description. 2 Swallowed ships as drinkers swallow flapdragons-(small substances floating on liquor, which were swallowed burning), SCENE II. THE WINTER'S TALE. 291 Equal with wondering: What of her ensues; SCENE II.-The Same. A Road near the ShepI list not prophesy; but let Time's news herd's Cottage. Be known, when't is brought forth. A shepherd's Enter AUTOLYCU, singing. daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after When dafodils begin to peer- [1 Tune. With heigh! the daff over the dlale.Is th' argument of Time. Of this allowh the over the If ever you have spent time worse ere now: Why then comes i the sweet o'the year; If never, yet that Time himself doth say, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. He wishes earnestly you never may. [Exit. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,SCENE I.-The Same. A Room in the Palace of With, heigh! the sweet birds, 0, how they sing POLIXENES. Doth set my prigging3 tooth on edge; Enter POLIXENEs and CAMI. For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO. Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more impor- rk, that tirm-irra chants,tunate:'t is a sickness denying thee anything a death With eigh with eigh the thrush and the ja to grant this. Are summer songs for me and my aunts, Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my country: Whie we le tumbling i the hay. though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, I I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent three-pile4, but now I am out of service: king, my master, hath sent for me to whose feeling t s o ourfor that, m ear? 2 Zn I, n But shall I go mournfor that, may dear? [2 Tune. sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think The pale moon sies ni so, which is another spur to my departure. And when I wander here and there, Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the Ithendo most go right. rest of thy services, by leaving me now. The need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made: better If tinkers may have leave to live, [3 Tune.; not to have had thee. than thus to want thee. Thou, And bear the sow-skin budget, having made me businesses, which none without thee Then my account I well may give, can sufficiently manage; must either stay to execute And in the stocks avouch it. ihem thyself, or take away with thee the very services My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered. lesser linen. My father named me, Autolycus; who, (as too much I cannot) to be more thankful to thee being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise shall be my study, and my profit therein, the heaping a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die, and friendships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee drab, I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is speak no more, whose very naming punishes me with the silly cheat. Gallows, and knock, are too powerful the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, on the highway: beating, and hanging, are terrors to and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. most precious queen, and children, are even now to be -A prize! a prize! afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Enter Clown. prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, Clo. Let me see:-Every'leven wether tods7: every their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing tod yields-pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred them when they have approved their virtues. shorn, what comes the wool to? Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. Aut. [Aside.] If the springe hold, the cock Is mine. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: Clo. I cannot do't without counters,-Let me see; but I have musingly' noted, he is of late much retired what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? " Three from court, and is less frequent to his princely exer- pound of sugar; five pound of currants; rice "-What cises than formerly he hath appeared. will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. some care; so far, that I have eyes under my service, She hath made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the which look upon his removedness: from whom I have shearers; three-man song-men8 all, and very good this intelligence; that he is seldom from the house of ones, but they are most of them means and bases: a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neigh- hornpipes. I must have saffron, to colour the warden' bours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. pies; mace,-dates, none; that's out of my note: Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a " nutmegs, seven: a race or two of ginger " but that daughter of most rare note: the report of her is ex- I may beg;-" four pound of prunes, and as many of tended more than can be thought to begin from such raisins o' the sun." a cottage. Aut. 0, that ever I was born! Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence, but, I [Grovelling on the ground. fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt Clo. I' the name of me!accompany us to the place, where we will, not appear- Aut. 0, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags, ing what we are, have some question with the shep- and then, death, death! herd; from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prlythee, be to lay on thee, rather than have these off. my present partner in this business, and lay aside the Aut. 0, sir! the loathsomeness of them offends me thoughts of Sicilia. more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty Cam. I willingly obey your command. ones, and millions. Pol. My best Camillo!-We must disguise ourselves. Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come [Exeunt. to a great matter. 1 missingly: in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. 3 pugging: in f. e. 4 Fine velvet. 5 6 Not in f. e. A tod is twenty-eight pounds of wool. 8 Singers of songs for three voices. 9 A late, hard pear. 292 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV. Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put SCEE The Same. A Sheperd's Cottage. upon me. Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA. Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? Flo. These, your unusual weeds, to each part of you Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the gar- Peering in April's front. This, your sheep-shearing, ments he hath left with thee: if this be a horse-man's Is as a meeting of the petty gods, coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, And you the queen on It. I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. Per. Sure6, my gracious lord, [Helping him up. To chide at your extremes it not becomes me; Aut. O! good sir, tenderly, O! O! pardon, that I name them: your high self, Clo. Alas, poor soul! The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured Aut. 0, good sir! softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, shoulder-blade is out. Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts Clo. How now? canst stand? In every mess have folly, and the feeders Aut. Softly, dear sir: [Cuts his purse.'] good sir, Digest it with a custom, I should blush softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. To see you so attir'd, so worn7, I think, Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money To show myself a glass. for thee. Flo. I bless the time, Aut. No, good, sweet sir: no, I beseech you, sir. I When my good falcon made her flight across have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence Thy father's ground. unto whom I was going: I shall there have money, or Per. Now, Jove afford you cause! any thing I want. Offer me no money, I pray you: To me the difference forges dread; your greatness that kills my heart. Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? To think, your father, by some accident, Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about Should pass this way, as you did. 0; the fates! with trol-my-dames;2 I knew him once a servant of How would he look, to see his work, so noble, the prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold court. The sternness of his presence? GClo. His vices, you would say: there's no virtue Flo. Apprehend whipped out of the court: they cherish it, to make it Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, stay there, and yet it will no more but abide'. Humbling their deities to love, have taken Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man well: The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process- Became a bull, and bellow'd the green Neptune server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion' of the A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, where my land and living lies: and, having flown over As I seem now. Their transformations many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue: Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, some call him Autolycus. Nor any8 way so chaste; since my desires Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: he Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. Burn hotter than my faith. Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he: that's the rogue, Per. 0! but, sir, that put me into this apparel. Your resolution cannot hold, when?t is Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the king. if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he,d have One of these two must be necessities, run. Which then will speak-that you must change this Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I purpose, am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I war- Or I my life. rant him. Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, Clo. How do you now? With these fore'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was: I can The mirth o' the feast: or I 11 be thine, my fair, stand, and walk. I will even take my leave of you, Or not my father's; for I cannot be and pace softly towards my kinsman's. Mine own, nor any thing to any, if Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? I be not thine: to this I am most constant, Aitt. No, good-faced sir: no. sweet sir. Though destiny say, no. Be merry, girl9; Clo. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing our sheep-shearing. [Exit Clown. That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir!-Your purse is not Lift up your countenance, as't were the day hot enough to purchase your spice. I 11 be with you Of celebration of that nuptial, which at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat We two have sworn shall come. bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let Per. 0, lady fortune, me be enrolled, and my name put in the book of Stand you auspicious! virtue! Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disJog on, jog on, the foot-path way guised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and others. And merrily hent the stile-a: Flo. See, your guests approach: A merry heart goes all the day, Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. And let's be red with mirth. 1 Picks his pocket: in f. e. 2 An old game resembling bagatelle. 3 Remain for a time. 4 A puppet-show. 5 unrolled: in f. e. 6 Sir: in f. e. 7 attired, sworn: in f. e. in a: in f.. 9 gentle: in f. e. SCENE III. TIE WINTER'S TALE. 293 Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon I would, I had some flowers o' the spring, that might This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, Both dame and servant; welcomed all; served all; That wear upon your virgin branches yet Would sing her song, and dance her turn; now here, Your maidenheads growing:-O Proserpina! At upper end o' the table, now, i) the middle, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire From Dis's waggon! daffodils, With labour, and the thing she took to quench it That come before the swallow dares, and take She would to each one sip. You are retir'd, The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, As if you were a feasted one and not But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is That die unmarried ere they can behold A way to make us better friends, more known. Bright Phebus in his strength, a malady Come; quench your blushes, and present yourself Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, The flower-de-luce being one. 0! these I lack, As your good flock shall prosper. To make you garlands of, and, my sweet friend, Per. [To POL.] Sir, welcome. To strew him o'er and o'er. It is my fathers will, I should take on me Flo. What! like a corse? The hostess-ship o' the day:-[To CAM.] You're wel- Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on, come, sir.- Not like a corse; or if,-not to be buried, Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend sirs But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers. For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep Methinks, I play as I have seen them do Seeming and savour all the winter long: In Whitsun-pastorals: sure, this robe of mine Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, Does change my disposition. And welcome to our shearing!Flo. What you do Pol. Shepherdess, Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, (A fair one are you) well you fit our ages I d have you do it ever: when you sing, With floweirs of winter. I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,- Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you Of trembling winter,-the fairest flowers o' the season A wave o7 the sea, that you might ever do Are our carnations, and streaked gillyflowersl Nothing but that; move still, still so, Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind And own no other function: each your doing, Our rustic garden's barren, and I care not So singular in each particular, To get slips of them. Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, That all your acts are queens. Do you neglect them? Per. 0 Doricles! Per. For I have heard it said, Your praises are too large: but that your youth, There is an art which, in their piedness, shares And the true blood, which peeps so fairly through it, With great creating nature. Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, Pol. Say, there be; With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, Yet nature is made better by no mean, You woo'd me the false way. But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Flo. I think, you have Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art As little skill2 to fear, as 1 have purpose That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry To put you to't.-But, come; our dance, I pray. A gentler scion to the wildest stock Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, And make conceive a bark of baser kind That never mean to part. By bud of nobler race: this is an art Per. I'll swear for'em. Which does mend nature,-change it rather; but Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever The art itself is nature. Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does, or says3, Per. So it is. But smacks of something greater than herself; Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilly-flowers, Too noble for this place. And do not call them bastards. Cam. He tells her something, Per. I'11 not put That wakes her blood:-look on't.4 Good sooth, she is The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; The queen of curds and cream. No more than, were I painted. I would wish Clo. Come on, strike up. This youth should say,'t were well, and only therefore Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlick, Desire to breed by me.-Here's flowers for you; To mend her kissing with.Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; Mop. Now, in good timeThe marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, Clo Not a word, a word: we stand upon our manAnd with him rises weeping: these are flowers ners.Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given Come, strike up. [Music. To men of middle age. You are very welcome. [Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this, And only live by gazing. Which dances with your daughter? Per. Out, alas!Shep. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself You Id be so lean, that blasts of January To have a worthy breeding; but I have it Would blow you through and through.-Now, my Upon his own report, and I believe it: fair'st friend, He looks like sooth. He says, he loves my daughter: Old copies; gillyvors. 2 Reason. 3 seems: in f. e. 4 That makes her blood look on t: in f. e. :294: THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV. I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or Upon the water, as he 11 stand, and read, there be liars. As t were, my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: may I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to Who loves another best. give him again. Pol. She dances featly. Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will Shep. So she does any thing, though I report it, they wear their plackets, where they should bear their That should be silent. If young Doricles faces? Is there not milking-time when you are going Do light upon her, she shall bring him that to bed, or kiln-hole; to whisper" off these secrets. but Which he not dreams of. you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests?'T is Enter a Servant. well they are whispering. Charm"' your tongues, and Serv. 0 master! if you did but hear the pedler at not a word more. the door, you would never dance again after a tabor Mlop. I have done. Come, you promised me a and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. sings several tunes faster than you 711 tell money; he Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears the way, and lost all my money? grew to his tunes. Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; Clo. He could never come better: he shall come in. therefore, it behoves men to be wary. I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful mat- Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing ter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, here. and sung lamentably. Aut. I hope so) sir; for I have about me many Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all sizes: parcels of charge. no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He Clo. What hast here? ballads has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print bawdry, which is strange. with such delicate burdens o-life, for then we are sure they are true. of "dildos" and " fadings 1;'"jump her and thump Aut. Here s one to a very doleful tune, How a her;" and where some stretch'd-mouth'd rascal would, usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty moneyas it were mean mischief. and break a foul jape2 in bags at a burden; and how she longed to eat adders' the matter, he makes the maid to answer, " Whoop, do heads, and toads carbonadoed. me no harm, good man;" puts him off, slights him Mop. Is it true, think you? with "' Whoop, do me no harm, good man." Aut. Very true; and but a month old. Pol. This is a brave fellow. Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-con- Aut. Here Is the midwife's name to't, one mistress ceited fellow. Has he any embroided' wares? Taleporter, and five or six honest wives' that were Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i) the rain- present. Why should I carry lies abroad? bow; points,4 more than all the lawyers in Bohemia Mop. TPray you now, buy it. can learnedly handle though they come to him by the Clo. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see more gross; inkles,5 caddisses,6 cambrics, lawns: why he ballads; we l11 buy the other things anon. sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses. You Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that appeared would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, the sleeve-band7, and the work about the square" on't. forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this balClo. Pr'ythee, bring him in, and let him approach lad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought singing. she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her. in's tunes. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in Dor. Is it true too, think you? them than you 7d think, sister. Aut. Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. than my pack will hold. Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing. Clo. Lay it by too: another. Lawn, as white as driven snow; Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. Cyprus, black as e'er was crow; *Mop. Let Is have some merry ones. Gloves, as sweet as damask roses; Aut. Why this is a passing merry one, and goes to 3Masks for faces, and for noses; the tune of, " Two maids wooing a man." There's Bugle-bracelet, necklace amber scarce a maid westward but she sings it: It is in rePerfume for a lady's chamber: quest, I can tell you. Golden quoifs, and stomachers, Mop. We can both sing it: if thou 1lt bear a part, For my lads to give their dears; thou shalt hear; It is in three parts. Pins and poking-sticks' of steel, Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. What maids lack from head to heel: Aut. I can bear my part; you must know,'t is my Come. buy of me, come; come buy, come buy y occupation: have at it with you. Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry- SONG. Come, buy. Aut. Get you hence, for I must go, Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst Whither fits not you to know. take no money of me; but being enthralld as I am, Dor. Whither? it will also be the bondage of certain ribands and Mop. 0! whither? gloves. Dor. Whither? Mop. I was promised them against the feast, but Mop. It becomes thy oath full well, they come not too late now. Thou to me thy secrets tell. A fading was also a dance. 2 Jest. f.e.: gap. 3 unbraided: in f. e. 4 Tags to the strings used to fasten dresses. 5 Tape. 6 Galloon. 7 sleeve-hand: in f.e. e Bosom. 9Used, when heated to set the plaits of ruffs. 10 whistle: in f. e. I Clamour: in f. e, SCENE III. THE WINTER'S TALE. 295 Dor. Me too: let me go thither. Before this ancient sir. who, it should seem, Mop. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill: Hath sometimes lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand, Dor. If to either, thou dost ill. As soft as dove's down, and as white as it, Aut. Neither. Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, that's bolted Dor. What, neither? By the northern blasts twice o'er. Aut. Neither. Pol. What follows this?Dor. Thou hast sworn my love to be; How prettily the young swain seems to wash Mop. Thou hast sworn it more to me: The hand, was fair before!-I have put you out.Then, whither go'st? say, whither? But, to your protestation: let me hear Clo. We'11 have this song out anon by ourselves. What you profess. My father and the gentlemen are in sad' talk, and Flo. Do, and be witness to It. we ill not trouble them: come, bring away thy pack Pol. And this my neighbour too? after me. Wenches, I'11 buy for you both. Pedler, Flo. And he, and more let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all; [Exeunt Clown, DoRCAs, and MopsA.2 That were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Aut. And you shall pay well for'em. [Aside. Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth Will you buy any tape, That ever made eye swerve; had sense,5 and knowledge, Or lace for your cape, More than was ever man's. I would not prize them, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Without her love: for her employ them all, Any silk, any thread, Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, Any toys for your head, Or to their own perdition. Of the new'st, and fin'st, finest wear-a? Pol. Fairly offer'd. Come to the pedler;Cam. This shows a sound affection. Money Is a medler, Shep. But, my daughter, That doth utter all men's ware-a. Say you the like to him? [Exit after them. Per. I cannot speak Enter a Servant. So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have The purity of his. made themselves all men of hair: they call themselves Shep. Take hands; a bargain:saltiers; and they have a dance which the wenches say [Joining their hands.6 is a gallimaufry3 of gambols, because they are not in It; And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to It. but they themselves are o' the mind, (if it be not too I give my daughter to him, and will make rough for some, that know little but bowling) it will Her portion equal his. please plentifully. Flo. 0! that must be Shep. Away! we'11 none on It: here has been too I, the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, much homely foolery already.-I know, sir, we weary I shall have more than you can dream of yet: you. Enough then for your wonder. But, come on; Pol. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's Contract us'fore these witnesses. see these four threes of herdsmen. Shep. Come, your hand; Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, And, daughter, yours. hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you. three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the square.4 Have you a father? Shep. Leave your prating. Since these good men Flo. I have; but what of him? are pleased, let them come in: but quickly now. Pol. Knows he of this? Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit. Flo. He neither does, nor shall. Re-enter Servant, with Twelve Rustics habited like Pol. Methinks, a father Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. Is at the nuptial of his son a guest Pol. 0 father! you 11 know more of that here- That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more: after,- Is not your father grown incapable Is it not too far gone? —T is time to part them.- Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid He Is simple, and tells much. How now, fair shepherd? With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? Your heart is full of something, that does take Know man from man? dispose7 his own estate? Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young Lies he not bed-rid? and again, does nothing, And handled love as you do, I was wont But what he did being childish? To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd Flo. No, good sir: The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed, To her acceptance; you have let him go, Than most have of his age. And nothing marted with him. If your lass Pol. By my white beard, Interpretation should abuse, and call this You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Your lack of love, or bounty, you were straited Something unfilial. Reason, my son For a reply, at least, if you make a care Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason, Of happy holding her. The father, (all whose joy is nothing else Flo. Old sir, I know But fair posterity) should hold some counsel She prizes not such trifles as these are. In such a business. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Flo. I yield all this; Up in my heart, which I have given already, But for some other reasons, my grave sir, But not deliver'd.-O! hear me breathe my life Which't is not fit you know, I not acquaint 1 Serious. 2 in f. e. these characters make their exit with AUTOLYCUS, after the next song. 3 A dish made up of scraps. 4 Fr. esquierre, a foot-rule. 5 force: in f. e. 6 Not in f.. 7 dispute: in f. e. 296 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV. My father of this business. My leash unwillingly. Pol. Let him know t. Cam. Gracious my lord, Flo. He shall not. You know your father's temper: at this time Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. He will allow no speech, (which, I do guess, Flo. No, he must not. You do not purpose to him) and as hardly Shep. Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: At knowing of thy choice. Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Flo. Come, come, he must not.- Come not before him. Mark our contract. Flo. I not purpose it. Pol. Mark your divorce young sir I think, Camillo? [Discovering himself. Cam. Even he, my lord. Whom son I dare not call: thou art too base Per. How often have I told you It would be thus? To be acknowledged. Thou a sceptre's heir, How often said my dignity would last That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!-Thou old traitor, But till't were known? I am sorry, that by hanging thee I can Flo. It cannot fail, but by But shorten thy life one week.-And thou fresh piece The violation of my faith; and then, Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, The royal fool thou cop'st with- And mar the seeds within.-Lift up thy looks:Per. 0, my heart! From my succession wipe me. father; I Pol. I ll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and Am heir to my affection. made Cam. Be advis'd. More homely than thy state.-For thee, fond boy, Flo. I am; and by my fancy2: if my reason If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; That thou no more shalt never' see this knack, (as never If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, I mean thou shalt) we'll bar thee from succession; Do bid it welcome. Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin Cam. This is desperate, sir. Far than Deucalion off:-mark thou my words. Flo. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: Follow us to the court.-Thou, churl, for this time, I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may From the dead blow of it.-And you, enchantment- Be thereat gleaned; for all the sun sees, or Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide That makes himself, but for our honour therein In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath Unworthy thee,-if ever henceforth thou To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, These rural latches to his entrance open, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not I will devise a death as cruel for thee, To see him any more) cast your good counsels As thou art tender to't. [Exit. Upon his passion: Jet myself and fortune Per. Even here undone! Tug for the time to come. This you may know I was not much afeard; for once, or twice, And so deliver.-I am put to sea I was about to speak, and tell him plainly, With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore; The self-same sun that shines upon his court And, most opportune to our need, I have Hides not his visage from our cottage, but A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd Looks on alike. —Will't please you, sir, be gone? For this design. What course I mean to hold [To FLORIZEL. Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor I told you, what would come of this. Beseech you, Concern me the reporting. Of your own state take care: this dream of mine, Cam. 0, my lord! Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther I would your spirit were easier for advice, But milk my ewes, and weep. Or stronger for your need. Cam. Why, how now, father? Flo. Hark, Perdita. — Speak, ere thou diest. [ToCAMILLO.] I'll hear you by and by. [They talk apart. Shep. I cannot speak, nor think Cam. He s irremovable; Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir, Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy, if [To FLORIZEL. His going I could frame to serve my turn; You have undone a man of fourscore three, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, To die upon the bed my father died, And that unhappy king, my master, whom To lie close by his honest bones; but now, I so much thirst to see. Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me Flo. Now, good Camillo Where no priest shovels in dust.-0, cursed wretch! I am so fraught with serious business, that [To PERDITA. I leave out ceremony. [Going. That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adven- Cam. Sir, I think, ture You have heard of my poor services, i' the love To mingle faith with him.-Undone! undone! That I have borne your father? If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd Flo. Very nobly To die when I desire. [Exit. Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music, Flo. Why look you so upon me? To speak your deeds; not little of his care I am but sorry, not afeard; delayd, To have them recompens'd, as thought on. But nothing alter'd. What I was, I am: Cam. Well, my lord, More straining on, for plucking back; not following If you may please to think I love the king, D oubling negatives was frequent with writers of the time. 2 Love. 3 Not in f. e. SCENE III. THE WINTER'S TALE. 297 And, through him, what's nearest to him, which is She is as forward of her breeding, as Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, She is i' the rear of birth. (If your more ponderous and settled project Cam. I cannot say,'t is pity May suffer alteration) on mine honour She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress I 11 point you where you shall have such receiving To most that teach. As shall become your highness; where you may Per. Your pardon, sir; for this Enjoy your mistress; (from the whom, I see, I 11 blush you thanks. There s no disjunction to be made, but by, Flo. My prettiest Perdita.As heavens forefend, your ruin) marry her; But, 0, the thorns we stand upon!-Camillo, And (with my best endeavours in your absence) Preserver of my father, now of me, Your discontenting father strive to qualify, The medicine of our house how shall we do? And bring him up to liking. We are not furnished like Bohemia's son, Flo. How, Camillo, Nor shall appear't1 in Sicily. May this, almost a miracle, be done, Cam. My lord, That I may call thee something more than man, Fear none of this. I think, you know, my fortunes And, after that, trust to thee. Do all lie there: it shall be so my care Cam. Have you thought on To have you royally appointed, as if A place whereto you'11 go? The scene you play were true.2 For instance, sir, Flo. Not any yet; That you may know you shall not want,-one word. But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty [hey talk apart. To what we wildly do, so we profess Enter AUTOLYCUS. Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Aut. Ha, ha! what a fool honesty is! and trust, his Of every wind that blows. sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold Cam. Then list to me: all my trumpery, not a counterfeit-stone, not a riband, This follows. If you will not change your purpose, glass, pomander,3 brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, glove shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring: to keep my pack And there present yourself, and your fair princess, from fasting: they thronged who should buy first; as if (For so, I see, she must be)'fore Leontes: my trinkets had been hallowed, and brought a beneShe shall be habited, as it becomes diction to the buyer: by which means, I saw whose The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see purse was best in picture, and what I saw, to my good Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping use I remembered. My clown (who wants but someHis welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness, thing to be a reasonable man) grew so in love with the As't were i' the father's person; kisses the hands wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, till Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him he had both tune and words; which so drew the rest'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness: th' one of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in He chides to hell, and bids the other grow ears: you might have pinched a placket, it was senseFaster than thought, or time. less;'t was nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I Flo. Worthy Camillo, would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no What colour for my visitation shall I hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring Hold up before him? the nothing of it so that, in this time of lethargy, I Cam. Sent by the king, your father, picked and cut most of their festival purses, and had To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, not the old man come in with a whoo-bub4 against his The manner of your bearing towards him, with daughter and the king's son, and scared my choughs What you, as from your father, shall deliver, from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole Things known betwixt us three, I'11 write you down: army. The which shall point you forth at every sitting [CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA, come forward. What you must say, that he shall not perceive, Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there But that you have your father's bosom there, So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. And speak his very heart. Flo. And those that you'11 procure from king LeonFlo. I am bound to you. tes? There is some sap in this. Cam. Shall satisfy your father. Cam. A course more promising Per. Happy be you! Than a wild dedication of yourselves All that you speak shows fair. To unpath'd waters, undreamed shores; most certain, Cam. Whom have we here?- [Seeing AUTOLYCUS. To miseries enough: no hope to help you, We'11 make an instrument of this: omit But, as you shake off one, to take another: Nothing may give us aid. Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Aut. If they have overheard me now,-why hanging. Do their best office, if they can but stay you Cam. How now, good fellow! Why shakest thou Where you'11 be loth to be. Besides, you know, so? Fear not, man: here's no harm intended to thee. Prosperity's the very bond of love, Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together, Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that Affliction alters. from thee: yet, for the outside of thy poverty, we must Per. One of these is true: make an exchange: therefore, disease thee instantly, I think, affliction may subdue the cheek, thou must think, there's a necessity in It) and change But not take in the mind. garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyCam. Yea, say you so? worth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's There shall not, at your father's house, these seven years, some boot. [Giving money.5 Be born another such. Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir.-[Aside.] I know ye Flo. My good Camillo, well enough. appear in Sicilia: in f. e. 2 mine: in f. e. 3 A ball of perfumes. 4 Hubbub. 3 Not in f. e. 298 TiHE WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV. Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, dispatch: the gentleman is half Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and flayed already. his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, Aut. Are you in earnest, sir?-[Aside.] I smell the neither to his father, nor to me, to go about to make trick of it. me the king's brother-in-law. Flo. Dispatch, I pr'ythee. Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off you Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with could have been to him; and then your blood had been conscience take it. the dearer, by I know how much an ounce. Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle.- Aut. [Aside.] Very wisely, puppies! [FLO. and AUTOL. exchange garments. Shep. Well, let us to the king: there is that in this Fortunate mistress, (let my prophecy fardel will make him scratch his beard. Come home to you!) you must retire yourself Aut. [Aside.] I know not what impediment this Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat, complaint may be to the flight of my master. And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face; Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace. Dismantle you, and as you can, disliken Aut. [Aside.] Though I am not naturally honest, The truth of your own seeming, that you may, I am so sometimes by chance:-let me pocket up my (For I do fear eyes ever1) to ship-board pedler's excrement3.-[Takes off his false beard.] How Get undescried. now, rustics! whither are you bound? Per. I see, the play so lies, Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. That I must bear a part. Aut. Your affairs there? what? with whom? the Cam. No remedy.- condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, Have you done there? your names, your ages, of what having4, breeding, and Flo. Should I now meet my father, any thing that is fitting to be known? discover. He would not call me son. Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat. Aut. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have [Gives it to PERDITA.2 no lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they Come, lady, come.-Farewell, my friend. often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it Aut. Adieu, sir. with stamped coin, not stabbing steel: therefore, they Flo. 0 Perdita! what have we twain forgot? do not give us the lie. Pray you, a word. [They talk apart. Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, if Cam. What I do next shall be to tell the king you had not taken yourself with the manner5. Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail, Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier. To force him after: in whose company Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? reI have a woman's longing. ceives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not Flo. Fortune speed us!- on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. that I insinuate, or touze6 from thee thy business, I am Cam. The swifter speed, the better. therefore no courtier? I am courtier, cap-a-pie; and [Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO. one that will either push on, or pluck back thy business Aut. I understand the business; I hear it. To have there: whereupon, I command thee to open thy affair. an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is neces- Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. sary for a cut-purse: a good nose is requisite also, to Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? smell out work for the other senses. I see, this is the Shep. I know not, an It like you. time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an ex- Clo. Advocate s the court-word for a pheasant7; change had this been without boot! what a boot is say, you have none. here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year Shep. None, sir: I have no pheasant, cock, nor connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. hen. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity; stealing Aut. How blessed are we that are not simple men! away from his father, with his clog at his heels. If I Yet nature might have made me as these are, thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king Therefore I ll not disdain. withal, I would not do't: I hold it the more knavery to Clo. This cannot but be a great courtier. conceal it, and therein am I constant to my profession. Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them not Enter Clown and Shepherd. handsomely. Aside. aside:-here is more matter for a hot brain. Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fanEvery lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, tastical: a great man, I l11 warrant; I know, by the yields a careful man work. picking on's teeth. Clo. See, see, what a man you are now! There is Att. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? Whereno other way, but to tell the king she's a changeling, fore that box? and none of your flesh and blood. Shep. Sir, there lie such secrets in this fardel, and Shep. Nay, but hear me. box, which none must know but the king; and which Clo. Nay, but hear me, he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the Shep. Go to, then. speech of him. Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, your Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. flesh and blood has not offended the king; and so your Shep. Why, sir? flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show Aut. The king is not at the palace: he is gone aboard those things you found about her: those secret things, a new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself: for, all but what she has with her. This being done, let if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know, the law go whistle; I warrant you. the king is full of grief. 1 Old copies: over; ever, is the MS. emendation of Lord F. EEgerton's folio, 1623. 2 Not in f. e. s Hair, nails, and feathers, were so called. 4 Estate. 5 In the act. 6 Pull. 7 A pheasant was a common present from countrymen to great people. SCENE I. THE WINTER'S TALE. 299 Shep. So It is said, sir; about his son, that should hand, and no more ado. Remember, stoned, and have married a shepherd's daughter. flayed alive! Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him Shep. An It please you, sir, to undertake the business fly: the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, for us, here is that gold I have: I 711 make it as much will break the back of man, the heart of monster. more, and leave this young man in pawn, till I bring Clo. Think you so, sir? it you. Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make Aut. After I have done what I promised? heavy, and vengeance bitter, but those that are ger- Shep. Ay, sir. mane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come Aut. Well, give me the moiety.-Are you a party under the hangman: which, though it be great pity, in this business? yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a Clo. In some sort, sir: but though my case be a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. grace! Some say, he shall be stoned; but that death Aut. O! that's the case of the shepherd's son: is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a hang him, he'11 be made an example. sheep-cote? all deaths are too few, the sharpest too Clo. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king, easy. and show our strange sights: he must know, It is none Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. an It like you, sir? Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive, then, the business is performed; and remain, as he says, 7nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's your pawn, till it be brought you. nest; there stand, till he be three quarters and a dram Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the seadead; then recovered again with aqua vitae or some side: go on the right hand; I will but look upon the other hot-infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hedge, and follow you. hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may say; against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward even blessed. eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies Shep. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, their Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune offences being so capital? Tell me, (for you seem to would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. be honest plain men) what you have to the king? I am courted now with a double occasion-gold, and a being something gently considered, I I11 bring you where means to do the prince my master good; which, who he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, knows how that may turn luck' to my advancement? whisper him in your behalfs; and, if it be in man, I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard besides the king, to effect your suits, here is man shall him: if he think it fit to shore them again, and that do it. the complaint they have to the king concerns him Clo. He seems to be of great authority: close with nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far offihim, give him gold; and though authority be a stub- cious; for I am proof against that title, and what born bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them: Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his there may be matter in it. [Exit. ACT V. Sorely, to say I did: it is as bitter SCENE I.-Sicilia. A Room inthe Palace of LEONTES. Upon thy tongue, as in my thought. Now, good now, Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES) DION, PAULINA, and Say so but seldom. Others. Cleo. Not at all, good lady: Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have performed You might have spoken a thousand things that would A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make, Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down Your kindness better. More penitence than done trespass. At the last, Paul. You are one of those, Do, as the heavens have done, forget your evil; Would have him wed again. With them, forgive yourself. Dion. If you would not so, Leon. Whilst I remember You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget Of his most sovereign name; consider little My blemishes in them, and so still think of What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, The wrong I did myself; which was so much, May drop upon his kingdom, and devour That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy, Destroy'd the sweet'st companion, that e'er man Than to rejoice the former queen is well? Bred his hopes out of: true. What holier than, for royalty's repair, Paul. Too true, my lord: For present comfort, and for future good, If one by one you wedded all the world, To bless the bed of majesty again Or from the all that are took something good, With a sweet fellow to't? To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Paul. There is none worthy, Would be unparallel'd. Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Leon. I think so. Kill'd Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes She I kill'd? I did so; but thou strik'st me For has not the divine Apollo said, 1 back: in f. e. 2 Theobald, and most mod. eds. transfer this word to the beginning of the next speech. 3 So old copies; most mod eds. read: dame. 300 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT v. Is't not the tenour of his oracle, By need, and accident. What train? That king Leontes shall not have an heir, Gent. But few, Till his lost child be found? which, that it shall, And those but mean. Is all as monstrous to our human reason, Leon. His princess, say you, with him? As my Antigonus to break his grave, Gent. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, And come again to me: who, on my life, That e'er the sun shone bright on. Did perish with the infant.'T is your counsel, Paul. O Hermione! My lord should to the heavens be contrary, As every present time doth boast itself Oppose against their wills.-Care not for issue; Above a better, gone, so must thy gracel The crown will find an heir: Great Alexander Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself Left his to the worthiest, so his successor Have said and writ so, but your writing now Was like to be the best. Is colder than that theme-She had not been, Leon. Good Paulina,- Nor was not to be equall'd;-thus your verse Who hast the memory of Hermione, Flow'd with her beauty once:'t is shrewdly ebbld, I know, in honour, —O that ever I To say you have seen a better. Had squar'd me to thy counsel!-then, even now, Gent. Pardon, madam: I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, The one I have almost forgot, (your pardon) Have taken treasure from her lips,- The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Paul. And left them Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, More rich, for what they yielded. Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Leon. Thou speak'st truth. Of all professors else, make proselytes No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse, Of whom she did but follow. And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Paul. How! not women? Again possess her corpse; and, on this stage, Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman (Where we offenders now appear) soul-vex'd, More worth than any man; men, that she is Begin, " And why to me?" The rarest of all women. Paul. Had she such power, Leon. Go, Cleomenes: She had just cause. Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Leon. She had; and would incense me Bring them to our embracement.-Still It is strange, To murder her I married. [Exeunt CLEOMENES, Lords, and Gentleman. Paul. I should so: He should thus steal upon us. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Paul. Had our Prince Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't (Jewel of children) seen this hour, he had pair'd You chose her? then I'd shriek, that even your ears Well with this lord: there was not full a month Should rift to hear me, and the words that follow'd Between their births. Should be, " Remember mine." Leon. Pr'ythee, no more: cease! thou know'st, Leon. Stars, stars! He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure, And all eyes else dead coals.-Fear thou no wife; When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches I l11 have no wife, Paulina. Will bring me to consider that. which may Paul. Will you swear Unfurnish me of reason.-They are come.Never to marry, but by my free leave? Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and Leon. Never, Paulina; so be bless'd my spirit! Others. Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. Your mother was most true to wed-lock, prince, Cleo. You tempt him over-much. For she did print your royal father off, Paul. Unless another Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, As like Hermione as is her picture, Your father's image is so hit in you, Affront his eye. His very air, that I should call you brother, Cleo. Good madam, I have done. As I did him; and speak of something, wildly Paul. Yet, if my lord will marry,-if you will, sir, By us performed before. Most dearly welcome! No remedy, but you will-give me the office And your fair princess, goddess!-O, alas! To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young I lost a couple, that'twixt heaven and earth As was your former; but she shall be such Might thus have stood, begetting wonder as, As, walked your first queen's ghost, it should take joy You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost To see her in your arms. (All mine own folly) the society, Leon. My true Paulina, Amity too, of your brave father; whom, We shall not marry, till thou bidd'st us. Though bearing misery, I desire my life Paul. That Once more to look on him. Shall be when your first queen's again in breath: Flo. By his command Never till then. Have I here touch'd Sicilia; and from him Enter a Gentleman. Give you all greetings, that a king, as2 friend, Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, Can send his brother; and, but infirmity Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she (Which waits upon worn times) hath something seiz'd The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access His wish'd ability. he had himself To your high presence. The lands and waters'twixt your throne and his Leon. What! with him? he comes not Measur'd to look upon you, whom he loves Like to his father's greatness: his approach, (He bade me say so) more than all the sceptres, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us And those that bear them, living. IT is not a visitation fram'd, but fore'd Leon. 0, my brother! 1 Old copies: grave: grace, is the MS. emendation of Lord F. Egerton's folio, 1623. 2 Old copies: at; as, is the MS. emendation of Lord F. Egerton's folio, 1623. SCENE II. THE WINTER'S TALE. 301 Good gentleman, the wrongs I have done thee stir Flo. We are not, sir, nor ate we like to be; Afresh within me; and these thy offices, The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: So rarely kind, are as interpreters The odds for high and low is alike. Of my behind-hand slackness.-Welcome hither, Leon. My lord, As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he, too, Is this the daughter of a king? Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage Flo. She is, (At least ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, When once she is my wife. To greet a man not worth her pains, much less Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's speed, Th' adventure of her person? Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Flo. Good, my lord, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, She came from Libya. Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry, Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That noble, honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd? That you might well enjoy her. Flo. Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose Flo. Dear, look up daughter Though fortune, visible an enemy, His tears proclaimed his, parting with her: thence Should chase us with my father, power no jot (A prosperous south-wind friendly) we have cross'd, Hath she to change our loves.-Beseech you, sir, To execute the charge my father gave me, Remember since you ow'd no more to time For visiting your highness. My best train Than I do now; with thought of such affections, I have from your Sicilian shores dismissd, Step forth mine advocate: at your request, Who for Bohemia bend, to signify, My father will grant precious things as trifles. Not only my success in Libya, sir, Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious misBut my arrival, and my wife's, in safety tress, Here, where we are. Which he counts but a trifle. Leon. The blessed gods Paul. Sir, my liege, Purge all infection from our air, whilst you Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month Do climate here! You have a noble' father,'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes A graceful gentleman, against whose person, Than what you look on now. So sacred as it is, I have done sin; Leon. I thought of her, For which the heavens, taking angry note, Even in these looks I made.-But your petition H-ave left me issueless; and your father's bless'd [To FLORIZEL. (As he from heaven merits it) with you, Is yet unanswered. I will to your father: Worthy his goodness. What might I have been Your honour not overthrown by your desires, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on I am a friend to them, and you; upon which errand Such goodly things as you? I now go toward him. Therefore, follow me, Enter a Lord. And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Lord. Most noble sir, [Exeunt. That which I shall report will bear no credit, e S. Bore te Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir II.The Same Before the Palace Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Enter AUTOLYCUS and a Gentleman. Desires you to attach his son, who has Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this re(His dignity and duty both cast off) lation? Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard A shepherd's daughter. the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it: Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak. whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all Lord. Here in your city; I now came from him: commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I speak amazedly, and it becomes I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. My marvel, and my message. To your court Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. Whiles he was hastening (in the chase, it seems, 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business; Of this fair couple) meets he on the way but the changes I perceived in the king, and Camillo, The father of this seeming lady, and were very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, Her brother, having both their country quitted with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their With this young prince. eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language Flo. Camillo has betray'd me, in their very gesture; they looked, as they had heard Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now, of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A notable Endured all weathers. passion of wonder appeared in them: but the wisest Lord. Lay't so to his charge: beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, He's with the king your father. if the importance were joy, or sorrow, but in the exLeon. Who? Camillo? tremity of the one it must needs be. Lord. Camillo, sir: I spake with him, who now Enter another Gentleman. Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Here comes a gentleman, that, haply, knows more.Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth, The news, Rogero? Forswear themselves as often as they speak: 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulBohemia stops his ears, and threatens them filled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal of With divers deaths in death. wonder is broken out within this hour, that balladPer. 0, my poor father!- makers cannot be able to express it. The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Enter a third Gentleman. Our contract celebrated. Here comes the lady Paulina's steward: he can deliver Leon. You are married? you more.-How goes it now, sir? This news, which 1 holy: in f. e. 302 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT V. is called true, is so like tn old tale, that the verity of himself eternity and could put breath into his work, it is in strong suspicion. Has the king found his heir? would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is 3 Gent. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by her ape: he so near to Hermione' hath done Hermione circumstance: that which you hear, you'11 swear you that, they say, one would speak to her, and stand in see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of hope of answer. Thither with all greediness of affecqueen Hermione;-her jewel about the neck of it;- tion, are they gone, and there they intend to sup. the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know 2 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there to be his character;-the majesty of the creature, in in hand, for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, resemblance of the mother;-the affection of noble- ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed ness, which nature shows above her breeding, and house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece many other evidences, proclaim her with all certainty the rejoicing? to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of 1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the benefit the two kings? of access? every wink of an eye, some new grace will 2 Gent. No. be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our know3 Gent. Then you have lost a sight, which was to ledge. Let Is along. [Exeunt Gentlemen. be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in beheld one joy crown another; so, and in such man- me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought ner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of them, the old man and his son aboard the prince; told him for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not what; eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such but he at that time, over-fond of the shepherd's daughdistraction, that they were to be known by garment, ter, (so he then took her to be) who began to be much not by favour.l Our king, being ready to leap out of sea-sick, and himself little better. extremity of weather himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But were now become a loss, cries, ";0 thy mother, thy mo-'t is all one to me; for had I been the finder out of ther!" then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces this secret, it would not have relished among my other his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter discredits. with clipping2 her: now he thanks the old shepherd, Enter Shepherd and Clowun, in new apparel. which stands by, like a weather-beaten3 conduit of Here come those I have done good to against my will, many kings) reigns. I never heard of such another and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. encounter, which lames report to follow it, and undoes Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children; but thy description to show4 it. sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with carried hence the child? me this other day, because I was no gentleman born: 3 Gent. Like an old tale still, which will have mat- see you these clothes? say, you see them not, and think ter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an ear me still no gentleman born: you were best say, these open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this avou- robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do, ches the shepherd's son, who has not only his inno- and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. cence (which seems much) to justify him, but a hand- Aut. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born. kerchief, and rings of his that Paulina knows. Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his followers? Shep. And so have I, boy. 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their master's Clo. So you have;-but I was a gentleman born death, and in the view of the shepherd: so that all the before my father, for the king's son took me by the instruments. which aided to expose the child, were even hand, and called me, brother; and then the two kings then lost, when it was found. But, 0! the noble con- called my father, brother; and then the prince, my bat, that'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father, She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband, father; and so we wept: and there was the first genanother elevated that the oracle was fulfilled: she tieman-like tears that ever we shed. lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her in Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that Clo. Ay; or else't were hard luck, being in so preshe might no more be in danger of losing her. posterous estate as we are. 1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the audi- Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all ence of kings and princes, for by such was it acted. the faults I have committed to your worship, and to 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that give me your good report to the prince my master. which angled for mine eyes (caught the water, though Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now not the fish) was, when at the relation of the queen's we are gentlemen. death, (with the manner how she came to't, heavily5 Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life? confessed, and lamented by the king) how attentiveness Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince, another, she did, with an alas! I would fain say, thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. bleed tears: for, lam sure, my heart wept blood. Who Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let all sorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the boors and franklins say it, I'11 swear it. woe had been universal. Shep. How if it be false, son? 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court? Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 3 Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's swear it in the behalf of his friend:-And I'll swear statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,-a piece to the prince, thou art a tall' fellow of thy hands, and many years in doing, and now newly performed by that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know, thou art no that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had he tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk; 1 Countenance. 2 Emnbracing. s weather-bitten: in f. e. 4 do: in f. e. 5 bravely: in f. e. 6 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 7 Brave, fine. SCENE II. THE WINTER'S TALE. 303 but I 11 swear it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall Paul. 0, patience! fellow of thy hands. The statue is but newly fix'd; the colour Is Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. Not dry. Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I do Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, being a tall fellow, trust me not.-[Trumpets.'] Hark! So many summers dry: scarce any joy the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see Did ever so long live; no sorrow, the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'11 be thy But kill'd itself much sooner. good masters. [Exeunt. Pol. Dear my brother, SCENE.-The S e. A C l in P' Let him that was the cause of this, have power SCENE III.-The Same. A Chapel in PAULINAS To take off so much grief from you, as he EtrLOTS HouseNE. FLRWill piece up in himself. Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA) Paul. Indeed, my lord, CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and Attendants. If I had thought, the sight of my poor image Leon. 0! grave and good Paulina, the great comfort Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is mine) That I have had of thee! I d not have show'd it. [Offers to draw.4 Paul. What, sovereign sir, Leon. Do not draw the curtain. I did not well, I meant well. All my services, Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy You have paid home; but that you have vouchsafd, May think anon it moves. With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted Leon. Let be, let be! Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already It is a surplus of your grace, which never I am but dead, stone looking upon stone5.My life may last to answer. What was he that did make it?-See, my lord, Leon. 0 Paulina Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins We honour you with trouble. But we came Did verily bear blood? To see the statue of our queen: your gallery Pol. Masterly done: Have we pass'd through, not without much content The very life seems warm upon her lip. In many singularities, but we saw not Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, That which my daughter came to look upon, As we are mock'd with art. The statue of her mother. Paul. I 711 draw the curtain. Paul. As she liv'd peerless, My lord's almost so far transported, that So her dead likeness, I do well believe, [Offers again to draw.' Excels whatever yet you look'd upon He'll think anon it lives. Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Leon. 0 sweet Paulina! Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare Make me to think so twenty years together: To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever No settled senses of the world can match Still sleep mock'd death: behold! and say,'t is well. The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. [PAULINA undraws a curtain, and discovers a statue." Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirred you; but Music playing.-A pause. I could afflict you farther. I like your silence: it the more shows off Leon. Do, Paulina, Your wonder; but yet speak:-first you, my liege. For this affliction has a taste as sweet Comes it not something near? As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks, Leon. Her natural posture.- There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel Chide me, dear stone, that I may say, indeed, Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, Thou art Hermione; or, rather, thou art she For I will kiss her. In thy not chiding, for she was as tender Paul. Good my lord, forbear. [She stays him.7 As infancy, and grace.-But yet, Paulina, The ruddiness upon her lip is wet: Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing You 11 mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own So aged, as this seems. With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? Pol. 0! not by much. Leon. No, not these twenty years. Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence; Per. So long could I Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her Stand by, a looker on. As she liv'd now. Paul. Either forbear, Leon. As now she might have done, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you So much to my good comfort, as it is For more amazement. If you can behold it, Now piercing to my soul. 0! thus she stood I'11 make the statue move indeed; descend, Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, And take you by the hand; but then you'11 think, As now it coldly stands) when first I woo'd her. (Which I protest against) I am assisted I am ashamed: does not the stone rebuke me, By wicked powers. For being more stone than it?-0, royal piece! Leon. What you can make her do, There's magic in thy majesty, which has I am content to look on: what to speak, My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and I am content to hear; for't is as easy From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, To make her speak, as move. Standing like stone with thee. Paul. It is required, Per. And give me leave, You do awake your faith. Then, all stand still. And do not say't is superstition, that [Kneeling.3 On, those that think it is unlawful business kneel, and thus implore her blessing.-Lady, I am about; let them depart. Dear queen, that ended when I but began Leon. Proceed: Give me that hand of yours to kiss. No foot shall stir. 1 Not in f. e. 2 The rest of this direction is not in f. e 3 4 Not in f. e. 5 This line is not in f. e. 6 7 These directions are not in f. e. 304 THE WINTER'S TALE. ACT V. Paul. Music awake her. Strike!- [Music. Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, IT is time; descend; be stone no more: approach; Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away; Myself to see the issue. Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Paul. There Is time enough for that, Dear life redeems you.-You perceive, she stirs. Lest they desire upon this push to trouble [HERMIONE descends slowly from the pedestal. Your joys with like relation.-Go together, Start not: her actions shall be holy, as You precious winners all: your exultation You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her, Partake to every one. 1, an old turtle, Until you see her die again, for then Will wing me to some withered bough, and there You kill her double. Nay, present your hand: My mate, that Is never to be found again, When she was young you wood her; now, in age Lament till I am lost. Is she become the suitor? Leon. 0 peace, Paulina! Leon. 0! she Is warm. [Embracing her. Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, If this be magic, let it be an art As I by thine a wife: this is a match, Lawful as eating. And made between Is by vows. Thou hast found mine; Pol. She embraces him. But how is to be questioned, for I saw her, Cam. She hangs about his neck. As I thought, dead; and have in vain said many If she pertain to life, let her speak too. A prayer upon her grave: I 711 not seek far Pol. Ay; and make it manifest where she has liv'd, (For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee Or how stoln from the dead? An honourable husband.-Come, Camillo, Paul. That she is living, And take her hand,' whose worth, and honesty, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Is richly noted, and here justified Like an old tale; but it appears she lives By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.- What!-Look upon my brother:-both your pardons, Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel, That e'er I put between your holy looks And pray your mothers blessing.-Turn, good lady, My ill-suspicion.-This your son-in-law, Our Perdita is found. [PERDITA kneels to HEIRMIONE. And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing) Her. - You gods, look down, Is troth-plight to your daughter.-Good Paulina, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely Upon my daughter's head!-Tell me, mine own Each one demand, and answer to his part Where hast thou been preserved? where livid? how Performed in this wide gap of time, since first found We were dissevered. Hastily lead away. [Exeunt. Take her by the hand: in f. e. KING JOHN. DRAMATIS PERSON-E. KING JOHN PETER of Pomfret. PRINCE HENRY, his Son. PHILIP, King of France. ARTHUR, Duke of Bretagne. LEWIS, the Dauphin. WILLIAM MARESHALL, Earl of Pembroke. Archduke of Austria. GEFFREY FITZ-PETER, Earl of Essex. CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's Legate. WILLIAM LONGSWORD, Earl of Salisbury. MELUN, a French Lord. ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk. CHATILLON, Ambassador from France. HUBERT DE BURGH, Chamberlain to the King. ELINOR, Widow of King Henry II. ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE. CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur. PHILIP FAULCONBRIDGE. BLANCH, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile. JAMES GURNEY, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. SCENE, sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. ACT I. SCENE.-n. A Rm of Se in te Eli. What now, my son? have I not ever said, SCENE I.-Northampton. A Room of State in the How that ambitious Constance would not cease, Palace. xP~alace-~. Till she had kindled France, and all the world, Enter King JOHN, Queen ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, Upon the right and party of her son? SALISBURY, and Others, with CHATILLON. This might have been prevented, and made whole, K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France With very easy arguments of love, with us? Which now the manage2 of two kingdoms must Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of France, With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. In my behaviour, to the majesty, K. John. Our strong possession, and our right for us. The borrowed majesty, of England here. Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your Eli. A strange beginning!-borrow'd majesty? right, K. John. Silence good mother: hear the embassy. Or else it must go wrong with you, and me: Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf So much my conscience whispers in your ear, Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whispers To this fair island, and the territories, ESSEX. To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine; Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, Desiring thee to lay aside the sword Come from the country to be judg'd by you, Which sways usurpingly these several titles That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? And put the same into young Arthur's hand, K. John. Let them approach.- [Exit Sheriff. Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign.. Our abbeys, and our priories, shall pay K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this? Re-enter Sheriff, with ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, and Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody war, PHILIP, his bastard Brother. To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. This expedition's charge.-What men are you? K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood for Bast. Your faithful subject I; a gentleman blood, Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son. Controlment for controlment: so answer France. As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth, A soldier, by the honour-giving hand The farthest limit of my embassy. Of Caeur-de-lion knighted in the field. K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace. K. John. What art thou? Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. For ere thou canst report I will be there, K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? The thunder of my cannon shall be heard. You came not of one mother, then, it seems. So, hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king; And sudden' presage of your own decay.- That is well known, and, as I think, one father: An honourable conduct let him have: But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, Pembroke, look to't. Farewell, Chatillon. I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother: [Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE. Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 1 sullen: in f. e. 2 Conduct. 20 306 KING JOHN. ACT I. Eli. Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy Your father's heir must have your father's land. mother, Rob. Shall, then, my father's will be of no force And wound her honour with this diffidence. To dispossess that child which is not his? Bast. I, madam? no, I have no reason for it: Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, That is my brother's plea, and none of mine; Than was his will to get me, as I think. The which if he can prove,'a pops me out Eli. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge At least from fair five hundred pound a year. And, like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land! Or the reputed son of Cceur-de-lion, K. John. A good blunt fellow.-Why, being younger Lord of thy presence, and no land beside? born, Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shal;e, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? And I had his, sir Robert his,3 like him Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. And if my legs were two such riding-rods, But once he slander'd me with bastardy: My arms such eel-skins stuffed my face so thin, But whe'r I be as true begot, or no That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, That still I lay upon my mother's head; Lest men should say, "Look, where three-farthings But, that I am as well begot, my liege, goes," (Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!) And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. Would I might never stir from off this place, If old sir Robert did beget us both, I'd give it every foot to have this face: And were our father, and this son like him, I would not be sir Nob5 in any case. 0! old sir Robert, father, on my knee Eli. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune, I give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me? K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us I am a soldier, and now bound to France. here! Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. Eli. He hath a trick of Cceur-de-lion's face; Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year, The accent of his tongue affecteth him. Yet sell your face for five pence, and't is dear.Do you not read some tokens of my son Madam, I'11 follow you unto the death. In the large composition of this man? Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me, thither. K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts, Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. And finds them perfect Richard.-Sirrah, speak; K. John. What is thy name? What doth move you to claim your brother's land? Bast. Philip, my liege; so is my name begun; Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father, Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. With that half-face' would he have all my land: K. John. From henceforth bear his name whose A half-fac'd groat2 five hundred pound a year! form thou bearest. Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great: Your brother did employ my father much. [Bast. kneels and rises.6 Bast. Well, sir; by this you cannot get my land: Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet. Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy hand: To Germany, there, with the emperor, My father gave me honour, yours gave land, To treat of high affairs touching that time. Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, The advantage of his absence took the king, When I was got Sir Robert was away. And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet! — Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, I am thy grandame, Richard: call me so. But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: what Between my father and my mother lay, though? As I have heard my father speak himself, Something about, a little from the right, When this same lusty gentleman was got. In at the window, or else o'er the hatch: Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night, His lands to me; and took it, on his death And have is have, however men do catch. That this, my mother's son, was none of his: Near or far off, well won is still well shot, And, if he were, he came into the world And I am I, howe'er I was begot. Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. K. John. Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, desire; My father's land, as was my father's will. A landless knight makes thee a landed'squire.K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate: Come, madam, and come, Richard: we must speed Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him; For France, for France, for it is more than need. And if she did play false, the fault was hers, Bast. Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee, Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother [Exeunt all but the Bastard. Who, as you say, took pains to get this son A foot of honour better than I was, Had of your father claim'd this son for his? But many, ah, many foot of land the worse. In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept Well, now can I make any Joan a lady:This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world; " Good den7, sir Richard."-" God-a-mercy, fellow;t In sooth, he might: then, if he were my brother's, And if his name be George,I'11 call him Peter; My brother might not claim him, nor your father For new-made honour doth forget men's names: Being none of his, refuse him.-This concludes,-'T is too respective, and too sociable. My mother's son did get your father's heir; For your diversion, now, your traveller, 1 Folio: half that face. 2 The groat of Henry VII., with the sovereign's head in profile, then a new practice, on it. 3 Robert's. 4 A silver coin of Elizabeth, very thin, with a rose at the back of the ear. s Head. 6 Not in f. e. 7 Evening. SCENE I. KING JOHN. 307 He and his tooth-pick' at my worship's mess; Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son: And when my knightly stomach is sufficd, Sir Robert might have eat his part in me Why then I suck my teeth, and catechize Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast. My picked2 man of countries:-" My dear sir," Sir Robert could do well: marry, to confess, Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin, Could not get me;5 sir Robert could not do it: "I shall beseech you"-that is question now; We know his handy-work.-Therefore, good mother, And then comes answer like an ABC-book:- To whom am I beholding for these limbs? " sir," says answer, "at your best command; Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. At your employment; at your service, sir:- Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother, too, " No, sir," says question, " I, sweet sir, at yours:" That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? And so, ere answer knows what question would, What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? Saving in dialogue of compliment Bast. Knight; knight, good mother, -Basilisco-6 And talking of the Alps, and Apennines, like. The Pyreneans, and the river Po, What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder. It draws toward supper, in conclusion so. But, mother; I am not sir Robert's son; But this is worshipful society, I have disclaimed sir Robert, and my land; And fits a mounting spirit, like myself; Legitimation, name, and all is gone. For he is but a bastard to the time, Then, good my mother let me know my father: That doth not smack of observation; Some proper man, I hope; who was it, mother? And so am I, whether I smack, or no; Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? And not alone in habit and device, Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. Exterior form, outwaird accoutrement, Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father. But from the inward motion to deliver By long and vehement suit I was seduced Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: To make room for him in my husband's bed.Which, though I will not practise to deceive Heaven! lay not my transgression to my charge. Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn Thou7 art the issue of my dear offence, For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.- Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. But who comes in such haste, in riding robes? Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again, What woman-post is this? hath she no husband, Madam, I would not wish a better father. That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, Enter Lady FAULCONBRIDGE and JAMES GURNEY. And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: 0 me! it is my mother.-How no, good lady! Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, What brings you here to court so hastily? Subjected tribute to commanding love, Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he, Against whose fury and unmatched force That holds in chase mine honour up and down? The aweless lion could not wage the fight, Bast. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. Colbrand3 the giant, that same mighty man? He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts, Is it Sir Robert's son, that you seek so? May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, Lady F. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, With all my heart I thank thee for my father. Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? Who lives, and dares but say thou didst not well He is sir Robert's son, and so art thou. When I was got, I'11 send his soul to hell. Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; Gur. Good leave, good Philip. And they shall say, when Richard me begot, Bast. Philip?*-sparrow!-James, If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin: There's toys abroad: anon I'11 tell thee more. Who says it was, he lies: I say,'t was not. [Exit GURNEY. [Exeunt. ACT II. Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. SCENE I.-France. Before the Walls of Angiers. Ar o ive ueo e r,. th. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death, Enter, on one side, the Archduke of AUSTRIA, and The rather, that you give his offspring life Forces; on the other, PHILIP, King of France, and Shadowing his right under your wings of war. Forces; LEWIS, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and Attendants. I give you welcome with a powerless hand, Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.- But with a heart full of unstrained9 love: Arthur, that great fore-runner of thy blood, Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, Lew. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? And fought the holy wars in Palestine, Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, By this brave duke came early to his grave: As seal to this indenture of my love; And, for amends to his posterity, That to my home I will no more return, At our importances hither is he come Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, And to rebuke the usurpation Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: And coops from other lands her islanders, 1 Not in general use in England, when the play was written. 2 Spruce, trim. 3 The Danish giant, whom Guy of Warwick discom fited in the presence of King Athelstan. 4 An old name given to a sparrow. 5 Could he get me: in f. e. 6 A braggadocio character in Soliman and Persida, aplay of the time. He is often alluded to by old writers. 7 Folio: That. 8 Importunity. 9 unstained: in f. e. 308 KING JOHN. ACT II. Even till that England, hedged in with the main, Their proud contempt that beats his peace to heaven. That water-walled bulwark, still secure K. Phi. Peace be to England, if that war return And confident from foreign purposes, From France to En-gland, there to live in peace. Even till that utmost corner of the west England we love; and, for that England's sake Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, With burden of our armour here we sweat. Will I not think of home, but follow arms. This toil of ours should be a work of thine; Const. 0! take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, But thou from loving England art so far, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength That thou hast under-wrought her lawful king, To make a more requital to your love. Cut off the sequence of posterity, Aust The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their Outfaced infant state, and done a rape swords Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. In such a just and charitable war. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face: K. Phi. Well then. to work. Our cannon shall be [Pointing to Arthur.4 Against the brows of this resisting town:- [bent These eyes, these brows. were moulded out of his: Call for our chiefest men of discipline, This little abstract doth contain that large, To cull the plots of best advantages. Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time We'11 lay before this town our royal bones, Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, That Gefffrey was thy elder brother born, But we will make it subject to this boy. And this his son: England was Geffrey's right, Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, And this is Geffrey's.5 In the name of Gcd, Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood. How comes it, then, that thou art call'd a king, My lord Chatillon may from England bring When living blood doth in these temples beat, That right in peace which here we urge in war; Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? And then we shall repent each drop of blood, K. John. From whom hast thou this great commisThat hot rash haste so indiscreetly' shed. sion, France, Enter CHATILLON. To draw my answer from thy articles? K. Phi. A wonder, lady!-lo, upon thy wish K. Phi. From that supernal Judge, that stirs good Our messenger, Chatillon, is arriv'd.- thoughts What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; In any breast of strong authority, We coldly pause for thee: Chatillon, speak. To look into the blots and stains of right. Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege That Judge hath made me guardian to this boy; And stir them up against a mightier task. Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,,England, impatient of your just demands, And by whose help I mean to chastise it. Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds, K. John. Alack! thou dost usurp authority. Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time K. Phi. Excuse: it is to beat usurping down. To land his legions all as soon as I. Eli. Who is it. thou dost call usurper: France? His marches are expedient2 to this town; Const. Let me make answer:-thy usurping son. His forces strong, his soldiers confident. Eli. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king, With him along is come the mother-queen, That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world! As3 Ate stirring him to blood and strife: Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true, With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; As thine was to thy husband, and this boy With them a bastard of the king's deceased, Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, And all th' unsettled humours of the land: Than thou and John, in manners being as like% Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, As rain to water, or devil to his dam. With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think, Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, His father never was so true begot: Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. To make a hazard of new fortunes here. Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that would Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, blot thee. Did never float upon the swelling tide, Aust. Peace! To do offence and scath in Christendom. Bast. Hear the crier. [Drums heard. Aust. What the devil art thou? The interruption of their churlish drums Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, Cuts off more circumstance; they are at hand An'a may catch your hide and you alone. To parley, or to fight; therefore, prepare. You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedition! Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard. Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much I'11 smoke your skin-coat, and I catch you right: We must awake endeavour for defence, Sirrah, look to't; i' faith, I will, i; faith. For courage mounteth with occasion: Blanch. 0! well did he become that lion's robe Let them be welcome, then; we are prepared. That did disrobe the lion of that robe. Enter King JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the Bastard, Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, PEMBROKE, anid Forces. As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass.K. John. Peace be to France, if France in peace But, ass, I'11 take that burden from your back, permit Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. Our just and lineal entrance to our own: Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven; With this abundance of superfluous breath? Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct K. Phi. Lewis: determine what we shall do straight.6 1 indirectly: in f. e. 2 Expeditious. 3 An: in f. e. 4 Not in f. e. 5 The old copies continue the sentence to the end of the line. 6 This line is given to AuSTIcA, in the folio. SCENE I. KING JOHN. 309 Lew. Women and fools, break off your conference.- All preparation for a bloody siege, King John. this is the very sum of all: And merciless proceeding by these French, England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, Come'fore' your city's eyes, your winking gates; In right of Arthur do I claim of thee. And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones, Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms? That as a waist do girdle you about, K. John. My life as soon: I do defy thee, France.- By the compulsion of their ordnance Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand, By this time from their fixed beds of lime And out of my dear love I 11 give thee more, Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made Than e'er the coward hand of France can win: For bloody power to rush upon your peace. Submit thee, boy. But, on the sight of us, your lawful king, Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. Who painfully, with much expedient march, Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child: Have brought a countercheck before your gates, Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will To save unscratchld your city's threatened cheeks, Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle; There Is a good grandam. And now, instead of bullets wrapped in fire, Arth. Good my mother, peace! To make a shaking fever in your walls, I would that I were low laid in my grave: [Weeping.' They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, I am not worth this coil that's made for me. To make a faithless error in your ears: Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does, or no! And let us in, your king; whose labour'd spirits, His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames Forwearied in this action of swift speed, Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Crave harbourage within your city walls. Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee: K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both. Ay, with these crystal beads shall heaven be brib'd Lo! in this right hand, whose protection To do him justice, and revenge on you. Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Son to the elder brother of this man, Call not me slanderer: thou, and thine, usurp And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys. The dominations, royalties, and rights, For this down-trodden equity, we tread Of this oppressed boy,2 thy eld'st son's son, In warlike march these greens before your town; Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Being no farther enemy to you, Thy sins are visited on this poor child; Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, The canon of the law is laid on him, In the relief of this oppressed child, Being but the second generation Religiously provokes. Be pleased, then, Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. To pay that duty which you truly owe, K. John. Bedlam, have done. To him that owes6 it, namely, this young prince; Const. I have but this to say,- And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, That he is not only plagued for her sin, Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up: But God hath made her sin and her, the plague Our cannon's malice vainly shall be spent On this removed issue, plagued for her, Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven; And with her plague her sin: his injury And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, Her injury the beadle to her sin, With unhace'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd, All punished in the person of this child, We will bear home that lusty blood again, And all for her, a plague upon her! Which here we came to spout against your town, Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. A will, that bars the title of thy son. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will;'T is not the roundure7 of your old-fac'd walls A woman's will: a canker'd grandam's will! Can hide you from our messengers of war, K. Phi. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate. Though all these English, and their discipline: It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim3 Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. To these ill-tuned repetitions.- Then, tell us; shall your city call us lord, Some trumpet summon hither to the walls In that behalf which we have challenged it, These men of Angiers: let us hear them speak, Or shall we give the signal to our rage, Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. And stalk in blood to our possession? Truempets sovnd. Enter Citizens upon the walls. Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects: Cit. Who is it, that hath warned4 us to the walls? For him, and in his right, we hold this town. K. Phi.'T is France, for England. K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. K. John. England, for itself. Cit. That can we not: but he that proves the king, You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects,- To him will we prove loyal: till that time, K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the K. John. For our advantage; therefore, hear us first.- And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, [king? These flags of France, that are advanced here Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,Before the eye and prospect of your town, Bast. Bastards, and else. [Aside.8 Havre hither march'd to your endamagement: K. John. To verify our title with their lives. The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as those,And ready mounted are they, to spit forth Bast. Some bastards, too. [Aside. Their iron indignation'gainst your walls: K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. 1 Not in f. e. 2 f. e. insert: This is 3 Give the word, to take aim. 4 Summnzon'd. 5 Comfort: in f. e. 6 Owns. 7 Folio: rounder 8 9 Not in f. e. 310 KING JOHN. ACT II. Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast We for the worthiest hold the right from both. away? K. John. Then God forgive the sins of all those souls, Say, shall the current of our right roam on? That to their everlasting residence Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet, Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, K. Phi. Amen, Amen.-Mount, chevaliers! to arms! Unless thou let his silver waters keep Bast. St. George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er A peaceful progress to the ocean. [blood, since, K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Teach us some fence! [To AUSTRIA.] Sirrah, were I Rather, lost more: and by this hand I swear, at home, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, We'1l put thee down,'gainst whom these arms we bear, And make a monster of you. Or add a royal number to the dead, Aust. Peace! no more. Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss, Bast. 0! tremble, for you hear the lion roar. With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. K. John. Up higher to the plain; where we'11 set Bast. Ha! majesty, how high thy glory towers, forth When the rich blood of kings is set on fire. In best appointment all our regiments. 0! now doth death line his dead chaps with steel; Bast. Speed, then, to take advantage of the field. The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; K. Phi. It shall be so;-[To LEWIS.] and at the And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, other hill In undetermin'd differences of kings.Command the rest to stand.-God and our right! Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? [Exeunt. Cry, havock, kings! back to the stained field, SCENE II.-The Same. You equal potent, firey-kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm Alarums and Excursions; then a Retreat. Enter a The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death! French Herald, with trumpets, to the gates. K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England who's your And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in. king? Who by the hand of France this day hath made Cit. The king of England, when we know the king. Much work for tears in many an English mother, K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground: K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, And bear procession of our person here; Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth, Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. And victory, with little loss, doth play Cit. A greater power than we denies all this; Upon the dancing banners of the French, And, till it be undoubted, we do lock Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates, To enter conquerors, and to proclaim Kings of our fear: until our fear, resolv'd, Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. Be by some certain king purged and depos'd. Enter an English Herald, with trumpets. Bast. By heaven, these scroyles2 of Angiers flout E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: you, kings, King John, your king and England's, doth approach, And stand securely on their battlements, Commander of this hot malicious day. As in a theatre, whence they gape and point Their armours, that marched hence so silver-bright, At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood. Your royal presences be rul'd by me: There stuck no plume in any English crest, Do like the mutines3 of Jerusalem, That is remov'd by any staff of France: Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend Our colours do return in those same hands, Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town. That did display them when we first march'd forth; By east and west let France and England mount And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come Their battering cannon, charg'd to the mouths, Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes. The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: Open your gates, and give the victors way. I'd play incessantly upon these jades, Cit.' Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, Even till unfenced desolation From first to last, the onset and retire Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. Of both your armies; whose equality That done, dissever your united strengths, By our best eyes cannot be censured; And part your mingled colours once again: Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answered blows; Turn face to face, and bloody point to point; Strength matched with strength, and power confronted Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth power: Out of one side her happy minion, Both are alike; and both alike we like. To whom in favour she shall give the day, One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, And kiss him with a glorious victory. We hold our town for neither, yet for both. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Enter, at one side, King JOHN, with his power, ELINOR, Smacks it not something of the policy? BLANCH, and the Bastard; at the other, King PHILIP, K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, LEWIS, AUSTRIAI and forces. I like it well.-France, shall we knit our powers, 1 The folio gives this and the other speeches with the prefix Cit. to HUBERT. 2 Fr. escrotlilles, scabs. 3 The mutineers or factions during the siege by Titus. SCENE II. KING JOHN. 311 And lay this Angiers even with the ground, But buffets better than a fist of France. Then, after, fight who shall be king of it? Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words, Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town, Eli. Son, list to this conjunction; make this match; Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, Give with our niece a dowry large enough, As we will ours, against these saucy walls; For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown, Why, then defy each other, and pell-mell, That yond' green boy shall have no sun to ripe Make work upon ourselves for heaven, or hell. The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. K. Phi. Let it be so.-Say, where will you assault. I see a yielding in the looks of France; K. John. We from the west will send destruction Mark, how they whisper: urge them while their souls Into this city's bosom. Are capable of this ambition, Aust. I from the north. Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. Cool and congeal again to what it was. Bast. 0, prudent discipline! From north to south Cit. Why answer not the double majesties Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth. This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? [Aside. K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward I'11 stir them to it.-Come, away, away! first Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while to stay, To speak unto this city: what say you? And I shall show you peace, and fair-fac'd league; K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Win you this city without stroke, or wound: Can in this book of beauty read, I love, Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: That here come sacrifices for the field. For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. And all that we upon this side the sea, K. John. Speak on, with favour: we are bent to hear. (Except this city now by us besieg'd) Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch Find liable to our crown and dignity, Is niece' to England: look upon the years Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid. In titles, honours, and promotions, If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, As she in beauty, education, blood, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? Holds hand with any princess of the world. [face. [f zealous love should go in search of virtue, K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's Where should he find it purer than in Blancl? Lew. I do, my lord; and in her eye I find If love ambitious sought a match of birth, A wonder, or a wondrous miracle Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? The shadow of myself form'd in her eye, Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Which. being but the shadow of your son, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow. If not complete of,2 say, he is not she; I do protest, I've never lov'd myself, And she again wants nothing, to name want Till now infixed I behold myself If want it be not, that she is not he: Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. He is the half part of a blessed man, [Whispers with BLANCH. Left to be finished by such a3 she; Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye, And she a fair divided excellence, Hangd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. And quarter'd in her heart, he doth espy O! two such silver currents, when they join, Himself love's traitor: this is pity now, Do glorify the banks that bound them in: That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be, And two such shores to two such streams made one, In such a love, so vile a lout as he. Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine: To these two princes, if you marry them. If he see aught in you, that makes him like, This union shall do more than battery can That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match, I can with ease translate it to my will; With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, Or if you will, to speak more properly, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, I will enforce it easily to my love. And give you entrance; but, without this match, Farther I will not flatter you, my lord, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, That all I see in you is worthy love, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks Than this,-that nothing do I see in you, More free from motion: no, not death himself Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your In mortal fury half so peremptory, judge, As we to keep this city. That I can find should merit any hate. Bast. Here's a stay, K. John. What say these young ones? What say That shakes the rotten carcase of old death you, my niece? Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas; What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. Talks as familiarly of roaring lions, K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin: can you love As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs. this lady? What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love, He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke, and bounce; For I do love her most unfeignedly. He gives the bastinado with his tongue: K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his, Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, 1 near: in f. e. 2 Complete in the qualities. 3 as: in f. e. 312 KING JOIN. ACT Im. With her to thee; and this addition more John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.- Hath willingly departed with a part; Philip of France, if thou be pleased withal, And France, whose armour conscience buckled on; Command thy son and daughter to join hands. Whom zeal and charity brought to the field. K. Phi. It likes us well.-Young princes, close As God's own soldier, rounded3 in the ear your hands. [They join hands. With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well-assur'd, That broker that still breaks the pate of faith, That I did so, when I was first assur'dl. That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,Let in that amity which you have made; Who having no external thing to lose For at saint Mary's chapel presently But the word maid.-cheats the poor maid of that; The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.- That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity,Is not the lady Constance in this troop? Commodity, the bias of the world; I know, she is not; for this match, made up, The world, who of itself is poised well, Her presence would have interrupted much. Made to run even, upon even ground, Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. This sway of motion, this commodity, K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have Makes it take head from all indifferency, Will give her sadness very little cure.- [made, From all direction, purpose, course, intent: Brother of England, how may we content And this same bias, this commodity, This widowed lady? In her right we came This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, Clappd on the outward eye of fickle France, To our own vantage. Hath drawn him from his own determined aim+ K. John. We will heal up all; From a resolv'd and honourable war, For we'11 create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, To a most base and vile-concluded peace. And earl of Richmond, and this rich fair town And why rail I on this commodity: We make him lord of.-Call the lady Constance: But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Some speedy messenger bid her repair Not that I have no5 power to clutch my hand, To our solemnity.-I trust we shall, When his fair angels would salute my palm If not fill up the measure of her will, But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Yet in some measure satisfy her so, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. That we shall stop her exclamation. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, And say, there is no sin, but to be rich; To this unlooked for, unprepared pomp. And being rich, my virtue then shall be, [Exeunt all but the Bastard.-The Citizens retire To say, there is no vice but beggary. from the walls. Since kings break faith upon commodity, Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. [Exit. ACT III. Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? SCENE I.-The Same. The French King's Tent. Then speak again; not all thy former tale, Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY. But this one word, whether thy tale be true. Const. Gone to be married? gone to swear a peace? Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, False blood to false blood joined! Gone to be friends? That give you cause to prove my saying true. Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces? Const. 0! if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, It is not so: thou hast misspoke, misheard: Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die; Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again: And let belief and life encounter so, It cannot be; thou dost but say't is so. As doth the fury of two desperate men, I trust, I may not trust thee, for thy word Which in the very meeting fall, and die,Is but the vain breath of a common man: Lewis marry Blanch! 0, boy! then where art thou? Believe me, I do not believe thee man: France friend with England! what becomes of me?I have a king's oath to the contrary. Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight: Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, This news hath made thee a most ugly man. For I am sick, and capable of fears; Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; But spoke the harm that is by others done? A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, A woman, naturally born to fears; As it makes harmful all that speak of it. And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce, Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert But they will quake and tremble all this day. grim What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb, Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? Full of unpleasing blots, unsightly6 stains, What means that hand upon that breast of thine? Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? I would not care, I then would be content; Not in f. e. 2 Betrothed. 3 Whispered. aid: in f. e. 5 the: in f, e. 6 and sightless: in f. e. SCENE I. KING JOHN. 313 For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou Aust. Lady Constance, peace! Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy, 0, Lymoges! 0, Austria! thou dost shame Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great: That bloody spoil: thou slave, thou wretch, thou Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, coward; And with the half-blown rose. But fortune, O Thou little valiant, great in villainy! She is corrupted, changed, and won from thee: Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John; Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France But when her humorous ladyship is by To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too, And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, France is a bawd to fortune, and king John; A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and swear, That strumpet fortune, that usurping John!- Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave, Tell me. thou fellow, is not France forsworn? Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? Envenom him with words, or get thee gone, Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend And leave those woes alone, which I alone Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength? Am bound to under-bear. And dost thou now fall over to my foes? Sal. Pardon me, madam, Thou weara lion's hide! doff it for shame, I may not go without you to the kings. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt: I will not go with Aust. 0, that a man should speak those words to me! thee. Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop. Bast. And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant limbs. To me, and to the state of my great grief, K. John. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself. Let kings assemble; for my grief Is so great, Enter PANDULPH. That no supporter but the huge firm earth K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven. Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. To thee, king John, my holy errand is. [She sits on the ground. I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, Enter King JOHN, King PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH, And from Pope Innocent the legate here, ELINOR, Bastard, AUSTRIA, and Attendants. Do in his name religiously demand, K. Phi.'T is true, fair daughter; and this blessed Why thou against the church, our holy mother, Ever in France shall be kept festival: [day, So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce, To solemnize this day, the glorious sun Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist, Of Canterbury, from that holy see? Turning, with splendour of his precious eye This, in our Iforesaid holy father's name, The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold: Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. The yearly course, that brings this day about, K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories Shall never see it but a holyday. Can task the free breath of a sacred king? Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day! [Rising. Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name What hath this day deserved? what hath it done, So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, That it in golden letters should be set, To charge me to an answer, as the pope. Among the high tides, in the calendar? Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England, Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week; Add thus much more,-that no Italian priest This day of shame, oppression, perjury: Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; Or if it must stand still, let wives with child But as we under heaven are supreme head, Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, So under heaven,3 that great supremacy; Lest that their hopes prodigiously be crossed: Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, But on' this day, let seamen fear no wreck; Without th' assistance of a mortal hand. No bargains break, that are not this day made; So tell the pope; all reverence set apart This day all things begun come to ill end; To him, and his usurped authority. Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause K. John. Though you, and all the kings of ChristenTo curse the fair proceedings of this day. dom, Have I not pawned to you my majesty? Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, Const. You have beguiled me with a counterfeit, Dreading the curse that money may buy out, Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried, And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, Proves valueless. You are forsworn, forsworn; Purchase corrupted pardon of:a man: You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself; But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led, The grappling vigour, and rough frown of war, This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish, Is cold in amity and faint in2 peace. Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose And our oppression hath made up this league.- Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings! Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, A widow cries: be husband to me, heavens! Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate: Let not the hours of this ungodly day And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, From his allegiance to an heretic; Set armed discord'twixt these perjur'd kings! And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, Hear me! 0, hear me! Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, 1 Except on. a painted: in f. e. 3 him: in f. e. 314 KING JOHN. ACT III. That takes away by any secret course So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, Thy hateful life. Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet? Const. 0! lawful let it be Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven, That I have room with Rome to curse awhile. Make such unconstant children of ourselves, Good father Cardinal, cry thou amen As'now again to snatch our palm from palm; To my keen curses; for without my wrong Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. And make a riot on the gentle brow Const. And for mine too: when law can do no right, Of true sincerity? 0! holy sir, Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong. My reverend father, let it not be so: Law cannot give my child his kingdom here, Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose For he that holds his kingdom holds the law: Some gentle order, and then we shall be blessed Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, To do your pleasure, and continue friends. How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, Save what is opposite to England's love. Let go the hand of that arch-heretic, Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church, And raise the power of France upon his head, Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, Unless he do submit himself to Rome. A mother's curse, on her revolting son. Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue, hand. A caged2 lion by the mortal paw, Const. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul. Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath, Because- Thy tongue against thy tongue. 0! let thy vow Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. First made to heaven, first be to heaven performed; K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal? That is, to be the champion of our church. Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal? What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself, Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference And may not be performed by thyself: Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, Or the light loss of England for a friend: Is not amiss when it is truly done; Forego the easier. And being not done, where doing tends to ill, Blanch. That's the curse of Rome. The truth is then most done not doing it. Const. 0 Lewis, stand fast! the devil tempts thee The better act of purposes mistook here, Is to mistake again: though indirect, In likeness of a new uptrimmed' bride. Yet indirection thereby grows direct, Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her faith, And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire But from her need. Within the scorched veins of one new burned. Const. 0! if thou grant my need, It is religion that doth make vows kept, Which only lives but by the death of faith, But thou hast sworn against religion, That need must needs infer this principle, By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st, That faith would live again by death of need: And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth, 0! then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up; Against an oath: the truth, thou art unsure Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. To swear, swears only not to be forsworn; K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. Else, what a mockery should it be to swear? Const.! be remov'd from him, and answer well. But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; Aust. Do so, king Philip: hang no more in doubt. And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout. Therefore, thy later vows, against thy first, K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee And better conquest never canst thou make, more, Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd? Against these giddy loose suggestions: K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, Upon which better part our prayers come in, And tell me how you would bestow yourself. If thou vouchsafe them; but, if not, then know, This royal hand and mine are newly knit The peril of our curses lights on thee, And the conjunction of our inward souls So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off. Married in league, coupled and link'd together But in despair die under their black weight. With all religious strength of sacred vows; Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion! The latest breath that gave the sound of words, Bast. Will't not be? Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine? Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves; Lew. Father, to arms! And even before this truce, but new before, Blanch. Upon thy wedding day? No longer than we well could wash our hands, Against the blood that thou hast married? To clap this royal bargain up of peace, What! shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? Heaven knows, they were besmeared and overstain'd Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp? The fearful difference of incensed kings: 0 husband, hear me!-ah alack how new And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, Is husband in my mouth!-even for that name, 1 untrimmed: in f. e.; which Dyce defines, virgin. 2 cased: in f. e. Dyce suggests chafed. .....;:.!L%~~-~ —- - ~'......>.._.. —...-, ~i,~. " N. W'- ~..i.-.j //,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I A:i.. ~.-...... -,, 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Z ~!.i. >.HN~?'ni LNO:..:UN, FT-.(' v?~., A 1 ~~~i~~~~~~~~ ~" i t!~~~~~~~~~~~" i All~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ KING JOHN_ HUBUAZTELIO,! EC ~,:-ii~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Xng JhAtHLSee3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~z-i ii: /- ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~r~~~l~~~ — ~ \,;~~; r~~~~~~~~~~~~~i:-~ ~ ~ ~ ~ i ~.:..%... ~......:-:.:. ~.?.. -~~~~.........,! —J.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Kn:I'on, ct IIcne3 SCENE II. KING JOHN. 315 Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, So strongly guarded.-Cousin, look not sad: Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms [Kneeling.' [To ARTHUR. Against mine uncle. Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will Const.! upon my knee, [Kneeling.2 As dear be to thee as thy father was. Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, Arth. O! this will make my mother die with grief. Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for Eng. Fore-thought by heaven, land: haste before; Blanch. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may And ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? Of hoarding abbots: their" imprisoned angels Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, Set at liberty: the fat ribs of peace His honour. 0! thine honour, Lewis, thine honour. Must by the hungry now be fed upon: Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, Use our commission in his utmost force. When such profound respects do pull you on. Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. When gold and silver becks me to come on. K. Phi. Thou shalt not need.-England, I'1 fall I leave your highness.-Grandam, I will pray Const. 0, fair return of banished majesty! [from thee. (If ever I remember to be holy,) Eli. 0, foul revolt of French inconstancy! For your fair safety: so I kiss your hand. K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin. this hour. K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. Bast. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time, Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. [She talks apart with ARTHUR.5 Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood: fair day, K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O! my gentle Hubert, Which is the side that I must go withal? [adieu! We owe thee much: within this wall of flesh I am with both: each army hath a hand, There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And in their rage, I having hold of both, And with advantage means to pay thy love: They whirl asunder, and dismember me. And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win; Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose; Give me thy hand. 1 had a thing to say,Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; But I will fit it with some better time. Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive; By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose; To say what good respect I have of thee. Assured loss, before the match be play'd. Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. [yet; Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life But thou shalt have: and creep time neler so slow, dies. Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.- I had a thing to say,-but let it go. [Exit Bastard. The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; Attended with the pleasures of the world, A rage, whose heat hath this condition, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, To give me audience:-if the midnight bell The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France. Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt Sound on into the drowsy ear6 of night: To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire. [turn If this same were a churchyard where we stand, Look to thyself: thou art in jeopardy. And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; K. John. No more than he that threats.-To arms Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, let Is hie! [Exeunt. Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick,. (Which, else, runs tingling7 up and down the veins, SCENE II.-The Same Plans near ners. Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, Alarums, Excursions. Enter the Bastard with And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, AUSTRIAIS Head. A passion hateful to my purposes,) Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, Some fiery3 devil hovers in the sky. Hear me without thine ears, and make reply And pours down mischief. Austria's head, lie there, Without a tongue, using conceit alone, While Philip breathes. Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words, Enter King JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT. Then, in despite of thee broad9 watchful day, K. John. Hubert, keep this boy.-Philip, make up: I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. My mother is assailed in our tent, But ah! I will not:-yet I love thee well: And talen, I fear. And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. Bast. My lord, I rescued her; Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, Her highness is in safety, fear you not: Though that my death were adjunct to my act, But on, my liege; for very little pains By heaven, I would do it. Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. K. John. Do not I know, thou wouldst? Good Hubert! Hubert-Hubert, throw thine eye SCENE III.-T he Same. On yond' young boy: I 11 tell thee what, my friend, Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter King JOHN, He is a very serpent in my way; ELINOR, ARTHUR, the Bastard, HUBERT, and Lords. And wheresoever this foot of mine doth tread, K. John. So shall it be; your grace shall stay He lies before me. Dost thou understand me? behind, [To ELINOR. Thou art his keeper. 1 2 Not in f. e. 3 airy: in f. e. 4 This word not in fe. 5 She takes ARTHUR aside: in f. e. 6 race: in f. e. 7 tickling: in f. e. 8 This word is not in f. e. 9 brooded: in f. e. 316 KING JOHN. ACT m. Hub. And I'11 keep him so, For then.'t is like I should forget myself: That he shall not offend your majesty. 0, if I could, what grief should I forget!K. John. Death. Preach some philosophy to make me mad, Hub. My lord? And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal: K. John. A grave. For, being not mad. but sensible of grief, Hub. He shall not live. My reasonable part produces reason K. John. Enough. How I may be delivered of these woes, I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; And teaches me to kill or hang myself: Well, I'11 not say what I intend for thee: If I were mad, I should forget my son. Remember.-Madam, fare you well: Or madly think a babe of clouts were he. I'11 send those powers o'er to your majesty.! am not mad: too well, too well I feel Eli. My blessing go with thee! The different plague of each calamity. K. John. For England, cousin: go. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. O! what love I note Hubert shall be your man, attend on you In the fair multitude of those her hairs! With all true duty.-On towards Calais, ho! [Exeunt. Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, SCENE IV.-The Same. The French Kinfg's Tent. Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends nE.- T Do glue themselves in sociable grief; Enter King PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPHI, and Attendants. Like true, inseparable, faithful lovers, K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, Sticking together in calamity. A whole armado of convented' sail Const. To England, if you will. Is scatter'd, and disjoined from fellowship. K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. Const. Yes, that I will: and wherefore will I do it? K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill? I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud, Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? " 0, that these hands could so redeem my son, Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? As they have given these hairs their liberty!7 And bloody England into England gone, But now, I envy at their liberty, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? And will again commit them to their bonds, Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: Because my poor child is a prisoner.So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven: Doth want example. Who hath read, or heard If that be true, I shall see my boy again; Of any kindred action like to this? For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise, To him that did but yesterday suspire, So we could find some pattern of our shame. There was not such a gracious creature born. Enter CONSTANCE. But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, Look, who comes here? a grave unto a soul; And chase the native beauty from his cheek, Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will, And he will look as hollow as a ghost, In the vile prison of afflicted breath.- As dim and meagre as an ague's fit, I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. And so he'l die; and, rising so again, Const. Lo now; now see the issue of your peace! When I shall meet him in the court of heaven, K. Phi. Patience, good lady: comfort, gentle Con- I shall not know him: therefore never, never stance. Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. Death, death.-O, amiable lovely death! K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Arise from forth the couch of lasting night, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me: Thou hate and terror to prosperity, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, And I will kiss thy detestable bones; Remembers me of all his gracious parts, And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows; Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form: And ring these fingers with thy household worms; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, And be a carrion monster like thyself: I could give better comfort than you do.Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st I will not keep this form upon my head, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love [Tearing her hair.+ O. come to me! When there is such disorder in my wit. K. PNhi. 0, fair affliction, peace! 0 lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! Const. No, no, I will not having breath to cry.- My life, my joy, my food, my all the world, 0! that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth; My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure! [Exit. Then with what2 passion I would shake the world K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'11 follow her. And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, [Exit. Which cannot hear a ladys feeble voice, Lew. There's nothing in this world can make me Which scorns a widow's3 invocation. Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, [joy: Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so. And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; That it yields nought, but shame, and bitterness. My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost! Even in the instant of repair and health, I am not mad: —I would to heaven, I were; The fit is strongest: evils that take leave, convicted: in f. e. a: in f. e.' modern: in f. e. 4Not in f. e. SCENE I. KING JOHN. 317 On their departure most of all show evil. This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts What have you lost by losing of this day? Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal, Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. That none so small advantage shall step forth Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had. To check his reign, but they will cherish it: No, no: when fortune means to men most good, No natural exhalation in the sky, She looks upon them with a threatening eye. No scapel of nature, no distempered day,'T is strange, to think how much king John hath lost No common wind, no customed event, In this which he accounts so clearly won. But they will pluck away his natural cause, Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him. Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, For even the breath of what I mean to speak But hold himself safe in his prisonment. Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub Pand. O! sir, when he shall hear of your approach, Out of the path which shall directly lead If that young Arthur be not gone already, Thy foot to England's throne; and therefore mark. Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be, Of all his people shall revolt from him, That whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, And kiss the lips of unacquainted change; The misplac'd John should entertain one hour, And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath, One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. A sceptre, snatched with an unruly hand Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot: Must be as boisterously maintained as gain'd; And. O! what better matter breeds for you, And he that stands upon a slippery place, Than I have nam'd.-The bastard Faulconbridge Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up: Is now in England ransacking the church, That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall; Offending charity: if but a dozen French So be it, for it cannot be but so. Were there in arms, they would be as a call Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? To train ten thousand English to their side; Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, Or as a little snow, tumbled about, May then make all the claim that Arthur did. Anon becomes a mountain. 0, noble Dauphin! Lew. And lose it. life and all, as Arthur did. Go with me to the king.'T is wonderful, Pand. How green you are and fresh in this old What may be wrought out of their discontent. world Now that their souls are topfull of offence, John lays you plots; the times conspire with you, For England go; I will whet on the king. For he that steeps his safety in true blood Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions. Let us go: Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE.-Northampton. A Room in the Castle. No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven, ESCENE I.-INorthampton. At Room n the Castle.I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Enter HUBERT and two Attendants. Hub. [Aside.] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Within the arras: when I strike my foot Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day. And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, In sooth, I would you were a little sick; Fast to the chair: be heedful. Hence, and watch. That I might sit all night, and watch with you: 1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. Uncleanly scruples: fear not you: look to t.- Hub. [Aside.] His words do take possession of my [Exeunt Attendants. bosom.Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] Enter ARTHUR. [Aside.] How now, foolish rheum! Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Turning dispiteous torture out of door? Hub. Good morrow, little prince. I must be brief; lest resolution drop Arth. As little prince (having so great a title Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.To be more prince,) as may be.-You are sad. Can you not read it? is it not fair writ? Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. Arth. Mercy on me! Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Methinks. no body should be sad but I: Hub. Young boy, I must. Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Arth. And will you? Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Hub. And I will. Only for wantonness. By my christendom, Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, but ache, I should be merry as the day is long; I knit my handkerchief about your brows, And so I would be here, but that I doubt (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) My uncle practises more harm to me: And I did never ask it you again: He is afraid of me, and I of him. And with my hand at midnight held your head, Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 1 scope: in f. e. 318 KING JOHN. ACT IV. Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, In undeserved extremes: see else yourself; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? There is no malice in this burning coal; Or, What good love may I perform for you? The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. But you at your sick service had a prince. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: And call it cunning: do, an if you will. Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; If heaven be pleas'd that you will use me ill, And like a dog that is compelled to fight, Why, then you must -Will you put out mine eyes? Snatch at his master that doth tarre3 him on. These eyes, that never did, nor never shall All things that you should use to do me wrong, So much as frown on you? Deny their office: only you do lack Hub. I have sworn to do it, That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extend, And with hot irons must I burn them out. Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. Arth. Ah! none but in this iron age would do it. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, For all the treasures that thine uncle owes: Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears, Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, And quench this' fiery indignation, With this same very iron to burn them out. Even in the matter of mine innocence: Arth. 0! now you look like Hubert: all this while Nay, after that, consume away in rust, You were disguised. But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Hub. Peace! no more. Adieu. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? Your uncle must not know but you are dead: An if an angel should have come to me, I'1 fill these dogged spies with false reports; And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, I would not have believ'd him; no tongue but Hubert's. That Hubert for the wealth of all the world Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. Will not offend thee. Re-enter Attendants, with Cord, Irons, ~c. Arth. 0 heaven!-I thank you, Hubert. Do as I bid you do. Hub. Silence! no more. Go closely in with me; Arth. 0! save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. om o S i SCENE II.- The Same. A Room of State the Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. A [Taking it.' alace. Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough? Enter King JOHN crowned; PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, I will not struggle; I will stand stone-still. and other Lords. The Kig takes his State. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound. K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crowned, Nay, hear me, Hubert: drive these men away, And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; Pem. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before, Nor look upon the iron angerly. And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; Thrust but these men away, and I 11 forgive you, The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt; Whatever torment you do put me to. Fresh expectation troubled not the land, Hub. Go, stand within: let me alone with him. With any long'd-for change, or better state. 1 Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. Sal. Therefore, to be possessed with double pomp, [Exeunt Attendants. To guard4 a title that was rich before, Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart,- To throw a perfume on the violet, Let him come back, that his compassion may To smooth the ice, or add another hue Give life to yours. Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Arth. Is there no remedy? Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Pem. But that your royal pleasure must be done, Arth, 0 heaven!-that there were but a mote in This act is as an ancient tale new told, yours, And in the last repeating troublesome, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Being urged at a time unseasonable. Any annoyance in that precious sense! Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, Of plain old form is much disfigured; Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, Hub. Is this your promise? go to; hold your tongue. It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about, Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Startles and frights consideration, Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert: For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well, So I may keep mine eyes. 0! spare mine eyes; They do confound their skill in covetousness; Though to no use, but still to look on you. And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault Lo! by my troth, the instrument is cold Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse: And would not harm me. As patches, set upon a little breach, Hub. I can heat it, boy. Discredit more in hiding of the fault, Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Than did the fault before it was so patched. Being create for comfort. to be us'd Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, 1 So the folio; most eds. read: his. a Not in fe. 3e Excite. 4 Ornament. SCENE II. KING JOHN. 319 We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your highness K. John. They burn in indignation. I repent: To overbear it, and we are all well-pleas'd; There is no sure foundation set on blood, Since all and every part of what we would, No certain life achiev'd by others' death. Doth make a stand at what your highness will. Enter a Messenger. K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation A fearful eye thou hast: where is that blood, [ have possess'd you with, and think them strong; That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? And more, more strong, thus lesseningl my fear, So foul a sky clears not without a storm: I shall indue you with: mean time but ask Pour down thy weather.-How goes all in France? What you would have reform'd that is not well, Mess. From France to England.-Never such a power And well shall you perceive, how willingly For any foreign preparation, I will both hear and grant you your requests. Was levied in the body of a land. Pem. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these, The copy of your speed is learn'd by them; To sound the purposes of all their hearts, For, when you should be told they do prepare, Both for myself and them, but, chief of all, The tidings come that they are all arriv'd. Your safety, for the which myself and they K. John. 0! where hath our intelligence been drunk? Bend their best studies, heartily request Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care, Th' enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint That such an army could be drawn in France, Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent And she not hear of it? To break into this dangerous argument:- Mess. My liege, her ear If what in rest you have, in right you hold, Is stopp'd with dust: the first of April, died Why should2 your fears, which, as they say, attend Your noble mother; and, as I hear, my lord, The steps of wrong, then3 move you to mew up The lady Constance in a frenzy died., Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not. The rich advantage of good exercise!- K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful Occasion! That the time's enemies may not have this 0! make a league with me, till I have pleased To grace occasions, let it be our suit, My discontented peers.-What! mother dead? That you have bid us ask his liberty; How wildly, then, walks my estate in France!Which for our goods we do no farther ask, Under whose conduct come those powers of France, Than whereupon our weal, on yours depending, That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here? Counts it your weal he have his liberty. Mess. Under the Dauphin. K. John. Let it be so: I do commit his youth Enter the Bastard, and PETER of POMFRET. Enter HUBERT. K. John. Thou hast made me giddy To your direction.-Hubert, what news with you? With these ill-tidings.-Now, what says the world [HUBERT talks apart with the King. To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed: My head with more ill news, for it is full. He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine. Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst, The image of a wicked heinous fault Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. Lives in his eye: that close aspect of his K. John. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd Doth show the mood of a much-troubled breast; Under the tide; but now I breathe again And I do fearfully believe't is done, Aloft the flood, and can give audience What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. To any tongue, speak it of what it will. Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go, Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, Between his purpose and his conscience, The sums I have collected shall express: Like heralds'twixt two dreadful battles set: But as I travelled hither through the land, His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. I find the people strangely fantasied; Pem. And when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams, The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear; K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.- And here's a prophet, that I brought with me Good lords, although my will to give is living, From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found The suit which you demand is gone and dead: With many hundreds treading on his heels; He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. That ere the next Ascension-day at noon, Per. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was, Your highness should deliver up your crown. Before the child himself felt he was sick. K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? This must be answer'd either here, or hence. Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me? K. John. Hubert, away with him: imprison him; Think you, I bear the shears of destiny? And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, Have I commandment on the pulse of life? I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd. Sal. It is apparent foul play; and't is shame, Deliver him to safety, and return, That greatness should so grossly offer it. For I must use thee.-O my gentle cousin! So thrive it in your game: and so farewell. [Exit HUBERT, with PETER. Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee, Hear'st thou the news abroad. who are arriv'd? And find th' inheritance of this poor child, Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full His little kingdom of a forced grave. Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, [of it: That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire, Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the while. And others more, going to seek the grave This must not be thus borne: this will break out Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. [Exeunt Lords. On your suggestion. 1 than lesser is: in f. e. 2 then: in f.. e 3 should: in f. e. 320 KING JOHN. ACT IV. K. John: Gentle kinsman, go, Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, And thrust thyself into their companies. I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; I have a way to win their loves again: And thou, to be endeared to a king, Bring them before me. Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Bast. I will seek them out. Hub. My lord,K. John.' Nay, but make haste; the better foot K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a before.- When I spake darkly what I purposed; [pause, 0! let me have no subject enemies. Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, When adverse foreigners affright my towns Or2 bid me tell my tale in express words, With dreadful pomp of stout invasion. Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, Be Mercury; set feathers to thy heels, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me: And fly like thought from them to me again. But thou didst understand me by my signs, Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. And didst in signs again parley with sign3: [Exit. Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, K. John. Spoke like a spriteful, noble gentleman.- And consequently thy rude hand to act Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need The deed which both our tongues held vile to name. Some messenger betwixt me and the peers, Out of my sight, and never see me more! And be thou he. My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd, Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers: K. John. My mother dead! Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, Re-enter HUBERT. This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night: Hostility and civil tumult reigns Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. The other four in wonderous motion. Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, K. John. Five moons? I 11 make a peace between your soul and you. Hub. Old men, and beldares, in the streets Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine Do prophesy upon it dangerously. Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, Within this bosom never enter'd yet And whisper one another in the ear: The dreadful motion of a murderous thought, And he that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist And you have slander'd nature in my form; Whilst he that hears, makes fearful action, Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. Is yet the cover of a fairer mind, I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, Than to be butcher of an innocent child. The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, K. John. Doth Arthur live? 0! haste thee to the With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; peers: Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, Throw this report on their incensed rage, Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste And make them tame to their obedience. Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet) Forgive the comment that my passion made Told of a many thousand warlike French, Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent. And foul imaginary eyes of blood Another lean, unwash'd artificer Presented thee more hideous than thou art. Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death. 0! answer not; but to my closet bring K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these The angry lords, with all expedient haste: fears? I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt. Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls. Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not provoke Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leap down.me? Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. To break into the bloody house of life; I am afraid; and yet I ll venture it. And, on the winking of authority, If I get down, and do not break my limbs, To understand a law; to know the meaning I'11 find a thousand shifts to get away: Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down. More upon humour than advis'd respect. 0 me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones.Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones. [Dies. K. John. O! when the last account'twixt heaven Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. and earth Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's Bury: Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal It is our safety, and we must embrace Witness against us to damnation. This gentle offer of the perilous time. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Pem. Who brought that letter from the cardinal? Makes ill deeds done'! Hadst not thou been by, Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France; A fellow by the hand of nature marked, Whose private missive- of the Dauphin's love, Quoted, and sign-d, to do a deed of shame, Is much more general than these lines import. This murder had not come into my mind; Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, Sal. Or, rather then set forward: for't will be Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 1deeds ill done: in f.e. 2 As: in f. e. 3 sin: in f. e. 4 with me: in f. e. SCENE III. KING JOHN. 321 Enter the Bastard. Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; Bast. Once more to-day well met, distempered lords. Lest I, by marking but your rage, forget The king by me requests your presence straight. Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. Sal. The king hath dispossessed himself of us: Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman? We will not line his sin-bestained' cloak Hub. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend With our pure honours, nor attend the foot My innocent life against an emperor. That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks. Sal. Thou art a murderer. Return, and tell him so: we know the worst. Hub. Do not prove me so: Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were Yet, I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, best. Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Pemb. Cut him to pieces. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; Bast. Keep the peace, I say. Therefore,'t were reason you had manners now. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury: Bast.'T is true: to hurt his master, no man else. If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, Sal. This is the prison. What is he lies here? Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, [Seeing ARTHUR. I Ill strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime, Pem. 0 death! made proud with pure and princely Or I'11 so maul you and your toasting-iron, beauty, That you shall think the devil is come from hell. The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Second a villain, and a murderer. Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Or when he doomed this beauty to a grave Big. Who kill'd this prince? [Pointing to ARTHUR.3 Found it too precious-princely for a grave. Hub. IT is not an hour since I left him well: Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld, I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep Or have you read, or heard? or could you think? My date of life out for his sweet life's loss. Or do you almost think, although you see, Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, That you do see? could thought, without this object, For villainy is not without such rheum; Form such another? This is the very top, And he, long traded in it, makes it seem The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, Like rivers of remorse and innocency. Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame, Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house. That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage For I am stifled with this smell of sin. Presented to the tears of soft remorse. Big. Away, toward Bury: to the Dauphin there! Pem. All murders past do stand excused in this; Pem. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. And this, so sole and so unmatchable, [Exeunt Lords. Shall give a holiness, a purity, Bast. Here's a good world!-Knew you of this fair To the yet unbegotten sin of times; work? And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Exampled by this heinous spectacle. Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work; Art thou damn'd, Hubert. The graceless action of a heavy hand, Hub. Do but hear me, sir. If that it be the work of any hand. Bast. Ha! I 11 tell thee what; Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?- Thou art damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black; We had a kind of light, what would ensue: Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer: It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand; There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell The practice, and the purpose, of the king: As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Hub. Upon my soul,Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, Bast. If thou didst but consent And breathing to his breathless excellence To this most cruel act, do but despair; The incense of a vow, a holy vow, nd if thou want;st a cord, the smallest thread NeVer to taste the pleasures of the world, That ever spider twisted from her womb Never to be infected with delight, Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam Nor conversant with ease and idleness To hang thee on: or wouldst thou drown thyself, Till I have set a glory to this head2, Put but a little water in a spoon, By giving it the worship of revenge. And it shall be as all the ocean, Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. Enough to stifle such a villain up. Enter HUBERT. I do suspect thee very grievously. Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you. Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath, Sal. 0! he is bold, and blushes not at death.- Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, Avaunt, thou hateful villain! get thee gone. Let hell want pains enough to torture me. Hub. I am no villain. I left him well. Sal. Must I rob the law? [Drawing his sword. Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms.Bast. Your sword is bright, sir: put it up again. I am amaz'd, methinks: and lose my way Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. Among the thorns and dangers of this world.Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury; stand back, I say: [HUBERT takes up ARTHUR.4 By heaven, I think, my sword As as sharp as yours. How easy dost thou take all England up! I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, From forth this morsel of dead royalty, I thin bestained: in f. e. 2 hand: in f. e. 3 4 Not in f. e. 21 322 KING JOHN. ACT V. The life, the right and truth of all this realm As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast, Is fled to heaven; and England now is left The imminent decay of wrested pomp. To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can The unowed interest of proud swelling state. Hold out this tempest.-Bear away that child, Now for the bare-picked bone of majesty And follow me with speed: I'11 to the king. Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, A thousand businesses are brief in hand, And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. Now powers from home, and discontents at home, [Exeunt: HUBERT bearing out ARTHUR'S body.1 Meet in one line: and vast confusion waits, ACT V. Be stirring as the time; meet3 fire with fire; CENE e Same. A Room n the Palace. Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow Enter King JOHN, PANDULPH with the Crown, and Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes, Attcndants. That borrow their behaviours from the great, K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand Grow great by your example, and put on The circle of my glory. The dauntless spirit of resolution. Pand. Take again [Giving JOHN the Crown. Away! and glister like the god of war. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, When he intendeth to become the field Your sovereign greatness and authority. Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. K. John. Now keep your holy word: go meet the What! shall they seek the lion in his den, French; And fright him there? and make him tremble there? And from his holiness use all your power 0! let it not be said.-Courage4, and run To stop their marches,'fore we are inflamed. To meet displeasure further from the doors, Our discontented counties do revolt, And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. Our people quarrel with obedience, K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with me, Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, And I have made a happy peace with him; To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. And he hath promised to dismiss the powers This inundation of mistemper'd humour Led by the Dauphin. Rests by you only to be qualified: Bast. 0, inglorious league! Then pause not; for the present time's so sick, Shall we, upon the footing of our land, That present medicine must be ministerd, Send fair-play offers5, and make compromise, Or overthrow incurable ensues. Insinuation, parley, and base truce, Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope; A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields, But since you are a gentle convertite, And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, Mocking the air with colours idly spread, And make fair weather in your blustering land. And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms.: On this Ascension-day, remember well, Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; Upon your oath of service to the pope, Or if he do, let it at least be said, Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. They saw we had a purpose of defence. K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present Say that before Ascension-day at noon, time. My crown I should give off? Even so I have. Bast. Away then, with good courage; yet I know, I did suppose it should be on constraint; Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. SCENE A Plain near St Emunds Bur Enter the Bastard. [out,,. Edmund's Bury. Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds Enter, in arms, LEwIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd, BIGOT and Soldiers. Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers. Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out, Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone And keep it safe for our remembrance. To offer service to your enemy: Return the precedent to these lords again; And wild amazement hurries up and down That, having our fair order written down, The little number of your doubtful friends. Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, May know wherefore we took the sacrament, After they heard young Arthur was alive? And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets; Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. An empty casket, where the jewel of life And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. A voluntary zeal, and an unurg'd faith, K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. To your proceedings: yet, believe me, prince, Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. I am not glad that such a sore of time But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad? Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, Be great in act, as you have been in thought; And heal the inveterate canker of one wound, Let not the world see fear, and blank2 distrust, By making many. 0! it grieves my soul, Govern the motion of a kingly eye: That I must draw this metal from my side 1 Exeunt: in f. e. 2 sad: in f. e. 3 be; in f. e. Forage: in f. e. 5 orders: in f. e. SCENE II. KING JOHN. 323 To be a widow-maker 0! and there. Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars Where honourable rescue, and defence, Between this chastised kingdom and myself, Cries out upon the name of Salisbury. And brought in matter that should feed this fire; But such is the infection of the time And now't is far too huge to be blown out That, for the health and physic of our right, With that same weak wind which enkindled it. We cannot deal but with the very hand You taught me how to know the face of right, Of stern injustice and confused wrong.- Acquainted me with interest to this land, And is't not pity, 0, my grieved friends!Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart, That we, the sons and children of this isle, And come ye now to tell me, John hath made Were born to see so sad an hour as this; His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me? Wherein we step after a stranger, march I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw, and weep And now it is half-conquer'd, must I back, Upon the thought' of this enforced cause) Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? To grace the gentry of a land remote, Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne, And follow unacquainted colours here? What men provided, what munition sent, What, here?-O nation, that thou couldst remove! To underprop this action? is't not I, That Neptune's arms, who clippeth2 thee about, That undergo this charge? who else but I, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, And such as to my claim are liable, And grapple thee unto a pagan shore; Sweat in this business, and maintain this war? Where these two Christian armies might combine Have I not heard these islanders shout out, The blood of malice in a vein of league, Vive le roy! as I have banked their towns? And not to spend it so unneighbourly! Have I not here the best cards for the game, Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; To win this easy match, play'd for a crown, And great affections wrestling in thy bosom And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? Do make an earthquake of nobility. No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 0! what a noble combat hast thou fought, Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. Between compulsion, and a brave respect! Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return Let me wipe off this honourable dew, Till my attempt so much be glorified, That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks. As to my ample hope was promised My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, Before I drew this gallant head of war, Being an ordinary inundation; And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, But this effusion of such manly drops, To outlook conquest, and to win renown This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, Even in the jaws of danger andof death.Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd [Trumpet sounds. Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? Figur'd quite o'er with urning meteors. Enter the Bastard, attended. Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, Bast. According to the fair play of the world, And with a great heart heave away this storm: Let me have audience: I am sent to speak.Commend these waters to those baby eyes, My holy lord of Milan, from the king That never saw the giant-world enrag'd; I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, And, as you answer, I do know the scope Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping. And warrant limited unto my tongue. Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, Into the purse of rich prosperity, And will not temporize with my entreaties: As Lewis himself:-so. nobles. shall you all, He flatly says, he'11 not lay down his arms. That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, Enter PANDULPH, attended. The youth says well.-Now, hear our English king, And even there, methinks, an angel spake: For thus his royalty doth speak in me. Look, where the holy legate comes apace, He is prepar'd; and reason, too, he should: To give us warrant from the hand of heaven This apish and unmannerly approach, And on our actions set the name of right This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, With holy breath. This unheard3 sauciness of4 boyish troops, Pand. lHail, noble prince of France. The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd The next is this:-king John hath reconcil'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, From out the circle of his territories. That so stood out against the holy church, That hand, which had the strength, even at your door, The great metropolis and see of Rome: To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch; Therefore, thy threatening colours now wind up, To dive like buckets in concealed wells; And tame the savage spirit of wild war, To crouch in litter of your stable planks That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks; It may lie gently at the foot of peace, To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out And be no farther harmful than in show. In vaults and prisons, and to thrill, and shake, Lew. Your grace shall pardon me; I will not back: Even at the crowing5 of your nation's cock6, I am too high-born to be propertied Thinking his voice an armed Englishman: To be a secondary at control, Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, Or useful serving-man, and instrument That in your chambers gave you chastisement? To any sovereign state throughout the world. No! Know, the gallant monarch is in arms; 1 spot: in f. e. 2 Emtbraceth. 3 So the folios; Theobald, and most eds. read: unhair'd (i. e. unbearded). ~ and: in f e. 6 crying in f. e. 6 crow: in f. e. 324 KING JOHN. ACT V. Xnd like an eagle o'er his aiery towers. Sal. When we were happy we had other names. L'o souse annoyance that comes near his nest.- Pem. It is the count Melun. And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, Sal. Wounded to death. You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Mel. Fly, noble English; you are bought and sold: Of your dear mother England, blush for shame: Untread the road-way' of rebellion, I For your own ladies, and pale-visag`d maids, And welcome home again discarded faith. rike Amazons come tripping after drums; Seek out king John, and fall before his feet; Pheir thimbles into armed gauntlets chang'd, For if the French be lords of this loud day,! Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts He means to recompense the pains you take, To fierce and bloody inclination. By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn, i Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thyface in peace: And I with him, and many more with me, We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well: Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's Bury; T We hold our time too precious to be spent Even on that altar, where we swore to you With such a brabbler. Dear amity and everlasting love. Pand. Give me leave to speak. Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Bast. No, I will speak. Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, Lew. We will attend to neither.- Retaining but a quantity of life, Strike up the drums! and let the tongue of war Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Plead for our interest, and our being here. Resolveth2 from his figure'gainst the fire? Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; What in the world should make me now deceive. And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start Since I must lose the use of all deceit? An echo with the clamour of thy drum, Why should I then be false, since it is true I And even at hand a drum is ready brae'd, That I must die here, and live hence by truth? That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; I say again, if Lewis do win the day, Sound but another, and another shall, He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, Behold another day break in the east: And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand But even this night, whose black contagious breath (Not trusting to this halting legate here, Already smokes about the burning crest Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need) Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day Paying the fine of rated treachery, To feast upon whole thousands of the French. Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, Lew. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. If Lewis by your assistance win the day. Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; [Exeunt. The love of him,-and this respect besides, S.-The Sa. A Fl of B. For that my grandsire was an Englishman,SCENE III.-The Same. A Field of Battle. Awakes my conscience to confess all this. Awakes my conscience to confess all this. Ailarums. Enter King JOHN and HUBERT. In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence K. John. How goes the day with us? 0! tell me, From forth the noise and rumour of the field; Hubert. Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty? In peace, and part this body and my soul K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, With contemplation and devout desires. Lies heavy on me: 0! my heart is sick. Sal. We do believe thee, and beshrew my soul, Enter a Messenger. But I do love the favour and the form Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Of this most fair occasion, by the which Desires your majesty to leave the field, We will untread the steps of damned flight: And send him word by me which way you go. And, like a bated and retired flood, K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey Leaving our rankness and irregular course, there. Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply, And calmly run on in obedience, That was expected by the Dauphin here, Even to our ocean, to our great king John.Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands: My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence, This news was brought to Richard but even now. For I do see the cruel pangs of death The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. Brights in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight, K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, And happy newness, that intends old right. And will not let me welcome this good news. [Exeunt, leading off MELUN. Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight: E -Te S. T Fnc Weakness possesseth me and I am faint. [Exeunt. EVhe Sme. The French Camp. Enter LEwIS and his Train. SCENE IV.-The Same. Another part of the Same. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought. was loath to set, Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and Others. But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, Sal. I did not think the kina so storld with friends. When English measured backward their own ground, Per. Up once again; put spirit in the French: In faint retire. 0! bravely came we off, If they miscarry, we miscarry too. When with a volley of our needless shot, Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, After such bloody toil we bid good night, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. And wound oui tattered colours closely up.4 Pem. They say, king John sore sick hath left the field. Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter MELUN wounded. and led by Soldiers. Enter a Messenger. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Unthread the rude eye: in f. e. 2 Dissolveth. 3 Right: in f. e. 4 tattering colours clearly up: in f. e. SCENE VI. KING JOHN. 325 Lew. Here.-What news? Lew. Here-What news.. 1 SCENE VII. —The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey. Mess. The count Melun is slain: the English lords, By his persuasion, are again fallen off; Enter Prince HENRY SALISBURY; and BIGOT. And your supplies, which you have wished so long P. Hen. It is too late: the life of all his blood Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Is touched corruptibly; and his pure brain Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house) heart! Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, I did not think to be so sad to-night, Foretel the ending of mortality. As this hath made me.-Who was he, that said, Enter PEMBROKE. King John did fly an hour or two before Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief The stumbling night did part our weary powers? That being brought into the open air, AMess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. It would allay the burning quality Lew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care to-night: Of that fell poison which assaileth him. The day shall not be up so soon as I P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. Doth he still rage? [Exit BIGOT. Pem. He is more patient SCENE VI.-An open Place in the Neighbourhood Than when you left him: even now he sung. of Swinstead-Abbey. P. Hen. O, vanity of sickness! fierce extremes Enter the Bastard and HUBERT, severally. In their continuance will not feel themselves. Hub. Who Is there? speak, ho! speak quickly. or I Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, shoot. Leaves them unvisited2; and his siege is now Bast. A friend.-What art thou? Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds Hub. Of the part of England. With many legions of strange fantasies, Bast. Whither dost thou go? Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Hub. What Is that to thee? Why may not I demand Confound themselves.'T is strange that death shoult Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? sing. Bast. Hubert, I think. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, I will, upon all hazards, well believe And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well. His soul and body to their lasting rest. Who art thou? Sal. Be of good comfort, prince, for you are born Bast. Who thou wilt: and, if thou please, To set a form upon that indigest, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. I come one way of the Plantagenets. Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants: King JOHN broughl Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless1 night in in a Chair. Have done me shame.-Brave soldier, pardon me, K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room That any accent breaking from thy tongue It would not out at windows, nor at doors. Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. There is so hot a summer in my bosom, Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news That all my bowels crumble up to dust: abroad? I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, Upon a parchment, and against this fire To find you out. Do I shrink up. Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? P. Hen. How fares your majesty? Hub. 0! my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, K. John. Poison'd,-ill-fare;-dead, forsook, cast off Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. And none of you will bid the winter come, Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news: To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; I am no woman; I'l not swoon at it. Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course':^ Hub. The king, I fear, is poisoned by a monk: Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north I left him almost speechless. and broke out To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, To acquaint you with this evil, that you might And comfort me with cold.-I do not ask you much: The better arm you to the sudden time, I beg cold comfort: and you are so strait, Than if you had at leisure known of this. And so ingrateful, you deny me that. Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? P. Hen. 0, that there were some virtue in my tears; Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, That might relieve you! Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king K. John. The salt in them is hot.Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. Within me is a hell; and there the poison Bast. Whom didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back, On unreprievable condemned blood. And brought prince Henry in their company; Enter the Bastard. At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, Bast. 0! I am scalded with my violent motion, And they are all about his majesty. And spleen of speed to see your majesty. Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, K. John. 0 cousin! thou art come to set mine eye. And tempt us not to bear above our power. The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, And all the shrouds. wherewith my life should sail, Passing these flats, are taken by the tide; Are turned to one thread, one little hair: These Lincoln washes have devoured them: My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Myself well-mounted hardly have escap'd. Which holds but till thy news be uttered, Away, before: conduct me to the king And then all this thou seest is but a clod, I doubt, he will be dead or ere I come. [Exeunt. And model of confounded royalty. 1 endless: in f. e. Theobald made the same change. 2 invisible: in f. e. 326 KING JOHN. ACT V. Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, For many carriages he hath despatch'd Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him; To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel For, in a night, the best part of my power, To the disposing of the cardinal: As I upon advantage did remove, With whom yourself, myself, and other lords. Were in the washes, all unwarily, If you think meet, this afternoon will post Devoured by the unexpected flood. [Kzng JOHN dies. To consummate this business happily. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.- Bast. Let it be so.-And you, my noble prince, My liege! my lord!-But now a king, now thus. With other princes that may best be spared, P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. Shall wait upon your father's funeral. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; When this was now a king, and now is clay? For so he will'd it. Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind Bast. Thither shall it then. To do the office for thee of revenge, And happily may your sweet self put on And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, The lineal state and glory of the land: As it on earth hath been thy servant still.- To whom. with all submission, on my knee, Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, I do bequeath my faithful services, Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths, And true subjection everlastingly. And instantly return with me again, Sal. And the like tender of our love we make To push destruction, and perpetual shame, To rest without a spot for evermore. Out of the weak door of our fainting land. P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks, Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought: And knows not how to do it, but with tears. The Dauphin rages at our very heels. Bast. O! let us pay the time but needful woe Sal. It seems you know not, then. so much as we. Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, This England never did, nor never shall, Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, And brings from him such offers of our peace But when it first did help to wound itself. As we with honour and respect may take, Now these, her princes, are come home again, With purpose presently to leave this war. Come the three corners of the world in arms, Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, Ourselves well sinew'd to our own defence. If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD II. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. KING RICHARD THE SECOND. HENRY PERCY, his Son. EDMUND OF LANGLEY, Duke of York. LORD Ross. LORD WILLOUGHBY. LORD FITZJOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster. WATER. HENRY BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford. BISHOP OF CARLISLE. Abbot of Westminster. DUKE OF AUMERLE, Son to the Duke of York. LORD MARSHAL; and another Lord. THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk. SIR PIERCE OF EXTON. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP. DUKE OF SURREY. Captain of a Band of Welchmen. EARL OF SALISBURY. EARL BERKLEY. BUSHY, QUEEN TO KING RICHARD. BAGOT Creatures to King Richard. DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER. GREEN, DUCHESS OF YORK. EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. Lady attending the Queen. Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. SCENE, dispersedly in England and Wales. ACT I. K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, SCENE London. A Room the Palace. As well appeareth by the cause you come; Enter King RICHARD, attended; JOHN OF GAUNT, and Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.other Nobles, with him. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour d Lancas- Against the duke of Norfolk. Thomas Mowbray? ter, Boling. First, heaven be the record to my speech! Hast thou, according to thy oath and band1 In the devotion of a subject's love, Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, And free from wrath or3 misbegotten hate, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Come I appellant to this princely presence.Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, Gaunt. I have, my liege. And mark my greeting well; for what I speak, K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, My body shall make good upon this earth, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Or worthily, as a good subject should, Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; On some known ground of treachery in him? Too good to be so, and too bad to live, Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, On some apparent danger seen in him. The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, K. Rich. Then call them to our presence: face to With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat: face, And wish, (so please my sovereign) ere I move, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may Th' accuser, and th' accused, freely speak.- prove. [Exeunt some Attendants. Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. High stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, T is not the trial of a woman's war, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and NORFOLK. Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: Boling. Full2 many years of happy days befal The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this; My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say. Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me Add an immortal title to your crown! From giving rein and spur4 to my free speech, banol and bond are used indifferently. 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 from other: in f. e. 4 reins and spurs: in f. e. 328 KING RICHARD II. ACT I. Which else would post, until it had return'd He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou: These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Free speech and fearless, I to thee allow. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, And let him be no kinsman to my liege Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. I do defy him, and I spit at him; Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain: Disburs'd I duly6 to his highness' soldiers: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, The other part reserved I by consent; And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Upon remainder of a clear7 account, Or any other ground inhabitable1 Since last I went to France to fetch his queen. Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Now, swallow down that lie.-For Gloster's death, Mean time, let this defend my loyalty:- I slew him not; but to mine own disgrace, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Neglected my sworn duty in that case.Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king; [gage. The honourable father to my foe, And lay aside my high blood's royalty. Once did I lay an ambush for your life, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; If guilty dread have left thee so much strength, But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. I did confess it, and exactly begg'd By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse' devise. It issues from the rancour of a villain, Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear, A recreant and most degenerate traitor; Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, Which in myself I boldly will defend, I'11 answer thee in any fair degree, And interchangeably hurl down my gage Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: Upon this overweening traitor's foot, And, when I mount, alive may I not light, To prove myself a loyal gentleman If I be traitor, or unjustly fight! Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's In haste whereof, most heartily I pray charge? Your highness to assign our trial day. It must be great, that can inherit us K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me. So much as of a thought of ill in him. Let's purge this choler without letting blood: Boling. Look, what I speak', my life shall prove it This we prescribe, though no physician; true:- Deep Malice makes too deep incision. That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed; In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.The which he hath detain'd for lewd4 employments, Good uncle, let this end where it begun; Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. We'11 calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. Besides, I say, and will in battle prove, Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age.Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. That ever was survey'd by English eye, K. Rich. And, Norfolk throw down his. That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Gaunt. When, Harry? when? Complotted and contrived in this land, Obedience bids, I should not bid again. Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is no Farther, I say, and farther will maintain boot. Upon his bad life to make all this good, Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot, That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death; My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: Suggest5 his soon-believing adversaries, The one my duty owes; but my fair name, And, consequently, like a traitor-coward, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood: To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; To me for justice, and rough chastisement; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood And, by the glorious worth of my descent, Which breath'd this poison. This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. K. Rich. Rage must be withstood. K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars!- Give me his gage:-lions make leopards8 tame. Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? Nor. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my Nor. 0! let my sovereign turn away his face, shame; And bid his ears a little while be deaf, And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord, Till I have told this slander of his blood, The purest treasure mortal times afford How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. Is spotless reputation; that away, K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and ears: Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, A jewel in a ten times barr'd-up chest As he is but my father's brother's son, Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Mine honour is my life both grow in one: Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Take honour from me, and my life is done. Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. In that I live, and for that will I die. 1 Uninhabitable: often so used by contemporary writers. 2 From the quarto, 1597. 3 So the folio; quarto, 1597: said. 4 Wicked. 5 Incite. 6 From the quarto, 1597. 7 dear: in f. e. 8 Norfolk's crest was a golden leopard. SCENE IIm. KING RICHARD II. 329 K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage: do you Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and defence. begin. Duch. Why then, I will.-Farewell, farewell,6 old Boling. 0! God defend my soul from such deep1 sin. Gaunt. Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue 0! sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast; Or sound so base a parle; my teeth shall tear Or if misfortune miss the first career, The slavish motive of recanting fear, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, That they may break his foaming courser's back, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. And throw the rider headlong in the lists, [Exit GAUNT. A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford. K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command: Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometime brother's wife Which since we cannot do to make you friends, With her companion grief must end her life. Be ready, as your lives shall answer it: Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry. At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day. As much good stay with thee, as go with me! There shall your swords and lances arbitrate Duch. Yet one word more.-Grief boundeth where The swelling difference of your settled hate: it falls, Since we cannot atone2 you, we shall see Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: Justice designs the victor's chivalry.- I take my leave before I have begun, Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt. Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Duke of Lo this is allnay, yet deart not so; LANcAsTERs Palace. Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him-O! what?Enter GAUNT, and Duchess of GLOSTER. With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood" Alack! and what shall good old York there see, Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls, To stir against the butchers of his life: Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? But since correction lieth in those hands, And what hear7 there for welcome, but my groans? Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Therefore commend me let him not come there, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Who when they5 see the hours ripe on earth, Desolate, desperate.8 will I hence, and die: Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt. Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur-Go d near Cov Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereofthyself art one, Lists setout, and a Throne. Heralds, fc., attending. Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, Enter the Lord Marshal, and AUMERLE. Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in. Some of those branches by the destinies cut; Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, Aum. Why then, the champions are prepared, and One flourishing branch of his most royal root, stay Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; For nothing but his majesty's approach. Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded Flourish. Enter King RICHARD, who takes his seat on By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. his Throne; GAUNT, BUSHYv BAGOT, GREEN, and Ah! Gaunt, his blood was thine: that bed, that womb, others, who take their places. A Trumpet is sounded, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee and answered by another Trumpet within. Then enter Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and breath'st, NORFOLK in armour, preceded by a Herald. Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion In some large measure to thy father's death, The cause of his arrival here in arms: In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Ask him his name; and orderly proceed Who was the model of thy father's life. To swear him in the justice of his cause. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd art, Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms: Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel. That which in mean men we entitle patience, Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thine oath, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. As so defend thee heaven. and thy valour! What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of NorThe best way is to venge my Gloster's death. folk; Gaunt. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, Who hither come engaged by my oath, His deputy anointed in his sight, (Which, God defend, a knight should violate!) Hath caus'd his death; the which, if wrongfully, Both to defend my loyalty and truth, Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift To God, my king, and my9 succeeding issue, An angry arm against his minister. Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me; Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, 1 So the quartos; the folios: foul. 2 At one, reconcile. 3 Designate. 4 My relationship to him. 8 So all the old copies; mod. eds. read: he sees. 6 Not in f. e. 7 So all old copies; mod. eds. read: cheer. 8 desolate: in f. e. 9 So the quartos; the folio: his. 330 KING RICHARD II. ACT I. To prove him, in defending of myself, Never did captive with a freer heart A traitor to my God, my king, and me: Castoff his chains of bondage, and embrace And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! His golden uncontrolled enfranchisement, -Trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, in armour, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate preceded by a Herald. This feast of battle with mine adversary.K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: Thus plated in habiliments of war; As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,l And formally, according to our law, Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast. Depose him in the justice of his cause. K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy AMar. What is thy name, and wherefore com'st thou Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.hither, Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Before King Richard in his royal lists? Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Against whom com'st thou? and what is thy quarrel? Receive thy laice; and God defend the2 right! Speak like a true knight: so defend thee heaven! Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry, amen. Boling. Harry of H-ereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.] to Thomas, Am I; who ready here do stand in arms duke of Norfolk. To prove by God's grace, and my body's valour, 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous, On pain to be found false and recreant, To God of heaven. king Richard, and to me: To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! A traitor to his God, his king, and him; Mar. On pain of death no person be so bold, And dares him to set forward to the fight. Or daring hardy, as to touch the lists; 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Except the marshal, and such officers Norfolk, Appointed to direct these fair designs. On pain to be found false and recreant, Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's Both to defend himself, and to approve And bow my knee before his majesty: [hand, Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, For Mowbray and myself are like two men To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal; That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Courageously, and with a free desire, Then let us take a ceremonious leave, Attending but the signal to begin. And loving farewell of our several friends. Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness: [A Charge sounded. And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder3 down. K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, spears, So be thy fortune in this royal fight. And both return back to their chairs again.Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. While we return these dukes what we decree.Boling. 0! let no noble eye profane a tear [A long flourish. For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear. Draw near, [To the Combatants.] and list, what with As confident as is the falcon's flight our council we have done. Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd My loving lord, I take my leave of you;- With that dear blood which it hath fostered; Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle;-And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Not sick, although I have to do with death Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. And for we think the eagle-winged pride4 Lo! as at English feasts, so I regreet Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: With rival-hating envy, set on you O! thou, [To GAUNT.] the earthly author of my To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, [blood,- Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, To reach at victory above my head, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, And with thy blessings steel my lance's point. Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat And make us wade even in our kindred's blood: And furbish new the name of John'of Gaunt, Therefore, we banish you our territories: Even in the lusty'haviour of his son. You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life6, Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, Be swift like lightning in the execution; Shall not regreet our fair dominions, And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Boling. Your will be done. This must my comfort be, Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: That sun that warms you here shall shine on me; Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Boling. Mine innocence, and Saint George to thrive! Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. Nor. However God, or fortune, cast my lot, K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: A loyal, just, and upright gentleman. The fly6-slow hours shall not determinate 1 Jest often means a mask entertainment. 2 So the quarto, 1597; other eds.: thy. 3 Truncheon. 4 This and the four following lines are omitted in the folio. 5 So the quart; the folio: death. 6 sly: in f. e. SCENE II. KING RICHARD II. 331 The dateless limit of thy dear exile. -He shortens four years of my songs exile; The hopeless word of-never to return But little vantage shall I reap thereby, Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege Can change their moons, and bring their times about, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light, A dearer merit', not so deep a maim Shall be extinct with age and endless night: As to be cast forth in the common air, My inch of taper will be burnt and done, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. And blindfold death not let me see my son. The language I have learn'd these forty years, K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. My native English, now I must forego; Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: And now my tongue s use is to me no more, Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, Than an unstringed viol, or a harp; And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow. Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up, Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, Or, being open, put into his hands But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage: That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Thy word is current with him for my death, Within my mouth you have enjaild my tongue, But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth and lips; K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Is made my jailor to attend on me. Why at our justice seem'st thou, then, to lower? I am too old to fawn upon a nurse Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. Too far in years to be a pupil now; You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death You would have bid me argue like a father. Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? 0! had it been a stranger, not my child,6 K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate: To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: After our sentence plaining comes too late. A partial slander sought I to avoid, Nor. Then, thus I turn me from my country's light, And in the sentence my own life destroyed. To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. Alas! I look'd when some of you should say, K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. I was too strict to make mine own away; Lay on our royal sword your banished hands; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, Swear by the duty that ye owe to God, Against my will to do myself this wrong. (Our part therein we banish with yourselves) K. Rich. Cousin, farewell;-and, uncle, bid him so: To keep the oath that we administer:- Six years we banish him, and he shall go. You never shall (so help you truth and God!) [Flourish. Exeunt King RICHARD, and Train. Embrace each other's love in banishment; Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not Nor never2 look upon each other's face: know, Nor never3 write, regreet, nor reconcile From where do you remain, let paper show. This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, Nor never by advised purpose meet, As far as land will let me, by your side. To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, Gaunt. O! to what purpose dost thou hoard thy VGainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. words, Boling. I swear. That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? Nor. And I, to keep all this. Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, [They kiss the king's sword. When the tongue's office should be prodigal Boling. Norfolk, so fare5, as to mine enemy.- To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart. By this time, had the king permitted us, Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. One of our souls had wander'd in the air, Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh, Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm; ten. Since thou hast far to go, bear not along Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak'st for pleasure. The clogging burden of a guilty soul. Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Nor. No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. My name be blotted from the book of life, Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence. Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; The precious jewel of thy home-return. And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.- Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make7 Farewell, my liege.-Now no way can I stray: Will but remember me, what a deal of world Save back to England, all the world Is my way. [Exit. I wander from the jewels that I love. K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes Must I not serve a long apprenticehood I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect To foreign passages, and in the end, Hath from the number of his banished years Having my freedom, boast of nothing else Plucked four away.-[To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen But that I was a journeyman to grief? winters spent, Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits, Return with welcome home from banishment. Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Boling. How long a time lies in one little word! Teach thy necessity to reason thus; Four lagging winters and four wanton springs, There is no virtue like necessity: End in a word: such is the breath of kings. Think not the king did banish thee, Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me But thou the king: woe doth the heavier sit, 1 Reward. 2 3 So the quartos; the folio: ever. 4 Not in f. e. 5 So the old copies; the 2d folio, and mod. eds. read: far. 6 This and the two following lines are omitted in the folio. 7 This and the next speech are omitted in the folio. 332 KING RICHARD II. ACT II. Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Marry, would the word " farewell" have lengthen'd Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, hours, And not the king exil'd thee; or suppose, And added years to his short banishment, Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, He should have had a volume of farewells; And thou art flying to a fresher clime: But, since it would not, he had none of me. Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but't is doubt) To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com!st: When time shall call him home from banishment Suppose the singing birds musicians, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Observed his courtship to the common people: Than a delightful measure, or a dance; How he did seem to dive into their hearts, For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite With humble and familiar courtesy; The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. What reverence he did throw away on slaves; Boling. 0! who can hold a fire in his hand, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? And patient underbearing of his fortune, Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, As't were to banish their affects with him. By bare imagination of a feast? Off goes his bonnet to an oyster wench; Or wallow naked in December snow, A brace of draymen bid God speed him well, By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? And had the tribute of his supple knee 0! no: the apprehension of the good, With- " Thanks, my countrymen, my loving Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: friends;" Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, As were our England in reversion his, Than when it' bites, but lanceth not the sore. And he our subjects' next degree in hope. Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'11 bring thee on thy Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these way: thoughts. Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland, Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell: sweet Expedient2 manage must be made, my liege, soil, adieu; Ere farther leisure yield them farther means, My mother, and my nurse. that bears me yet! For their advantage, and your highness' loss. Where-e'er I wander, boast of this [ can. K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war: Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. [Exeunt. And, for our coffers with too great a court, SCEe S. And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, SCENE IV.-The Same. A Room in the King's 7 8 M 7 zn Castlae. in the Kg's We are enforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us Enter King RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN, at one door; For our affairs in hand. If that come short, AUMERLE at another. Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; K. Rich. We did observe.-Cousin Aumerle, Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? They shall subscribe them for largs sums of gold, Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, And send them after to supply our wants, But to the next highway, and there I left him. For we will make for Ireland presently. K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were Enter BUSHY. shed? Bushy, what news? Aum.'Faith, none for me; except the north-east Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, wind, Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, To entreat your majesty to visit him. Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance K. Rich. Where lies he now? Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. Bushy. At Ely-house, my liege. K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted K. Rich. Now put it, God, in his physician's mind, with him? To help him to his grave immediately! Aum. Farewell: and, for my heart disdain'd my The lining of his coffers shall make coats tongue To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.Should so profane the word, that taught me craft Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: To counterfeit oppression of such grief, Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-London. An Apartment in Ely-house Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; SCENE I. —London. An Apartment in Ely-house. For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. GAUNT on a Couch; the Duke of YORK, and Others, He that no more may say is listen'd more, standing by him. Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breathe my More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before. In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? [last The setting sun and music at3 the close, York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Writ in remembrance more than things long past. Gaunt. 0! but they say, the tongues of dying men Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, Enforce attention like deep harmony: My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. The quarto, 1597, has: he. 2 Expeditious. 3 So the quartos; the folios: is. SCENE I. KING RICHARD II. 333 York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, The pleasure that some fathers feed upon As praises of his state: then, there are found' Is my strict fast, I mean my children's looks; Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound And therein fasting hast thou made me gaunt. The open ear of youth doth always listen: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Report of fashions in proud Italy; Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. Whose manners still our tardy apish nation K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their Limps after, in base imitation. names? Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, Gaunt. No: misery makes sport to mock itself: So it be new there's no respect how vile, Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. Then, all too late comes counsel to be heard, K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with5 those that Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. live? Direct not him, whose way himself will choose: Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die.'T is breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying. say'st-thou flatter'stme. lose. Gaunt. 0! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd, K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. And thus, expiring, do foretell of him. Gaunt. Now, He that made me knows I see thee ill; His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Commit'st thy'nointed body to the cure Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Of those physicians that first wounded thee. Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, And yet, incaged in so small a verge, This other Eden, demi-paradise; The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. This fortress, built by nature for herself, 0! had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, Against infection, and the hand of war; Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, This happy breed of men, this little world, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Or as a moat defensive to a house, Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, Against the envy of less happier lands; It were a shame to let this land by lease; This blessed plot, this earth. this realm, this England, But for thy world enjoying but this land, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Is it hot more than shame to shame it so? Fearld by their breed, and famous by2 their birth Landlord of England art thou now6, not king: Renowned for their deeds as far from home, Thy state of law is bondslave to the law, For Christian service and true chivalry, And thou-'As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry K. Rich. A lunatic lean-witted fool, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son: Presuming on an ague s privilege, This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, Dar'st with thy frozen admonition Dear for her reputation through the world, Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it With fury from his native residence. Like to a tenement, or pelting3 farm. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds: Gaunt. O! spare me not, my brother Edward's son, That England, that was wont to conquer others, For that I was his father Edward's son: Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. That blood already, like the pelican, Ah! would the scandal vanish with my life, Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd. How happy then were my ensuing death. My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, Enter King RICHARD, and QUEEN; AUMERLE, BUSHY, Whom fair befal in heaven'mongst happy souls, GREEN, BAGOT, Ross, and WILLOUGHBY. May be a precedent and witness good, York. The king is come: deal midly with his youth; That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood. For young hot colts, being urg'd4, do rage the more. Join with the present sickness that I have, Queen. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster? And thy unkindness be like crooked age, K. Rich. What, comfort, man! How is't with aged To crop at once a too-long withered flower. Gaunt? Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee: Gaunt. 0, how that name befits my composition! These words hereafter thy tormentors be.Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old: Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; Love they to live, that love and honour have. And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? [Exit, borne out by his Attendants. For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have, Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 1 The quarto, 1593, reads: As praises, of whose taste the wise are found (fond). 2 Folio, 1623: for. 3 Petty. 4 rag'd: in f. e. 6 The folio omits: with. 6 The folio: and. 7 So the quartos; the folio and most mod.eds.: AndK. Rich. And thou a lunatic, &c. 334 KING RICHARD II. ACT II. York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words Call in the letters patents that he hath To wayward sickliness and age in him: By his attornies-general to sue He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear His liveryl and deny his offerd homage, As Harry, duke of Hereford, were he here. You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, K. Rich. Right, you say true; as Hereford's love, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, so his: And prick my tender patience to those thoughts As theirs, so mine: and all be as it is. Which honour and allegiance cannot think. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. K. Rich. Think what you will: we seize into our North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your hands majesty. His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. K. Rich. What says he? York. I ll not be by the while. My liege, farewell: North. Nay, nothing; all is said. What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; His tongue is now a stringless instrument: But by bad courses may be understood, Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight: Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he: To see this business. To-morrow next His time is spent; our pilgrimage must be. We will for Ireland; and't is time, I trow: So much for that.-Now for our Irish wars. And we create, in absence of ourself, We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Our uncle York lord governor of England, Which live like venom, where no venom else, For he is just, and always lov'd us well.But only they, hath privilege to live: Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Be merry, for our time of stay is short.' [Flourish. Towards our assistance we do seize to us [Exeunt IKING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE, The plate, coin, revenues, and movables, GREEN, and BAGOT. Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. York. How long shall I be patient? Ah! how long Ross. And living too, for now his son is duke. Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Willo. Barely in title, not in revenues. Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him neer Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, speak more, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first: Hereford? In war was never lion rag'd more fierce, f it be so, out with it boldly, man; In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Quick is mine car to hear of good towards him. Than was that young and princely gentleman. Ross. No good at all that I can do for him, His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Unless you call it good to pity him, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. But when he frown'd. it was against the French, North. Now, afore God,'t is shame such wrongs are And not against his friends: his noble hand borne Did win what he did spend, and spent not that In him, a royal prince, and many more Which his triumphant father's hand had won: Of noble blood in this declining land. His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, The king is not himself, but basely led But bloody with the enemies of his kin. By flatterers; and what they will inform, O. IRichard! York is too far gone with grief, Merely in hate,'gainst any of us all, 0O else he never would compare between. That will the king severely prosecute, K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?'Gainst us, our wives2, our children, and our heirs. York. 0, my liege! Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous Pardon me, if you please; if not, I. pleasd taxes Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. And quite lost their hearts the nobles hath he fin'd Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. The royalties and rights of banished Hereford?' Willo. And daily new exactions are devised; Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath Is not his heir a well-deserving son? not, Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time But basely yielded upon compromise His charters and his customary rights; That which his noble3 ancestors achiev'd with blows: Let not to-morrow, then, ensue to-day; More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Be not thyself; for how art thou a king, Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. But by fair sequence and succession? Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. Now, afore God (God forbid. I say true!)North. Reproach. and dissolution, hangeth over him. If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, 1 On the death of every person who held by Knight's service, the escheator of the court summoned a jury, who inquired what estate he died seized, or possessed of, and what age his next heir was. If he was under age, he became a ward of the king; if of full age, he had a right to sue out a writ of ouster la main, that is, his livery, that the king's hand might be taken off, and the land delivered to him.-Malone. 2 lives: in f. e. 3 Not in the folio. SCENE II. KING RICHARD II. 335 His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, Divides one thing entire to many objects But by the robbing of the banished duke. Like perspectives4, which, rightly gaz'd upon, North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! Show nothing but confusion: ey'd awry, But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm: Looking awry upon your lord's departure, We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, Finds shapes of grief more than himself to wail; And yet we strike not, but securely perish. Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; Of what it is not. Then, thrice gracious queen, And unavoided is the danger now, More than your lord's departure weep not: more Is For suffering so the causes of our wreck. not seen; North. Notso: even through the hollow eyes of Or if it be, t is with false sorrow's eye, death Which for things true weeps things imaginary. I spy life peering; but I dare not say Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul How near the tidings of our comfort is. Persuades me, it is otherwise: howe'er it be, Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost I cannot but be sad: so heavy sad, ours. As, though unthinking5 on no thought I think, Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Bushy. IT is nothing but conceit. my gracious lady. Thy words are but our' thoughts: therefore, be bold. Queen.'T is nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd North. Then thus.-I have from Port le Blanc, a bay From some forefather grief; mine is not so, In Brittany, received intelligence, For nothing hath begot my something woe6 That Harry duke of Hereford, Reginald lord Cobham, Or something hath the nothing that I guess': That late broke from the duke of Exeter,'T is in reversion that I do possess, His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, But what it is, that is not yet known, what Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston I cannot name: t is nameless woe, I wot, Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Enter GREEN. Quoint, Green. God save your majesty:-and well met, All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, entlemen.With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Are making hither with all due expedience, Queen. Why hop'st thou so?'tis better hope he is, And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope; Perhaps, they had ere this, but that they stay Then, wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd? The first departing of the king for Ireland. Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his If, then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke, power. Imp2 out our drooping country's broken wing; And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Who strongly hath set footing in this land. Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt, The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And make high majesty look like itself, And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd Away with me in post to Ravenspurg; At Ravenspurg. But if you faint, as fearing to do so Queen. Now, God in heaven forbid! Stay and be secret, and myself will go. Green. Ah! madam, t is too true: and what is worse, Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that The lord Northumberland, his son young8 Henry Percy, fear. The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. [Exeunt. Bushy. Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland, SCENE II. —The Same. An Apartment in the borland, SCENE I The Same. An Apartment in the And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors? -Palace. Green. We have: whereupon the earl of Worcester Enter QUEEN, BusTi, and BAGOT. Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship, Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: And all the household servants fled with him You promis'd, when you parted with the king, To Bolingbroke. To lay aside life-liarming heaviness, Queen. So; Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And entertain a cheerful disposition. And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, I cannot do it; yet I know no cause And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest Bushy. Despair not, madam. As my sweet Richard. Yet, again, methinks Queen. Who shall hinder me? Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, I will despair, and be at enmity Is coming towards me; and my inward soul With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, More than with parting from my lord, the king. Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty sha- Which false hope lingers in extremity. dows Enter the Duke of YORK, part-armed.9 Which show like grief itself, but are not so: Green. Here comes the duke of York. For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck. as: in f. e. 2 Insert a new feather in place of a broken one. 3 So the quartos; the folios: self. 4 Knight says, these " perspectives' are pictures painted on a board, so cut as to present a number of sides or flats, when viewed obliquely. When " rightly gazed upon," i. e in front, nothing can be seen; eyed awry, the picture is visible. 5 in thinking: in f. e. 6 grief: in f. e. 7 grieve: in f. e. So the quartos; the folio: his young son. 9 Not in f. e. 336 KING RICHARD II. ACT II. O! full of careful business are his looks.- Will the hateful commons perform for us, Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Will you go along with us? Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Bagot. No: I will to Ireland to his majesty. Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, Your husband, he is gone to save far off, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Bushy. That Is as York thrives to beat back BolingHere am I left to underprop his land, broke. Who. weak with age, cannot support myself. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry: Now shall he try his friends that flattered him. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Enter a Servant. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. Bushy. Well, we may meet again. York. He was?-Why, so:-go all which way it Bagot. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. will.SCENE III.-The Wilds in Glostershire. The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, SCENE Wilds in Glostershire. And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.- Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; with Forces. Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. Boling. How far is it. my lord, to Berkley now? Hold; take my ring. North. Believe me, noble lord, Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: I am a stranger here in Glostershire. To-day, as I came by, I called there; These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, But I shall grieve you to report the rest. Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome; York. What is't, knave? And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Serv. An hour before I came the duchess died. Making the hard way sweet and delectable. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes But, I bethink me, what a weary way Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found I know not what to do:-I would to God, In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, (So my untruth had not provoked him to it) Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled The king had cut off my head with my brother's.- The tediousness and process of my travel: What! are there no' posts dispatch'd for Ireland?- But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have How shall we do for money for these wars?- The present benefit which I possess; Come, sister.-cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me.- And hope to joy is little less in joy, Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home: provide Than hope enjoyed: by this the weary lords some carts, Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath been And bring away the armour that is there.- By sight of what I have, your company. [Exit Servant. Boling. Of much less value is my company, Gentlemen, will you go muster men? Than your good words. But who comes here? If I know how, or which way, to order these affairs, Enter HARRY PERCY. Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.Th' one is my sovereign, whom both my oath Harry, how fares your uncle? And duty bids defend; th' other again Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learned his Is my near2 kinsman, whom the king hath wrong-d, health of you. Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. North. Why, is he not with the queen? Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, [men, Percy. No, my good lord: he hath forsook the I'11 dispose of you.-Gentlemen, go muster up your court, And meet me presently at Berkley3. Broken his staff of office, and dispersed I should to Plashy too, The household of the king. But time will not permit.-All is uneven, North. What was his reason? And every thing is left at six and seven. He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake [Exeunt YORK and QUEEN. Together. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland, Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But none returns. For us to levy power, But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, Proportionable to the enemy, To offer service to the duke of Hereford; Is all impossible. And sent me over by Berkley, to discover Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love What power the duke of York had levied there; Is near the hate of those love not the king. Then, with directions to repair to Ravenspurg. Bagot. And that's the wavering commons; for their North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? love Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. I never in my life did look on him. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- North. Then learn to know him now: this is the duke. demn'd. Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we. Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young, Because we ever have been near the king. Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm Green. Well, I 711 for refuge straight to Bristol castle: To more approved service and desert. The earl of Wiltshire is already there. Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, Bushy. Thither will I with you; for little office I count myself in nothing else so happy, 1Not in the folio. 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 The folio: Berkley castle. SCENE Iv. KING RICHARD II. 337 As in a soul remembering my good friends; Thou art a banished man, and here art come And as my fortune ripens with thy love, Before the expiration of thy time, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: In braving arms against thy sovereign. My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; North. How far is it to Berklev? And what stir But as I come, I come for Lancaster. Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, Percy. There stands the castle, by yond' tuft of trees, Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; You are my father, for, methinks, in you And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour; I see old Gaunt alive: O! then, my father, None else of name. and noble estimate. Will you permit that I shall stand condemned Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY. A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil- Plucked from my arms perforce, and given away loughby, To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. If that my cousin king be king of England, Boling. Welcome, ny lords. I wot, your love pursues It must be granted I am duke of Lancaster. A banish'd traitor: all my treasury You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; Is but yet unfelt thanks, which, more enrihehd, Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, Shall be your love and labour's recompense. He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. To rouse his wrongers, chase them to the bay. Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. I am denied to sue my livery here, Boling. Evermore thanks, th' exchequer of the poor: And yet my letters patent give me leave: Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold; Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. Enter BERKLEY. What would you have me do? I am a subject, North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. And challenge law: attornies are denied me, Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. And therefore personally I lay my claim Boling. My lord, my answer is-to Lancaster, To my inheritance of free descent. And I am come to seek that name in England; North. The noble duke hath been too much abused. And I must find that title in your tongue, Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him right. Before I make reply to aught you say. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. Berk. Mistake me not, my lord: It is not my meaning, York. My lords of England, let me tell you this: To raze one title of your honour out. I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will. And labour'd all I could to do him right; From the most gracious' regent of this land, But in this kind to come: in braving arms, The duke of York, to know what pricks you on Be his own carver, and cut out his way, To take advantage of the absent time, To find out right with wrong,-it may not be: And fright our native peace with self-borne arms. And you, that do abet him in this kind, Enter YORK attended. Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you: North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is Here comes his grace in person.-My noble uncle. But for his own: and for the right of that, [Kneels. We all have strongly sworn to give him aid, York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, And let him neler see joy that breaks that oath. Whose duty is deceivable2 and false. York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. Boling. My gracious uncle- I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, York. Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me Because my power is weak, and all ill left; no uncle: But if I could, by him that gave me life, I am no traitor's uncle; and that word " gracer, I would attach you all, and make you stoop In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. Unto the sovereign mercy of the king: Why have those banished and forbidden legs But since I cannot, be it known unto you, Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? I do remain as neuter. So, farewell; But more than that,4-why have they dar'd to march Unless you please to enter in the castle, So many miles upon our peaceful bosom, And there, my lords, repose you for this night. Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept: And ostentation of despoiling5 arms? But we must win your grace, to go with us Com'st thou because th' anointed king is hence? To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, York. It may be I will go with you;-but yet I'11 Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, pause. From forth the ranks of many thousand French, For I am loath to break our country's laws. 0! then, how quickly should this arm of mine Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are: Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, Things past redress are now with me past care. [Exeunt. And minister correction to thy fault! Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault: SCENE IV.-A Camp in Wales. On what condition stands it, and wherein? Enter SALISBURY, and a Welsh Captain. York. Even in condition of the worst degree; Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days, In gross rebellion, and detested treason: And hardly kept our countrymen together, 1 So the quarto, 1597; the others and the folio: glorious. 2 Deceptive. 3 " no uncle" is not in the folio. 4 then, more why: in f. e. 6 despised: in f. e. 22 338 KING RICHARD II. AOT m. And yet we hear no tidings from the king; The other to enjoy by rage and war: Therefore, we will disperse ourselves. Farewell. These signs forerun the death or fall1 of kings. Sal. Stay yet another day. thou trusty Welshman: Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. As well assur'd Richard, their king, is dead. [Exit. Cap.'T is thought, the king is dead: we will not stay. Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind, The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, I see thy glory, like a shooting star, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; Fall to the base earth from the firmament. The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change: Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I.-BOIINGBROKE'S Camp at Bristol. SCENE II.-The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. Enter BOLINGBROKIE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter King RICHARD, WILLOUGHBY RLOSS: BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners. Bishop of CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and Soldiers. Boling. Bring forth these men.- K. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand? [BUSHY and GREEN stand forward.2 Aum. Yea, my good4 lord. How brooks your grace Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls, the air, Since presently your souls must part your bodies. After late5 tossing on the breaking seas? With too much urging your pernicious lives, K. Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy, For't were no charity: yet, to wash your blood To stand upon my kingdom once again.From off my hands, here in the view of men Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, I will unfold some causes of your deaths. Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: You have misled a prince, a royal king, As a long parted mother with her child A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean: So, weeping: smiling, greet I thee, my earth, You have, in manner, with your sinful hours, And do thee favour with my royal hand. Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Broke the possession of a royal bed, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, With tears, drawn froim her eyes by your foul wrongs. And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way, Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Near to the king in blood, and near in love, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Till you did make him misinterpret me, Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies: Have stooped my neck under your injuries, And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder, Eating the bitter bread of banishment, Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods, Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords: From mine own windows torn my household coat, This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Save men's opinions, and my living blood, Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. To show the world I am a gentleman. Bishop. Fear not, my lord: that power that made This and much more, much more than twice all this, you king, Condemns you to the death.-See them deliver'd over Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.6 To execution, and the hand of death. The means that heavens yield must be embrac'd, Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, And not neglected; else, if heaven would Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell3. And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls, The proffered means of succour and redress. And plague injustice witl the pains of hell. Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them dis- Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, patch'd. Grows strong and great in substance; and in power. [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and Others, with BUSHY and K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not, Uncle, you say the queen is at your house; [GREEN. That when the searching eye of heaven is hid For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. In murders and in outrage, boldly7 here; York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatched But when from under this terrestrial ball With letters of your love to her at large.. He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, my lords, And darts his light through every guilty hole, To fight with Glendower and his complices: [away, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, - The folio omits: or fall. 2 Not in f. e. 3 These two words are not in the folios. 4 Not in f. e. 5 your late: in f. e. 6 The rest of the speech is not in the folio. 7 So quarto, 1597; all other old copies and mod. eds. read: bloody. SCENE II. KING RICHARD II. 339 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So high above his limits swells the rage So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke, O' Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land Who all this while hath revelld in the night' With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes White-beards have armed their thin and hairless scalps Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, Against thy majesty; and boys, with women's voices, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Strive to speak big, and clasp4 their feeble5 joints Not able to endure the sight of day, In stiff unwieldy armour'gainst6 thy crown: But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Not all the water in the rough rude sea Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Can wash the balm from an anointed king: Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills The breath of worldly men cannot depose Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, The deputy elected by the Lord. And all goes worse than I have power to tell. For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay What is become of Bushy? where is Green? A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, That they have let the dangerous enemy Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? Enter SALISBURY. If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power? I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. Sal. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord, Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue lord. And bids me speak of nothing but despair. K. Rich. 0 villains, vipers, damn'd without redempOne day too late, I fear, my noble lord, tion! Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth. Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! O! call back yesterday, bid time return, Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men: Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late, Would they make peace? terrible hell make war O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; Upon their spotted souls for this offence!7 For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Scroop. Sweet love. I see, changing his property, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, or fled. Turns to the'sourest and most deadly hate. Aum. Comfort, my liege! why looks your grace so Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made pale? With heads and not with hands: those whom you curse K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound8, Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. And till so much blood thither come again, Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, dead? Have I not reason to look pale and dead? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; Aum. Where is the duke, my father, with his power? For time hath set a blot upon my pride. K. Rich. No matter where. Of comfort no man speak: Aum. Comfort, my liege! remember who you are. Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; K. Rich. I had forgot myself. Am I not king? Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Awake, thou coward2 majesty! thou sleepest. Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Is not the king's name twenty' thousand names? Let's choose executors, and talk of wills: Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes And yet not so,-for what can we bequeath, At thy great glory.-Look not to the ground, Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Ye favourites of a king: are we not high? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, High be our thoughts. I know, my uncle York And nothing can we call our own but death, Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes And that small model of the barren earth, here? Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. Enter SCRooP. For God's sake. let us sit upon the ground, Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, And tell sad stories of the death of kings: Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd: Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd, Say, is my kingdom lost? why,'t was my care; All murder'd; —for within the hollow crown, And what loss is it to be rid of care? That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Keeps death his court, and there the antick sits9 Greater he shall not be: if he serve God, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so. Allowing him a breath, a little scene, Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; They break their faith to God, as well as us. Infusing him with self and vain conceit, Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay. As if this flesh, which walls about our life, The worst is death, and death will have his day. Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd Comes at the last, and with a little pin To bear the tidings of calamity. Bores through his castle wall, and-farewell king! Like an unseasonable stormy day, Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, With solemn reverence: throw away respect, As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears; Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 1 This line is not in the folio. 2 So the quartos; the folio: sluggard. 3 So the quartos: the folio: forty. 4 clap: in f. e. 5 female: in f e. 6 arms against: in f. e. 7 This word is added in the folio. 8 The folio: hand. 9 This image may have been taken from the seventh of the " Imagines Mortis," a series of designs in the style of Holbein's Dance of Death. It is in Knight's Pictorial Shakspere. 340 KING RICHARD II. ACT m. For you have but mistook me all this while: Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, I live with bread like you, feel want, For taking so the head, your whole head's length. Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, Boling. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you should. How can you say to me-I am a king? York. Take not, good cousin, farther than you should, Bishop. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and' wail their Lest you mistake: the heavens are o'er our heads.5 But presently prevent the ways to wail. [woes, Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Against their will.-But who comes here? Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, Enter PERCY. And so your follies fight against yourself.2 Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield? Fear, and be slain no worse can come to fight: Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, And fight and die is death destroying death; Against thy entrance. Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. Boling. Royally? Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him Why, it contains no king. And learn to make a body of a limb. Percy. Yes, my good lord; K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well.-Proud Bolingbroke It doth contain a king: king Richard lies I come Within the limits of yond' lime and stone; To change blows with thee for our day of doom. And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, This ague-fit of fear is over-blown: Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman An easy task it is, to win our own.- Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? North. 0! belike it is the bishop of Carlisle. Speak sweetly. man, although thy looks be sour. Boling. Noble lord, [To NORTH. Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; The state and inclination of the day; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle So may you by my dull and heavy eye, Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. Henry Bolingbroke 1 play the torturer, by small and small, On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand, To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken. And sends allegiance; and true faith of heart, Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke; To his most royal person; hither come And all your northern castles yielded up, Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, Upon his party. And lands restor'd again, be freely granted. K. Rich. Thou hast said enough.- If not, I'11 use th' advantage of my power, Beshrew thee, cousin, [To AUMERLE.] which didst lead And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, me forth Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: Of that sweet way I was in to despair! The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke VWhat say you now? What comfort have we now? It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench By heaven, I'11 hate him everlastingly, The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land, That bids me be of comfort any more. My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go to Flint castle: there I'11 pine away; Go; signify as much, while here we march A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. That power I have, discharge; and let them go Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, To ear4 the land that hath some hope to grow, That from the castle's tatter'd6 battlements For I have none.-Let no man speak again Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. To alter this, for counsel is but vain. Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet Aunt. My liege, one word. With no less terror than the elements K. Rich. He does me double wrong, Of fire and water, when their thundering shock7 That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. Discharge my followers: let them hence away, Be he the fire, I'11 be the yielding water: From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. The rage be his, while on the earth I rain [Exeunt. My waters; on the earth, and not on him.SCENE. ales. A Plin before Flit Cs. March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. A parley sounded, and answered by a Trumpet within. Enter, with Drum and Colours, BOLINGBROiE and Flourish. Enter on the walls King RICHARD, the Forces; YoRK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Others. Bishop of Carlisle, AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY. Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, Boling. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear, The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury As doth the blushing discontented sun Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed From out the fiery portal of the east, With some few private friends upon this coast. When he perceives the envious clouds are bent North. The news is very fair and good, my lord: To dim his glory, and to stain the track Richard, not far from hence hath hid his head. Of his bright passage to the occident. York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, York. Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye, To say, king Richard:-Alack. the heavy day, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth When such a sacred king should hide his head! Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe, North. Your grace mistakes me; only to be brief That any storm8 should stain so fair a show! Left I his title out. K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have we York. The time hath been, stood [To NORTHUMBERLAND. Would you have been so brief with him, he would To watch the faithful9 bending of thy knee, 1 These two words are not in the folio. 2 This line is iot in the folio. 3 So the quarto; the folio: faction. 4 Plough; it is often so used. 5 So the quartos, the folio: your head. 6 So the folio; part of the quartos read: tottered; both have the meaning of ragged. 7 So the quarto, 1597; the folio: smoke. 8 harm: in f. e. 9 fearful: in f. e. SCENE III. KING RICHARD II. 341 Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. And if we be, how dare thy joints forget Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. To pay their awful duty to our presence? K. Rich. What must the king do now? Must he If we be not, show us the hand of God submit? That hath dismissed us from our stewardship: The king shall do it. Must he be deposed? For well we know, no hand of blood and bone The king shall be contented. Must he lose Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, The name of king? o' God's name, let it go: Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. I'11 give my jewels for a set of beads, And though you think that all, as you have done, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, Have torn their souls by turning them from us, My gay apparel for'an alms-man s gown, And we are barren and bereft of friends, My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf My subjects for a pair of carved saints, Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike And my large kingdom for a little grave, Your children yet unborn, and unbegot, A little little grave, an obscure grave: That lift your vassal hands against my head, Or I'l be buried in the king's highway, And threat the glory of my precious crown. Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet Tell Bolingbroke, for yond7, methinks, he stands, May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; That every stride lie makes upon my land For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live, Is dangerous treason. He is come to ope And, buried once, why not upon my head?The purple testament of bleeding war; Aumerle thou weep'st; my tender-hearted cousin!But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, We'11 make foul weather with despised tears: Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, Shall ill become the flower of England's face, And make a dearth in this revolting land: Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, To scarlet indignation, and bedew And make some pretty match with shedding tears? Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. As thus;-to drop them still upon one place, North. The King of heaven forbid, our lord the king Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Should so with civil and uncivil arms Within the earth; and, therein laid, there lies Be rushed upon. Thy thrice-noble cousin, Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes. Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; Would not this ill do well?-Well, well, I see And by the honourable tomb he swears, I talk but idly, and you mock at me.That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, And by the royalties of both your bloods, What says king Bolingbroke? will his majesty Currents that spring from one most gracious head, Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. And by the worth and honour of himself, North. My lord, in the base court2 he doth attend Comprising all that may be sworn or said, To speak with you: may't please you to come down? His coming hither hath no farther scope, K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg Phaeton, Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: Wanting the manage of unruly jades. Which on thy royal party granted once, [NORTH. retires again to BOLING. His glittering arms he will commend to rust, In the base court? Base court, where kings grow His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart base, To faithful service of your majesty. To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just, In the base court? Come down? down, court! down, And, as a gentleman, I credit him. king! K. Rich. Northumberland, say,-thus the king re- For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should His noble cousin is right welcome hither; [turns: sing. [Exeunt, from above. And all the number of his fair demands Boling. What says his majesty? Shall be accomplislhd without contradiction. North. Sorrow and grief of heart With all the gracious utterance thou hast, Make him speak fondly, like a frantic man: Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.- Yet he is come. [NORTHUMBERLAND retires to BOLINGBROKE. Enter King RICHARD, and his Attendants, below. We do debase ourself, cousin, [To AUMzERLE.] do we not, Boling. Stand all apart, To look so poorly, and to speak so fair? And show fair duty to his majesty.Shall we call back Northumberland, and send My gracious lord,- [Kneeling. Defiance to the traitor, and so die? K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee, Aum. No, good my lord: let's fight with gentle words. To make the base earth proud with kissing it: Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, K. Rich. 0 God! O God! that e'er this tongue of mine, Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. That laid the sentence of dread banishment Up, cousin, up: your heart is up, I know, On yond' proud man, should take it off again Thus high at least, although your knee be low. With words of sooth. O! that I were as great Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. As is my grief, or lesser than my name, K. Rich. Your own is yours; and I am yours, and all. Or that I could forget what I have been, Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, Or not remember what I must be now. As my true service shall deserve your love. Swell'st thou, proud heart? I ll give thee scope to K. Rich. Well you deserve:-they well deserve to beat, [Unbuttoning. have, 1 Not in f. e. 2 basse cour, lower court. 342 KING RICHARD II. ACT III. That know the strongest and surest way to get.- Gard. Hold thy peace. Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes; He that hath suffered this disordered spring, Tears show their love, but want their remedies.- Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf; Cousin, I am too young to be your father The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, Though you are old enough to be my heir. That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, What you will have I'11 give, and willing too, Are plucked up, root and all, by Bolingbroke For do we must what force will have us do.- I mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. Set on towards London.-Cousin, is it so? 1 Serv. What! are they dead? Boling. Yea, my good lord. Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke K. Rich. Thein; I must not say no. Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.-What3 pity is it, [Flourish. Exeunt. That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, As we this garden. At the time of year SCENE IV.-Langley. The Duke of YoaK'S Garden. We wound4 the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees Enter the QUEEN, and two Ladies. Lest, being over-proud in5 sap and blood, Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this With too much riches it confound itself: garden Had he done so to great and growing men, To drive away the heavy thought of care? They might have liv:d to bear, and he to taste 1 Lady. Madam, we'11 play at bowls. Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches Queen. IT will make me think the world is full of rubs We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: And that my fortune runs against the bias. Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, 1 Lady. Madam, we 711 dance. Which waste and idle hours have quite thrown down. Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight 1 Serv. What! think you, then, the king shall be When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: deposed? Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. Gard. Depressed he is already and depos'd, 1 Lady. Madam. we'11 tell tales.'T is doubt, he will be: letters came last night Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy? To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, 1 Lady. Of either, madam. That tell black tidings. Queen. Of neither, girl; Queen. O! I am pressed to death, through want of For if of joy, being altogether wanting speaking. [Coming forward. It doth remember me the more of sorrow; Thou. old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden Or if of grief, being altogether had. How dares thy harsh, rude tongue sound this unpleasing It adds more sorrow to my want of joy; What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee [news? For what I have I need not to repeat, To make a second fall of cursed man? And what I want it boots not to complain. Why dost thou say king Richard is deposed? 1 Lady. Madam, I'11 sing. Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Queen.'T is well that thou hast cause, Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? speak. thou wretch. 1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good, Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I; Queen. And I could sing, would weeping do me good, To breathe these news, yet what I say is true. And never borrow any tear of thee. King Richard, he is in the mighty hold But stay, here come the gardeners: Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weighed: Let's step into the shadow of these trees.- In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, My wretchedness unto a row of pins, And some few vanities that make him light; They'11 talk of state: for every one doth so But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, Against a change. Woe is forerun with woe. Besides himself; are all the English peers, [QUEEN and Ladies retire. And with that odds he weighs king Richard down. Enter a Gardener and two Servants. Post you to London, and you 11 find it so; Gard. Go, bind thou up yond' dangling apricocks, I speak no more than every one doth know. Which, like unruly children, make their sire Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: Doth not thy embassage belong to me, Give some supportance to the bending twigs.- And am I last that knows it?! thou think'st Go thou, and like an executioner, To serve me last, that I may longest keep Cut off the heads of two-fast-growing sprays, Thy sorrow in my breast.-Come, ladies, go That look too lofty in our commonwealth: To meet at London London's king in woe.All must be even in our government. — What! was I born to this, that my sad look You thus employ'd, I will go root away Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?The noisome weeds. that without profit suck Gardener, for telling me these news of woe, The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. Pray God, the plants thou graft'st may never grow. 1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, [Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies. Keep law, and form, and due proportion, Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, worse, When our sea-walled garden. the whole land, I would my skill were subject to thy curse. Is full of weeds: her fairest flowers chok'd up, Here did she fall6 a tear; here, in this place, Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruin'd I'11 set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:7 1Her knots2 disordered, and her wholesome herbs Rue; even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, Swarming with caterpillars? In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt. 1 All the old copies read: grief; Pope made the change. 2 Thefigures formed by the flower-beds in the old formal gardens. 3 0! what. &c.: in f. e. 4 We at time of year Do wound, &c.: in f. e. 5 So the quarto, 1597; all other old cop.: with. G So the quarto, 1597; the other quartos and folio: drop. 7Also so called in Hamlet, A. IV., S. II. SCENE I. KING RICHARD II. 343 ACT IV. As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear SCENE I.-London. Westminster Hall. From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn: The Lords spiritual on the right side of the Throne; nge itto the trial, if thou dar'st. 7Aum. Who sets me'else? by heaven I 11 throw at all. the Lords temporal on the left: the Commons belo. ho sets me else? by eaven throw at all Enter BOLINGBROiE, AUIERLE, SURREY, NORTHUM- I have a thousand spirits in one breast, BERLAND, PERCY, FITZWATER, another Lord, theTo answer twenty thousand such as you. Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of We.stmi'nster, and r. y lord Fitzwater I do remember well Attendants.' The very time Aumerle and you did talk. Fitz.'T is very true: you were in presence then; Boling. Call forth Bagot.- And you can witness with me this is true. Enter BAGOT, guarded.a Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind, Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death; Surrey. Dishonourable boy! Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, The bloody office of his timeless end. That it shall render vengeance and revenge, Bagot. Then, set before my face the lord Aumerle. Till thou, the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn: Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! I heard you say,-" Is not my arm of length, If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, That reacheth from the restful English court I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, As far as Calais. to mine uncle's head?|" And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, Amongst much other talk, that very time, And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith, I heard you say, that you had rather refuse To tie thee to my strong correction. The offer of an hundred thousand crowns, As I intend to thrive in this new world, Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal: Adding withal, how blest this land would be Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, In this your cousin's death. That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men Aum. Princes, and noble lords, To execute the noble duke at Calais. What answer shall I make to this base man? Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage. Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, That Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this, On equal terms to give him chastisement? If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage, With the attainder of his slanderous lips.- Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be, There is my gage, the manual seal of death, And, though mine enemy. restor'd again That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest, To all his lands and signories. When he's returned, And will maintain what thou hast said is false Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. In thy heart-blood, though being all too base Bishop. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. To stain the temper of my knightly sword. Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought Boling. Bagot, forbear: thou shalt not take it up. For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross In all this presence, that hath movd me so. Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathy3, And toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. To Italy, and there, at Venice, gave By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, His body to that pleasant country's earth, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. Under whose colours he had fought so long. If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest; Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead? And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Bishop. As surely as I live, my lord. Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. bosom Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Of good old Abraham!-Lords appellants, Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. Your differences shall all rest under gage, Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true Till we assign to you your days of trial. In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: Enter YORK, attended. And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee To prove it on thee to th' extremest point From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul Of mortal breathing. Seize it if thou dar'st. Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, To the possession of thy royal hand. And never brandish more revengeful steel Ascend his throne, descending now from him, Over the glittering helmet of my foe! And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! Lord. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;4 Boling, In God's name I'11 ascend the regal throne. And spur thee on with full as many lies Bishop. Marry, God forbid!1 f. e. add: Officers behind, with BAGOT. 2 Not in f. e. 3 Equality of rank. 4 This and the next speech are not in the folio; all, but the quarto of 1597, read: take. 344: KING RICHARD II. ACT I. Worst in this royal presence may I speak, The resignation of thy state and crown Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. To Harry Bolingbroke. Would God, that any in this noble presence K. Rich. Give me the crown.-Here, cousin, seize Were enough noble to be upright judge the crown; [Crown brought.8 Of noble Richard: then true nobless' would Here, cousin, on this side my hand, and on that side, Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. yours. What subject can give sentence on his king? Now is this golden crown like a deep well, And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? That owes9 two buckets, filling one another; Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear, The emptier ever dancing in the air, Although'apparent guilt be seen in them; The other down, unseen, and full of water: And shall the figure of God's majesty, That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, His captain, steward, deputy elect, Drinking my grief, whilst you mount up on high. Anointed, crowned, planted many years, Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, K. Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs are mine. And he not2 present! O! forefend" it, God, You may my glories and my state depose, That. in a Christian climate, souls refin'd But not my griefs: still am I king of those. [crown. Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares Stirr'd up by God thus boldly for his king. down. My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, My care is loss of care, by old care done; Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; Your care is gain of care, by new care won: And if you crown him, let me prophesy The cares I give; I have, though given away; The blood of English shall manure the ground, They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. And future ages groan for this foul act: Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown? Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, K. Rich. Ay, no;:-no, ay;-for I must nothing be; And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound; Now mark me how I will undo myself.Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, I give this heavy weight from off my head, Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls. The pride of kingly sway from out my heart: 0! if you raise' this house against this house, With mine own tears I wash away my balm, It will the woefullest division prove, With mine own hands I give away my crown, That ever fell upon this cursed earth. With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, -Prevent,5 resist it, let it be not so, With mine own breath release all duties, rites'": Lest child, child's children, cry against you-woe! All pomp and majesty I do forswear; North. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains, My manors. rents, revenues, I forego Of capital treason we arrest you here.- My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny: My lord of Westminster, be it your charge God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! To keep him safely till his day of trial. God keep all vows unbroke that swear" to thee! May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.6 Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd, Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view And thou with all pleased, that hast all achiev'd! He may surrender: so we shall proceed Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit, Without suspicion. And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit! York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, Boling. Lords, you that here are under our arrest, And send him many years of sunshine days!Procure your sureties for your days of answer.- What more remains? Little are we beholding to your love. [To the Bishop. North. No more, but that you read [Offering a paper. And look for little at your helping hands. These accusations, and these grievous crimes, Re-enter YORK, with King RICHARD, and Officers bear- Committed by your person and your followers, ing the Crown,'c. Against the state and profit of this land; K. Rich. Alack! why am I sent for to a king, That, by confessing them, the souls of men Before I have shook off the regal thoughts May deem that you are worthily depos'd. Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs: My weav'd up folly? Gentle Northumberland, Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me If thy offences were upon record, To this submission. Yet I well remember Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop, The favours7 of these men: were they not mine? To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, Did they not sometime cry, All hail! to me? There shouldst thou find one heinous article, So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve, Containing the deposing of a king, Found truth in all, but one: I, in twelve thousand, none. And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, God save the king!-Will no man say, amen? Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven.Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me, God save the king! although I be not he; Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, To do what service am I sent for hither? Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates York. To do that office of thine own good will, Have here delivered me to my sour cross, Which tired majesty did make thee offer; And water cannot wash away your sin. 1So the quarto, 1597; all other editions: nobleness. 2 And he himself not, &c.: in f. e. 3 So all the quartos; the folio: forbid. 4 So the quartos; the folio: rear. 5 The folio inserts: and. 6 This line, and all that follows to RICHIARD's exit, were first printed in the quarto of 1608. 1 Features. 8 Not in f. e. 9 Owns. 10 The folio: duteous oaths. 1 The folio: are made. SCENlE I. KING RICHARD II. 345 North. My lord, dispatch: read o'er these articles. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport: K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see; How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face. And yet salt water blinds them not so much, Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd But they can see a sort1 of traitors here. The shadow of your face. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, K. Rich. Say that again. I find myself a traitor with the rest; The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see:For I have given here my soul's consent,'T is very true, my grief lies all within; To undeck the pompous body of a king; And these external manners of lament Made glory base, and2 sovereignty a slave, Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, Proud majesty a subject; state a peasant. That swells with silence in the tortured soul; North. My lord,- There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, K. Rich. No lord of thine thou haught, insulting man, For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Nor no man's lord: I have no name, no title, Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way No, not that name was given me at the font, How to lament the cause. I I11 beg one boon, But't is usurp'd.-Alack, the heavy day! And then begone and trouble you no more. That I have worn so many winters out, Shall I obtain it? And know not now what name to call myself. Boling. Name it, fair cousin. O! that I were a mockery king of snow, K. Rich. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king; Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, For, when I was a king, my flatterers To melt myself away in water drops!- Were then but subjects; being now a subject, Good king,-great king,-and yet not greatly good, I have a king here to my flatterer. And if my name3 be sterling yet in England, Being so great, I have no need to beg. Let it command a mirror hither straight, Boling. Yet ask. That it may show me what a face I have, K. Rich. And shall I have it? Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. Boling. You shall. Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass. K. Rich. Why then give me leave to go. [Exit an Attendant. Boling. Whither? North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come. K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell. Boling. Go, some of you; convey him to the Tower. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. K. Rich. 0, good! Convey?-Conveyers6 are you all, North. The commons will not then be satisfied. That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, [Exeunt K. RICHARD. and Gttard. When I do see the very book indeed, Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Where all my sins are writ, and that's-myself. Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. Re-enter Attendant with a Glass. [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, and Give me the glass4 and therein will I read.- AUMERLE. No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. So many blows upon this face of mine, Bishop. The woe's to come: the children yet unborn And made no deeper wounds?-0, flattering glass! Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. Like to my followers in prosperity, Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot Thou dost beguile me. Was this face the face, To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? That every day under his household roof Abbot. My lord, before I freely speak my mind Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face, herein, That like the sun did make beholder;s wink?6 You shall not only take the sacrament Was this the face that fac'd so many follies, To bury mine intents. but also to effect And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? Whatever I shall happen to devise. A brittle glory shineth in this face: I see your brows are full of discontent, As brittle as the glory is the face; Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears: [Dashes the Glass against the ground. Come home with me to supper; I will lay For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.- A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. ACT V. That you in pity may dissolve to dew, SCENE I.-London. A Street leading to the Tower. And wash him fresh again with true-lovetears.Enter QUEEN, and Attendants. Ah! thou, the model where old Troy did stand; Queen. This way the king will come: this is the way Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb, To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke. When triumph is become an alehouse guest? Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, Have any resting for her true king's queen. To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, Enter King RICHARD; and Guard. To think our former state a happy dream; But soft, but see, or rather do not see, From which awak'd, the truth of what we are My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold, Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, svweet, 1 Set, or company. a The folio: a. 3 The folio: word.; The rest of the line is added in the folio. 5 This sentence was added in the folio. G This word was applied to lawyers, or conveyancers, and thieves 346 KING RICHARD II. ACT V. To grim necessity; and he and I K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; And cloister thee in some religious house: Better far off than near, being neler the near. Our holy lives must win a new world s crown Go; cotnt thy way with sighs, I mine with groans. Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. Queen. What! is my Richard both in shape and mind K. Rich. Twice for one step I'11 groan, the way Transform'd and weakened? Hath this' Bolingbroke being short, Deposed thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? And piece the way out with a heavy heart. The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. To be o'erpowered; and wilt thou, pupil-like, One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part: Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod, Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. [They kiss. And fawn on rage with base humility, Queen. Give me mine own again;'t were no good part, Which art a lion, and a king of beasts? To tale on me to keep, and kill thy heart. K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, [They kiss again. I had been still a happy king of men. So now I have mine own again, begone, Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: That I may strive to kill it with a groan. Think I am dead; and that even here thou takst, K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay. As from my death-bed, my last living leave. Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire SCENE II.-The Same. A Room in the Duke With good old folks, and let them tell thee talesSam. A Room in te Of woeful ages long ago betid of Y s ala And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, Enter YORK, and the Duchess. Tell thou the lamentable tale' of me, Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. When weeping made you break the story off, For why, the senseless brands will sympathize Of our two cousins coming into London. The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, York. Where did I leave? And in compassion weep the fire out; Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops, For the deposing of a rightful king. Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended. York. Then, as I said, the duke great Bolingbroke, North. My lord. the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd: Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.- Which his aspiring rider seemd to know, And, madam, there is order ta'en for you: With slow but stately pace kept on his course, With all swift speed you must away to France. While all tongues cried-" God save thee, BolingK. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder, wherewithal broke!" The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, You would have thought the very windows spake, The time shall not be many hours of age So many greedy looks of young and old More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head Through casements darted their desiring eyes Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think, Upon his visage and that all the walls Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, With painted imagery had said at once,It is too little, helping him to all: " Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!" And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way Bespake them thus,-" I thank you, countrymen:' To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. The love of wicked friends converts to fear; Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? That fear to hate; and hate turns one, or both, York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, To worthy danger and deserved death. After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Are idly bent on him that enters next Take leave, and part, for you must part forthwith. Thinking his prattle to be tedious; K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd!-Bad men, ye violate Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes A twofold marriage' twixt my crown and me, Did scowl on gentle' Richard: no man cried, God save And then, betwixt me and my married wife.- him; Let me unkiss the oath'twixt thee and me; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome honme; [They embrace. But dust was thrown upon his sacred head, And yet not so, for with a kiss't was made.- Which with such gentle sorrow he shook offl Part us, Northumberland: I towards the north, His face still combating with tears and smiles, Where shivering cold and sickness pine the clime; The badges of his grief and patience, My wife' to France: from whence, set forth in pomp, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd She came adorned hither like sweet May, The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, Sent back like Hallowmas.6 or shortest day. And barbarism itself have pitied him. Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? But heaven hath a hand in these events, K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart To whose high will we bound our calm contents. from heart. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. Whose state and honour I for aye allow. North. That were some love, but little policy. Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. York. Aumerle that was; 1 Not in f- e. 2 The folio: fall. 3 Not in f. e. 4 A kiss formed part of the ceremony of betrothal. 5 Folio: queen. 6 November 1. 7 Not in the folio. SCENE IIm. KING RICHARD II. 347 But that is lost for being Richard's friend, To kill the king at Oxford. And, madam, you must call him Rutland now. Duch. He shall be none; I am in parliament pledge for his truth, We 11 keep him here: then, what is that to him? And lasting fealty to the new-made king. York. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times Enter AUMERLE. My son, I would appeach him. Duch. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now, Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? As I have done thou wouldst be more pitiful. Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect, God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. That I have been disloyal to thy bed, York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, And that he is a bastard, not thy son. Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs? He is as like thee as a man may be, Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. Not like to me, nor any of my kin, York. You will be there, I know. And yet I love him. Aum. If God prevent it not, I purpose so. York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy Duch. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse: bosom? Spur, post, and get before him to the king, Yea, look'st thou pale? let me then' see the writing. And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. Aum. My lord,'t is nothing. I 11 not be long behind: though I be old, York. No matter, then, who sees it: I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. And never will I rise up from the ground, Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me. Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away! begone. It is a matter of small consequence, [Exeunt. Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. SCENE II.-Windsor. A Room i the Castle. I fear, I fear- Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; PERCY, and other Lords. Duch. What should you fear? Boling. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?'T is nothing but some bond he's2 enter'd into'T is full three months, since I did see him last: For gay apparel'gainst the triumph day. If any plague hang over us,'t is he. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond I would to God, my lords, he might be found. That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Inquire at London,'mongst the taverns there, Boy, let me see the writing. For there they say, he daily doth frequent, Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me: I may not With unrestrained loose companions; show it. Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, York. I will be satisfied: let me see it, I say, And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; [Snatches it and reads. While he, young wanton, and effeminate boy, Treason! foul treason!-villain! traitor! slave! Takes on the point of honour to support Duch. What is the matter, my lord? So dissolute a crew. York. Ho! who is within there? Saddle my horse. Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, God for Itis mercy! what treachery is here And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Duch. Why, what is it, my lord? Boling. And what said the gallant? York. Give me my boots, I say: saddle my horse.- Percy. His answer was,-he would unto the stews; Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, I will appeach the villain. And wear it as a favour; and with that Duch. What's the matter? He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. York. Peace, foolish woman. Boling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet through both Ditch. I will not peace.-What is the matter, I see some sparks of better hope, which elder days Aumerle? May happily bring forth. But who comes here? Aum. Good mother, be content: it is no more Enter AUMERLE, in great haste. Than my poor life must answer. Aum. Where is the king? Duch. Thy life answer? Boling. What means our cousin, that he stares and York. Bring me my boots! I will unto the king. looks Enter Servant with boots. So wildly? Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your amazd.- majesty, Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.- To have some conference with your grace alone. [Exit Servant. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here York. Give me my boots, I say. alone.- [Exeunt PERCY and Lords. Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? What is the matter with our cousin now? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth. Have we more sons, or are we like to have? [Kneels. Is not my teeming date drunk up with time, My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. And rob me of a happy mother's name? Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? ls he not like thee? is he not thine own? If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, York. Thou fond3, mad woman, To win thy after love I pardon thee. Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, A dozen of them here have taken the sacrament, That no man enter till my tale be done. And interchangeably set down their hands, Boling. Have thy desire. [AUMERLE locks the door. Not in f. e. 2 that he is: in f. e. 3 Foolish. 348 KING RICHARD II. ACT V. York. [Within.] My liege, beware! look to thyself: I Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. [Kneels. Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. York. Against them both, mytrue joints bended be. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand: thou hast no cause [Kneels. to fear. Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!5 York. [ Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; king: His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; Shall I for love speak treason to thy face? His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: Open the door, or I will break it open. He prays but faintly, and would be denied; [BOLINGBROKE opens the door,1 and locks it again. We pray with heart, and soul; and all beside: Enter YORK. His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: Recover breath: tell us how near is danger, His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; That we may arm us to encounter it. Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know Our prayers do out-pray his; then, let them have The treason that my haste forbids me show. That mercy which true prayers ought to have. Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. I do repent me: read not my name there: Duch. Nay, do not say-stand up; My heart is not confederate with my hand. But, pardon first, and afterwards, stand up. York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.- An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king: Pardon should be the first word of thy speech. Fear, and not love, begets his penitence. I never longed to hear a word till now; Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove Say-pardon. king: let pity teach thee how: A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. The word is short, but not so short as sweet; Boling. 0, heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!- No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 0, loyal father of a treacherous son! York. Speak it in French, king: say, pardonnez-moi. Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? From whence this stream through muddy passages Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, Hath held2 his current, and defilFd himself! That set'st the word itself against the word! Thy overflow of good converts to bad; Speak, pardon, as It is current in our land; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse The chopping6 French we do not understand. This deadly blot in thy digressing son. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there, York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd, Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies: Duch. I do not sue to stand: Thou kill'st me in his life: giving him breath, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Duch. [ Within.] What ho! my liege! for God's sake Duch. 0, happy vantage of a kneeling knee*! let me in. Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain, eager cry? But makes one pardon strong. Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; It is I. Boling. I pardon him with all my heart. Speak with me, pity me, open the door: Duch. A god on earth thou art. [Rises.7 A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the Boling. Our scene is altered, from a serious thing, abbot, And now changed to "The Beggar and the King."3- With all the rest of that consorted crew, My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin. Good uncle, help to order several powers York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, To Oxford, or where else8 these traitors be:9 More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. They shall not live within this world, I swear, This fester'd joint cut off the rest rest sound; But I will have them: so'0 I once know where. This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Uncle, farewell -and cousin mine', adieu: Enter DUCHESS. Your mother well hath prayed, and prove you true. Duch. 0 king! believe not this hard-hearted man: Duch. Come, my old non; I pray God make thee Love, loving not itself, none other can. new. [Exeunt. York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make SCENE [V. here? I Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Enter Sir PIERCE of EXTON, and a Servant. Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what woids liege. [Kneels. he spake? Boling. Rise up, good aunt. " Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?"' Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: Was it not so? For ever will I walk4 upon my knees, Serv. Those were his very words. [twice, And never see day that the happy sees, Exton. "H ave I no friend?" quoth he: he spake it Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, And urg'd it twice together, did he not? By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Serv. He did. 1 The rest of this stage direction is not in f. e. 2 Folio: had. 3 A popular ballad. 4 Folio: kneel. 5 This line is not in the folio. c Changing. 7 Not in f. e. 8 where'er: in f. e. 9 are: in f. e. 10 if: in f. e. 11 too: in f. e. SCENE v. KING RICHARD II. 349 Exton. And, speaking it; he wishtly' looked on me While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.8 As who should say,-I would thou wert the man This music mads me: let it sound no more, That would divorce this terror from my heart; For though it hath holpe madmen to their wits, Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let Is go: In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad. I am the king's fiiend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. Yet, blessing on his heart that gives it me! For't is a sign of love, and love to Richard SCENE V.-Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle Is a strange brooc in this all-hating world. Enter King RICHARD. Enter Groom. K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare2 Groom. Hail, royal prince! This prison, where I live, unto the world: K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; And for because the world is populous, The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. And here is not a creature but myself, What art thou? and how comest thou hither, I cannot do it: yet I'11 hammer't out. Where no man never comes, but that sad'0 dog My brain I'11 prove the female to my soul; That brings me food to make misfortune live? My soul, the father: and these two beget Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, A generation of still-breeding thoughts, When thou wert king; who. travelling towards York, And these same thoughts people this little world; With much ado, at length have gotten leave In humours like the people of this world, To look upon my sometime royal master's face. For no thought is contented. The better sort 0! how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed In London streets that coronation day, With scruples, and do set the word3 itself When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! Against the word: That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, As thus,-" Come, little ones;" and then again,- That horse that I so carefully have dress'd " It is as hard to come, as for a camel K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, To thread the postein of a small5 needle's eye.7 How went he under him? Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Groom. So proud, as if he had disdain'd the ground. Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back? May tear a passage through the flinty ribs That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down, Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves (Since pride must have a fall) and break the neck That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, Forgiveness, horse! why do 1 rail on thee, Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, That many have, and others must sit there: Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Bearing their own misfortune on the back Spur-gall'd and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke. Of such as have before endur'd the like. Enter Keeper, with a Dish. Thus play I, in one person, many people, Keep. Fellow, give place: here is no longer stay. And none contented: sometimes am I king; [To the Groom. Then, treason makes me wish myself a beggar, K. Rich. If thou love me,'t is time thou wert away. And so I am: then, crushing penury Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart Persuades me I was better when a king: shall say. [Exit. Then, am I king'd again; and, by and by, Keep. My lord, will It please you to fall to? Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. And straight am nothing.-But whate'er I am, Keep. My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, lately came from the king, commands the contrary. With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! With being nothing.-Music do I hear? [Music. Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Ha, ha! keep time.-How sour sweet music is, [Strikes the Keeper. When time is broke, and no proportion kept! Keep. Help, help, help! So is it in the music of men's lives: Enter Sir PIERCE of EXTON, and Servants, armed. And here have I the daintiness of ear, K. Rich. How now! what means death in this rude To check time broke in a disordered string, assault? But for the concord of my state and time, Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument. Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; Go thou and fill another room in hell. For now hath time made me his numbering clock; [He kills another: EXTON strikes him down. My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar, That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, Their watches on unto mine eyes the outward watch,7 That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high, Now, for the sound, that tells what hour it is, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies. Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Which is the bell: so sighs, and tears, and groans Both have I spilt: 0. would the deed were good! Show minutes; times, and hours; but my time For now the devil, that told me I did well, Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 1 So the quartos, 1597 and 8; two later ones and folio: wistly. 2 So the quarto, 1597; other eds.:: how to compare." 3 I So the quartos the folio: faith. 5 Not in folio; needle is to be prorounced, as it often was. as one syllable. 6 Tick. 7 Dial-plate. 8 Thefigure that struck the hours in old clocks. 9 An allusion, say the commentators, to these ornaments being out of fashion. o1 Grave. 350 KING RICIIARD II. ACT V. This dead king to the living king I ll bear. But here is Carlisle living, to abide Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. [Exeunt with the bodies. Boling. Bishop of Carlisle, this shall be your doom2:SCENE VI. -Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,. More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; Flourish, Enter BOLINGBROKE, and YORK, with Lords So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife: and Attendants. For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Is, that the rebels have censum'd with fire Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a Coffin. Our town of Ciceter in Glostershire; Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Welcome, my lord. What is the news with you?1 Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness: Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought The next news is,-I have to London sent A deed of slander3 with thy fatal hand The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: Upon my head, and all this famous land. [deed. The manner of their taking may appear Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this At large discoursed in this paper here. Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, [Presenting a Paper. Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead, Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, Enter FITZWATER. But neither my good word, nor princely favour: Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London With Cain go wander through the shade of night, The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely, And never show thy head by day nor light.Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow: Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. And put on sullen black. Incontinent Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of Carlisle. I 11 make a voyage to the Holy land, Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, March sadly after: grace my mourning here, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt. 1 These two words are not in f. e. 2 Carlisle, this is your doom: in f. e. 3 So the quarto, 1597 i the others, and folio: slaughter. THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. DRAMATIS PERSONIE. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. OWEN GLENDOWER. HENRY, Prince of Wales. SIR RICHARD VERNON. PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER. SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. EARL OF WESTMORELAND. SIR MICHAEL, a friend of the Archbishop of York. SIR WALTER BLUNT. POINS. THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Worcester. GADSHILL. HENRY PERCY, Earl of Northumberland: PETO. HENRY PERCY; surnamed HOTSPUR, his Son. BARDOLPH. EDMUND MORTIMER. Earl of March. LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur. SCROOP, Archbishop of York. LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to Glendower. ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas. MRs. QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in-Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE, England. ACT I. SCENE.-London. An Apartment And bootless It is to tell you we will go: SCENE I.- London. An Apartment in the Palace. Therefore we meet not now.-Then, let me hear Enter King HENRY, WESTMORELAND; Sir WALTER Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, BLUNT, and Others. What yesternight our council did decree, K. Hlen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, In forwarding this dear expedience2. Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, And breathe short-winded accents of new broils And many limits of the charge3 set down To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote. But yesternight; when, all athwart, there came No more the thirsty entrance' of this soil A post from Wales loaden with heavy news; Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, No more shall trenching war channel her fields, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs Against the irregular and wild Glendower, Of hostile paces; those opposed eyes, Was by the rude hands of that Welchman taken, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, A thousand of his people butchered; All of one nature, of one substance bred, Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, Did lately meet in the intestine shock Such beastly, shameless transformation, And furious close of civil butchery. By those Welchwomen done. as may not be Shall now, in mutual. well-beseeming ranks, Without much shame re-told or spoken of. March all one way, and be no more oppos'd K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: Brake off our business for the Holy Land. The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife; West. This, match'd with other, did;4 my gracious No more shall cut his master.; Therefore friends, lord; As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, For5 more uneven and unwelcome news Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross, Came from the north, and thus it did import. We are impressed, and engag'd to fight, On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Forthwith a power of English shall we levy, Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, At Holmedon met; Over whose acres walked those blessed feet, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd As by discharge of their artillery, For our advantage on the bitter cross. And shape of likelihood; the news was told; But this our purpose is a twelve-month old, For he that brought them, in the very heat 1 Coleridge adopts Theobald's view, that the "dry penetrability" of the soil of England was referred to. 2 Expedition. 3 Calculations of the expense. 4 The folio: like. 5 The folio: Far. 352 FIRST PART OF ACT I. And pride of their con- ention did take horse, I Fal. Indeed you come near me, now, Hal; for we, Uncertain of the issue any way. that take purses, go by the moon and the seven stars, K. Hen. Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend, and not by Phoebus,-he, "that wandering knight so Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, fair." And, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, when thou art Stain'd with the variation of each soil king,-as, God save thy grace,-majesty, I should say, Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours for grace thou wilt have none,And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. P. Hen. What, none? The earl of Douglas is discomfited; Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, be prologue to an egg and butter. Balk'dl in their own blood, did Sir Walter see P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. On Holmedon's plains: of prisoners, Hotspur took Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let Mordake earl of Fife, and eldest son not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called To beaten Douglas, and the earl of Athol, thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's foresters, Of Murray, Angus, and the bold2 Menteith; gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let And is not this an honourable spoil? men say, we be men of good government, being goA gallant prize? ha! cousin, is it not? verned as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress West.'Faith, It is3 a conquest for a prince to boast of. the moon, under whose countenance we steal. K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st P. Hen. Thou say'st well, and it holds well, too; for me sin, the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb In envy that my lord Northumberland and flow like the sea, being governed as the sea is, by Should be the father to so blest a son: the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue; resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissoAmongst a grove the very straightest plant; lutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearingWho is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride: lay by; and spent with crying-bring in; now, in as Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and, by and by, See riot and dishonour stain the brow in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Of my young Harry. 0! that it could be prov'd, Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet: castle.5 And is not a buff jerkin6 a most sweet robe of Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. durance? But let him from my thoughts.-What think you, coz, Fal. How now, how now. mad wag? what, in thy Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd, with a buff jerkin? To his own use he keeps; and sends me word, P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. hostess of the tavern? West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many Malevolent to you in all aspects; a time and oft. Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? The crest of youth against your dignity. Fal. No: I'll give thee thy due; thou hast paid all K. IHen. But I have sent for him to answer this; there. And for this cause awhile we must neglect P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we credit. Will hold at Windsor: so inform the lords; Fal. Yea, and so used it, that it is7 here apparent But come yourself with speed to us again, that thou art heir apparent.-But, I pr'ythee, sweet For more is to be said, and to be done, wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when Than out of anger can be uttered. thou art king, and resolution thus fobbed, as it is, with West. I will. my liege. [Exeunt. the rusty curb of old father antick, the law? Do not thou, when thou art a king, hang a thief. SCENE II.-The Same. Another Apartment in the No tou shalt P. Hen. No: thou shalt. Palace. Fal. Shall I? rare! By the Lord, I'11 be a brave Enter HENRY, Prince of Wales, and FALSTAFF. judge. Fal. Now, Hal; what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping rare hangman. upon benches. after noon, that thou hast forgotten to Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps demand that truly, which thou wouldst truly know. with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the tell you. day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangsigns of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a man hath no lean wardrobe.'Sblood, I am as melanfair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta, I see no reason choly as a gib-cat, or a lugged bear. why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. time of the day. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.9 1 Raised in ridges, heaped. 2 These two words are not in f. e. 3 in f. e.: In faith, It is, &c. 4 The Knight of the Sun, whose romantic adventures were translated and published in 1585. 5 An allusion to the name of Oldcastle, which Falstaff appears to have originally borne. Farmer says it is from, lad of Castile. 6 This was the dress of constables at the time of the play 7 were it not here: in f. e. - Gib, was an old name for a tom-cat. 9 The Lincolnshire bagpipe is often mentioned by old writers. SCENE I. KING IHENRY IV. 353 P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melan- r P. Hen. Well, come what will, I l11 tarry at home. choly of Moor-ditch?' Fal. By the Lord, I'11 be a traitor then, when thou Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and art. art king. indeed, the most comparative, rascallest, sweet young P. Hen. I care not. prince.-But, Hal, I prlythee, trouble me no more with Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew where a alone: I will lay him down such reasons for this adcommodity of good names were to be bought. An old venture, that he shall go. lord of the council rated me the other day in the street Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, about you, sir;' but I marked him not: and yet he and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest talked very wisely; but I regarded him not, and yet may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the he talked wisely, and in the street too. true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countethe streets, and no man regards it. nance. Farewell: you shall find me in Eastcheap. Fal.! thou hast damnable iteration, and art, in- P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much All-hallown5 summer! [Exit FALSTAFF. harm upon me, Hal:-God forgive thee for it. Before Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I. if to-morrow: I have a jest to execute, that I cannot a man should speak truly, little better than one of the manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it shall rob those men that we have already way-laid: over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain: I'll be yourself and I will not be there: and when they have damned for never a king's son in Christendom. the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, off from my shoulders. Jack? P. Hen. How shall we part with them in setting forth? Fal. Zounds! where thou wilt, lad, I'1 make one; Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; our pleasure to fail: and then will they adventure from praying, to purse-taking. upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no Enter POINS, at a distance. sooner achieved, but we'11 set upon them. Fal. Why, Hal, It is my vocation, Hal: t is no sin for P. Hen. Yea, but't is like, that they will know us, a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!-Now shall by our horses, by our habits, and by every other we know if Gadshill have set a match2.-0! if men appointment, to be ourselves. were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see; I 11 tie enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain, them in the wood: our visors we will change, after we that ever cried, Stand! to a true man. leave them; and, sirrah6, I have cases of buckram for P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. the nonce,7 to inmask our noted outward garments. Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.-What says mon- P. Hen. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us. sieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack'-and-Sugar? Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup third. if he ll fight longer than he sees reason, I Ill forof Madeira, and a cold capon's leg? swear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomP. Hen. Sir John stands to his word: the devil shall prehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of when we meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought proverbs; he will give the devil his due. with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he Poins. Then, art thou damned for keeping thy word endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest. with the devil. P. Hen. Well, I'1l go with thee: provide us all P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in devil. Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit POINS. by four o'clock, early at Gadshill. There are pilgrims P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders The unyok'd humour of your idleness: riding to London with fat purses: I have visors for you Yet herein will I imitate the sun, all, you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies to- Who doth permit the base contagious clouds night in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-morrow To smother up his beauty from the world. night in Eastcheap: we may do it as secure as sleep. That when he please again to be himself, If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns: Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged. By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home, and go Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. not, I ll hang you for going. If all the year were playing holidays, Poins. You will, chops? To sport would be as tedious as to work; Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? But when they seldom come; they wish'd-for come P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, fellowship in thee, nor thou eamest not of the blood And pay the debt I never promised, royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings4. By how much better than my word I am, P. Hen. Well then, once in my days I 1ll be a madcap. By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; Fal. Why, that's well said. And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 1 A filthy and stagnant ditch, with a morass on one side, and Bedlam Hospital on the other, extending between Bishopsgate and Cripplegate. 2 Folio: watch; to " set a match" was, to make an appointment. 3 Sharris sac, appears to have been dry Sherry. 4 Such was the value of a coin called a royal. 5 All-hallown, or All-Saints' day, occurs on the first of November. 6 This word was often used, as here, to persons not inferiors. " Sir, ha!" is supposed to be the derivation. 7 Derived from, "for the once."-Gifford. 23 354 FIRST PART OF ACT I. My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; Than that which hath no foil to set it off. And that it was great pity, so it was, I'11 so offend, to make offence a skill This5 villainous salt-petre should be digg'd Redeeming time. when men think least I will. [Exit. Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed SCENE III.-The Same. Another Apartment in So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns, the Palace. iHe would himself have been a soldier. Enter King HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, HOTSPUR, Sir WALTER BLUNT) and Others. I answered indirectly, as I said; K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, And, I beseech you, let not his report Unapt to stir at these indignities, Come current for an accusation, And you have found me; for, accordingly, Betwixt my love and your high majesty. You tread upon my patience: but, be sure, Blnt. The circumstance considered, good my lord, I will from henceforth rather be myself, Whate:er Lord Harry Percy then had said, Mighty, and to be feared, than my condition, To such a person, and in such a place, Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, At such a time, with all the rest re-told, And therefore lost that title of respect, May reasonably die, and never rise Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. To do him wrong, or any way impeach Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves What then he said, so he unsay it now. The scourge of greatness to be used on it; K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, And that same greatness, too, which our own hands But with proviso, and exception, Have holp to make so portly. That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight North. My good1 lord- His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; K. Hen. Lord2 Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see Who; on my soul, hath wilfully betrayed Danger and disobedience in thine eye. The lives of those that he did lead to fight 0, sir! your presence is too bold and peremptory, Against that great magician. damn;d Glendower, And majesty might never yet endure Whose daughter, as we fear; that earl of March The moody frontier3 of a servant brow. Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, You have good leave to leave us: when we need Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.- Shall we buy treason, and indent6 with foes7, [Exit WORCESTER. When they have lost and forfeited themselves? You were about to speak. [To NORTH. No, on the barren mountains let him starve North. Yea, my good lord. For I shall never hold that man my friend, Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost, Which Harry Percy, here, at Holmedon took, To ransom home revolted Mortimer. Were, as he says; not with such strength denied Hot. Revolted Mortimer! As is delivered to your majesty: l-Ie never did fall off, my sovereign liege, Either envy, therefore, or misprision But by the chance of war: to prove that true, Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners: Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, But, I remember, when the fight was done, When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, In single opposition, hand to hand, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, He did confound the best part of an hour Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, In changing hardiment with great Glendower. Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd, Three times they breath'd, and three times did they Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home: drink, lie was perfumed like a milliner, Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; And'twixt his finger and his thumb he held Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, A pouncet4-box, which ever and anon Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, He gave his nose, and took It away again; And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. Took it in snuff:-and still he smid, and talk'd; Never did base and rotten policy And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, Colour her working with such deadly wounds: He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly, Nor never could the noble Mortimer To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse ieceive so many, and all willingly: Betwixt the wind and his nobility. Then, let him not be slandered with revolt. With many holiday and lady terms K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie He question'd me among the rest, demanded him: My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. He never did encounter with Glendower. I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, I tell thee, To be so pestered with a popinjay, He durst as well have met the devil alone, Out of ny grief and my impatience As Owen Glendower for an enemy. Answered neglectingly, I know not what, Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth He should, or he should not; for he made me mad, Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer. To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Or you shall hear in such a kind from me Of guns, and drums, and wounds, God save the mark! As will displease you.-My lord Northumberland, 1 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 A term of military defence, here used in the sense of opposition. 4A box of open work containing essences. 6 Folio: That. 6 Make an indenture, agree. 8 fears: in f. e. SCENE II. KING HENRY IV. 355 We license your departure with your son.- Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt, Send us your prisoners, or you'11 hear of it.' Of this proud king; who studies day and night [Exeunt King HENRY, BLUNT. and Train. To answer all the debt he owes to you, Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. I will not send them —I will after straight. Therefore, I say — And tell him so for I will ease my heart, Wor. Peace. cousin! say no more. Albeit I make a hazard' of my head. [Offers to go.2 And now I will unclasp a secret book, North. What! drunk with choler? stay, and pause And to your quick-conceiving discontents awhile: I I11 read you matter deep and dangerous; Here comes your uncle. As full of peril and adventurous spirit, Re-enter WORCESTER. As to o'erwalk a current, roaring loud, Hot. Speak of Mortimer! On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.'Zounds! I will speak of him: and let my soul Hot. If he fall in, good night!-or sink or swim, Want mercy, if i do not join with him: Send danger from the east unto the west, Yea, on his part', I'11 empty all these veins. So honour cross it, from the north to south And shed my dear blood drop by drop il the dust And let them grapple:-0! the blood more stirs, But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. As high i' the air as this unthankful king, North. Imagination of some great exploit As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke. Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. North. Brother, [To WORcEsTER.] the king hath Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, made your nephew mad. To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon;'Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone? Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And when I urg'd the ransom once again And pluck up drowned honour by the locks, Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale, So he that doth redeem her thence might wear And on my face he turn'd an eye of death Without corrival all her dignities: Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! Wor. I cannot blame him. Was he not proclaime'd Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood? But not the form of what he should attend.North. He was: I heard the proclamation: Good cousin, give me audience for a while.6 And then it was when the unhappy king Hot. I cry you mercy. (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth Wor. Those same noble Scots, Upon his Irish expedition; That are your prisoners,From whence he intercepted did return Hot. I'11 keep them all. To be depos'd, and shortly murdered. By God, he shall not have a Scot of them: TIor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide No if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not. mouth I'II keep them, by this hand. Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. TWor. You start away, Hot. But, soft! I pray you, did king Richard, then, And lend no ear unto my purposes. Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Those prisoners you shall keep. Heir to the crown? Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat. North. He did: myself did hear it. He said he would not ransom Mortimer; Hot. Nay, then, I cannot blame his cousin king, Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve. But I will find him when he lies asleep, But shall it be, that you, that set the crown And in his ear I'1 holla-Mortimer Upon the head of this forgetful man, Nay, I ll have a starling shall be taught to speak And for his sake wear the detested blot Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, Of murderous subornation, shall it be, To keep his anger still in motion. That you a world of curses undergo. W:or. Hear you, cousin, a word. Being the agents, or base second means, Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?- Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke; O! pardon me4, that I descend so low, And that same sword-and-buckler7 prince of Wales, To show the line, and the predicament, But that I think his father loves him not, Wherein you range under this subtle king. And would be glad he met with some mischance, Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, I would have him poisoned8 with a pot of ale. Or fill up chronicles in time to come, Wor. Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you; That men of your nobility and power, When you are better temper'd to attend. Did gage them both in an unjust behalf, North. Why, what a wasp-stung9 and impatient fool (As both of you. God pardon it! have done) Art thou to break into this woman's mood, To put down IRichard, that sweet lovely rose, Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged with And shall it, in more shame, be farther spoken, rods, That you are fooled, discarded, and shook off Nettled: and stung with pismires, when I hear By him, for whom these shames ye underwent? Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. No! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem In Richard's time,-what do ye call the place?Your tarnish'd5 honours, and restore yourselves A plague upon't-it is in Gloucestershire;Into the good thoughts of the world again. T was where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept, 1 Folio: Although it be with hazard. 2 Not in f. e. 3 Folio: In his behalf. 4 Folio: if. 5 banished: in f. e. 6 The folio inserts here as a separate line: "And list to me." 7 Servants and riotous persons were thus accoutred 8 Folio: poison'd him. 9 Folio: wasptongued. 356 FIRST PART OF ACT 11. His uncle York,-where I first bow'd my knee Of that occasion that shall bring it on. Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, Hot. I smell it: Sblood! when you and he came back from Ravenspurg. Upon my life, it will do wondrous well. North. At Berkley castle. North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip. Hot. You say true.- Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot.Why, what a candied deal of courtesy And then the power of Scotland, and of York, This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! To join with Mortimer, ha? Lookl,-' when his infant fortune came to age,77 Wor. And so they shall. And,-" gentle Harry Percy," —and,! kind cousin,"- Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 0, the devil take such cozeners!-God forgive me!- Wor. And It is no little reason bids us speed, Good uncle, tell your tale: I1 have done. To save our heads by raising of a head; TWor. Nay, if you have not, to't again, For, bear ourselves as even as we can, We'11 stay your leisure. The king will always think him in our debt, Hot. I have done, in faith. And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. Till he hath found a time to pay us home: Deliver them up without their ransom straight, And see already how he doth begin And make the Douglas7 son your only mean To make us strangers to his looks of love. For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons Hlot. He does, he does: we'11 be revenged on him. Which I shall send you written, be assur'd, Wor. Cousin, farewell.-No farther go in this, Will easily be granted you.-My lord, Than I by letters shall direct your course. [To NORTHUMBERLAND. When time is ripe. (which will be suddenly) Your son in Scotland being thus employd, I'11 steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer; Shall secretly into the bosom creep Where you, and Douglas, and our powers at once, Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, The archbishop. To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Hot. Of York, is it not? Which now we hold at much uncertainty. Wor. True; who bears hard North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. trust. I speak not this in estimation, Hot. Uncle, adieu. —O! let the hours be short, As what I think might be, but what I know Till fields, and blows: and groans applaud our sport. Is ruminated, plotted, and set down; [Exeunt. And only stays but to behold the face ACT II. thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An SCENE I.-Rochester. An Inn Yard. SCENE I. - Rochester. Aln Inn Yard. It were not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate Enter a Carrier with a Lantern in his hand. of thee I am a very villain.-Come, and be hanged:1 Car. tIeigh ho! An't be not four by the day, I'11 hast no faith in thee? be hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, Enter GADSHILL. and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler! Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? Ost. [ Within.] Anon, anon. 1 Car. I think it be two o'clock. 1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the gelding in the stable. withers out of all cess2. 1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye: I know a trick worth Enter another Carrier. two of that, i' faith. 2 Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine. and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: 2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell?-Lend me thy lantern, this house is turned upside down since Robin ostler quoth a?-marry, I'I1 see thee hanged first. died. Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you.mean to 1 Car. Poor fellow! he never joyed since the price come to London? of oats rose: it was the death of him. 2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I 2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house in warrant thee.-Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench. the gentlemen: they will along with company, for they 1 Car. Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er a have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers. king in Christendom could be better bit than I have Gads. What, ho! chamberlain! been since the first cock. Cham. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse". 2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and Gads. That's even as fair as-at hand, quoth the then we leak in the chimney; and your chamber-lie chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking of breeds fleas like a loach. purses, than giving direction doth from labouring; thou 1 Car. What, ostler! come away and be hanged; lay'st the plot how. come away. Enter Chamberlain. 2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes3 Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. current, that I told you yesternight: there's a franklin 1 Car.'Odsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks quite starved.-What, ostler!-A plague on thee! hast with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his 1 Folio: for I. 2 Measure. 3 Roots. 4 A proverb of the time. SCENE II. KING HENRY IV. 357 company, last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am the veriest that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of They are up already, and call for eggs and butter: they uneven ground is three score and ten miles afoot with will away presently. me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true to one clerks1, I 11 give thee this neck. another! [They zthistle.] Whew!-A plague upon you Cham. No, I'1 none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for all! Give me my horse, you rogues: give me my the hangman; for, I know thou worship'st saint Nicho- horse, and be hanged. las as truly as a man of falsehood may. P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down: lay thine ear Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the I hang, I'11 make a fat pair of gallows; for, if I hang, tread of travellers. old sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he's no Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again: being starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou down?'Sblood! I'11 not bear mine own flesh so far dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, are content afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. to do the profession some grace that would, if matters What a plague mean ye to colt8 me thus? should be looked into; for their own credit sake, make P. Hen. Thou liest: thou art not colted, thou art all whole. I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no uncolted. long-staff. sixpenny strikers: none of these mad, mus- Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my tachio purple-hued malt-worms; but with nobility and horse; good kingos son. sanguinity2; burgomasters, and great ones-yes,2 such P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler? as can hold in; such as will strike sooner than speak; Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than garters! If I be ta'en, I'11 peach for this. An I have pray: and yet I lie; for they pray continually to their not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, saint, the commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to her, let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest is so forbut prey on her, for they ride up and down on her, and ward, and afoot too,-I hate it. make her their boots. Enter GADSHILL. Cham. What! the commonwealth their boots? will Gads. Stand. she hold out water in foul way? Fal. So I do, against my will. Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. Poins. O!'t is our setter: I know his voice. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt Enter BARDOLPH. of fern-seed.' we walk invisible. Bard. What news? Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more Gads. Case ye case ye; on with your visors: there's beholding to the night, than to fern-seed, for your money of the king's coming down the hill:; t is going walking invisible. to the king's exchequer. Gads. Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in Pal. You lie, you rogue: It is going to the king's our purchase,5 as I am a true man. tavern. Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false Gads. There's enough to make us all. thief. Fal. To be hanged. Gads. Go to; homo is a common name to all men. P. lIen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narBid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. row lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt.'scape from your encounter, then they light on us. SCENE II.-The Road by Gad l Peto. But how many be there of them? SCENE H-The Road by Gadshill. Gads. Some eight, or ten. Enter Prince HENRY, and POINS; BARDOLPH and PETO, a. al. Zounds will they not rob us? at some distance. P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch? Poins. Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Fal- Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. father; but yet no coward, Hal. P. Hen. Stand close. P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. Enter FALSTAFF. Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! hedge: when thou needest him, there thou shalt find P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! What a him. Farewell, and stand fast. brawling dost thou keep? Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. Fal. Where Is Poins, Hal? P. Hen. Ned, [Aside to POINS.] where are our disP. lien. He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'11 guises? go seek him. [Pretends to seek POINS. Poins. Here, hard by: stand close. Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: [Exeunt P. HENRY and POINS. the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole9, say not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire7 I: every man to his business. further afoot I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt Enter Travellers. not but to die a fair death for all this, if I escape hang- 1 Trav. Come, neighbour: the boy shall lead our ing for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his com- horses down the hill; we 11 walk afoot awhile, and' pany hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and ease our legs. yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the Thieves. Stand! rascal have not given me medicines to make me love Trav Jesu bless us! him, I 11 be hanged; it could not be else: I have drunk Fal. Strike; down with them; cut the villains' medicines.-Poins!-Hal!-a plague upon you both! throats. Ah, whorson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! -Bardolph!-Peto!-I ll starve, ere I 7l rob a foot they hate us youth:. down with them; fleece them. further. An't were not as good a deed as drink, to 1 Trav. O! we are undone, both we and ours, for ever. t A cant name for robbers. 2 tranquillity: in f. e. 3 great oneyers: in f. e. 4 Of old, believed to be invisible, from its very minute size. s A cant term, in frequent use, for booty. 6 A gummed velvet, being very stiff, fretted, or wore rapidly. 7 Foot-rule. 8 Trick. 9 Lot. 358- FIRST PART OF ACT II. Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves. Are ye undone? Enter Lady PERCY. No, ye fat chuffs; I would, your store were here. On, How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two bacons, on! What! ye knaves, young men must live. hours. You are grand-jurors are ye? We 71l jure ye, i' faith. Lady. 0, my good lord! why are you thus alone? [Exeunt FAL. &c. driving the Travellers out. For what offence have I this fortnight been Re-enter Prince HENRY and POINS. A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men. Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, for a month, and a good jest for ever. And start so often when thou sit'st alone? Poins. Stand close: I hear them coming. Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, Re-enter Thieves. And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, Fal. Come, my masters; let us share, and then to To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy? horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not two In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's no And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars; more valour in that Poins. than in a wild duck. Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out upon them. Cry. " Courage!-to the field!" And thou hast talked Poins. Villains. Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents, [As they are sharing, the Prince and PoiNS set upon Of palisadoes, frontiers,1 parapets; them. They all run away, and FALSTAFF, after a blow Of basilisks2 of cannon,3 culvcrin;4 or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.] Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: And all th' occurrents5 of a heady fight. The thieves are scatter'd, and possessed with fear Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, Each takes his fellow for an officer. That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, Like bubbles on a late disturbed stream: And lards the lean earth as he walks along: And in thy face strange motions have appeard, Wer It not for laughing, I should pity him. Such as we see when men restrain their breath Poins. How the rogue roar'd! [Exeunt. On some great sudden hest.6! what portents are SCEN III.- ar h. A Rm in te C l Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, [these? SCENE III.-Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. And I must know it else he Cloves e not. Enter HOTSPUR, reading a Letter. Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone? -" But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well Enter Servant. contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. your house."-He could be contented,-why is he not Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the then? In respect of the love he bears our house:- sheriff? he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. loves our house. Let me see some more. " The pur- Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? pose you undertake, is dangerous:"-Why, that's cer- Serv. It is, my lord. tain: t is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; Hot. That roan shall be my throne. but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger: Well, I will back him straight: 0, esperance!7 we ll pluck this flower, safety. " The purpose you Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant. undertake, is dangerous; the friends you have named, Lady. But hear you, my lord. uncertain; the time itself unsorted, and your whole Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposi- Lady. What is it carries you away? tion." —Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, Hot. Why my horse, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What My love, my horse. a lackbrain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! plot as ever was laid: our friends true and constant: A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an As you are are toss'd with. In faith, excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty- I 1ll know your business, Harry, that I will. spirited rogue is this? Why, my lord of York com- I fear, my brother Mortirer doth stir mends the plot, and the general course of the action. About his title; and hath sent for you,'Zounds! and I were now by this rascal, I could brain To line his enterprise: but if you gohim with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, Directly unto this question that I ask, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet In faithI 11 break thy little finger, Harry, me in arms by the ninth of the next month, and are An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. they not, some of them, set forward already? What a Hot. Away! pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see Away, you trifler!-Love?-I love thee not, now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world, to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. Oh! I To play with mammets,8 and to tilt with lips: could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such We must have bloody noses, and cracked crowns, a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action. And pass them current too.-Gods me, my horse!Hang him! let him tell the king: we are prepared. What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with I will set forward to-night. me? The fortifications protecting frontiers. 2 Weighed nine thousand pounds and carried a ball of sixty. 3 Weighed seven thousand, and carried a ball of sixty. 4 Weighed four thousand, and carried a ball of eighteen. 5 currents: in f. e. 6 So the quarto; the folio: haste. 7 The motto of the Percy family. 8 Puppets, dolls. SCENE IV. KING HENRY IV. 359 Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed? P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve Francis? Well, do not then; for since you love me not, Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as toI will not love myself. Do you not love me? Poins. [ Within.] Francis! Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no? Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Hot Come, to the park, Katel; wilt thou see me ride? P. IHen. Five years! by'r lady, a long lease for the And when I am o' horseback, I will swear clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and I must not have you henceforth question me to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? Whither I go, nor reason whereabout. Fran. 0 lord, sir! I'11 be sworn upon all the books Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude, in England, I could find it in my heart. This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. Poins. [Within.] Francis! I know you wise; but yet no farther wise Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are; P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? [beBut yet a woman: and for secrecy, Fran. Let me see,-about Michaelmas next I shall No lady closer; for I well believe Poiins. [WWithin.] Francis! Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; Fran. Anon, sir.-Pray you, stay a little, my lord. And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. P. lien. Nay. but hark you, Francis. For the sugar Lady. How! so far? thou gavest me,-'t was a pennyworth, was't not? Hot. Not an inch farther. But hark you, Kate? Fran. 0 lord, sir! I would it had been two. Whither I go, thither shall you go too; P. lIen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Will this content you, Kate? Poins. [ Tithin.] Francis! Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. Fran. Anon, anon. PSCENE IV.. Hen. Anon, Francis? No,JFrancis; but to-morSCENE IV —Eastcheap. A Room in the Boars row, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Head Tavern. Francis, when thou wilt. But, FrancisEnter Prince HENRY and POINS. Fran. My lord? P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystaland lend me thy hand to laugh a little. button, knot-pated,4 agate-ring, puke'-stocking, caddis6Poins. Where hast been. Hal? garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst Fran. 0 lord, sir, who do you mean? three or four-score hogsheads. I have sounded the P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard7 is your only very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn drink: for, look you, Francis, your white canvas doubrother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by blet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so their Christian names, as-Tom, Dick, and Francis. much. They take it already upon their salvation, that though Fran. What, sir? I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of cour- Poins. [Within.] Francis! tesy, and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack; like Fal- P. Hen. Away, you rogue! Dost not thou hear staff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle. a good boy, them call? (by the lord, so they call me,) and when I am king of [Here they both call him; the Drawer stands amazed, England; I shall command all the good lads in East- not knowing which way to go. cheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and Enter Vintner. when you breathe in your watering2 they cry hem! and Vint. What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a bid you play it off.-To conclude, I am so good a pro- calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit FRAN.] ficient in one quarter of an hour; that I can drink with My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are at any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell the door: shall I let them in? thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou wert P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned, —to door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this penny- Re-enter POINS. worth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an Poins. Anon, anon, sir. under-skinker3: one that never spake other English in P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves his life, than-" Eight shillings and sixpence,7 and- are at the door. Shall we be merry? "You are welcome; with this shrill addition,-" Anon, Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,7 what cunning match have you made with this jest of or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff the drawer? come, what's the issue? come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have showed I question my puny drawer to what end he gave me themselves humours, since the old days of goodman the sugar; and do thou never leave calling-Francis! Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock that his tale to me may be nothing but-anon. Step at midnight. [Re-enter FRANCIS, with Wine.] What's aside, and I'l show thee a precedent. o'clock, Francis? Poins. Francis!Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit. P. Hen. Thou art perfect. P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer Poins. Francis! [Exit PoINS. words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His Enter FRANCIS. industry is-up-stairs, and down-stairs; his eloquence, Fran. Anon, anon, sir.-Look down into the Pome- the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's granate, Ralph. mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me P. lIen. Come hither, Francis. some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes Fran. My lord. his hands, and says to his wife,-" Fie upon this quiet I to the park, Kate: not in f. e. 2 take breath in your drinking. 3 One who serves drink, a drawer. 4 Having the hair cut close. 5 Puce. 6 Galloon. 7 A strong and sweet Spanish wine. It was both brown and white. 360 FIRST PART OF ACT II. life? I want work." " 0 my sweet Harry,7 says she, num. [Drawing it.'] I never dealt better since I was a I How many hast thou killed to-day?' Give my roan man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards!horse a drenchl, says he; and answers, " Some four- Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, teen/" an hour after; " a trifle, a trifle."-I pr'ythee, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. call in Falstaff; I'11 play Percy, and that damned brawn P. Hen. Speak, sirs: how was it? shall play dame Mortimer his wife. " Rivo!" says the Bard. We four set upon some dozen,drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and PETO. Bard. And bound them. Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Fal, A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of too! marry, and amen! —Give me a cup of sack, boy. them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. -Ere I lead this life long, I'11 sew nether-stocks, and Bard. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh mend them, and foot them too. A plague of.all men set upon us,cowards!-Give me a cup of sack, rogue.-Is there no Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the virtue extant? [He drinks, other. P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of P. Hen. What! fought ye with them all? butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet Fal. All? I know not what ye call all; but if I tale of the sun! if thou didst, then behold that con- fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish; pound. if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Fal. You rogue, here s lime in this sack too: there Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man: P. Hen.. Pray God, you have not murdered some of yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in them. it; a villainous coward.-Go thy ways, old Jack: die Fal. Nay, that Is past praying for: I have peppered when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not for- two of them: two, I am sure, I have paid; two rogues got upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal,-if I tell herring1. There live not three good men unhanged in thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowEngland, and one of them is fat, and grows old: God est my old ward:-here I lay, and thus I bore my point. help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a Four rogues in buckram let drive at me,weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague P. Hen. What, four? thou saidst but two even now. of all cowards. I say still. Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. P. Iten. How now, wool-sack! what mutter you? Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy sub- a.t me. I made me no more ado, but took all their jects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'7 never seven points in my target, thus. wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales! P. Hen. Seven? why, there were but four even P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the now. matter! Fal. In buckram. Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that? Poins. Ay, four in buckram suits. and Poins there? Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. Poins.'Zounds! ye fat paunch, and ye call me cow- P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone: we shall have more ard, I'11 stab thee. anon. [To POINS.6 Fal. I call thee coward! I 11 see thee damned ere I Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound, P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These enough in the shoulders: you care not who sees your nine in buckram, that I told thee of,back. Call you that backing of your friends? A P. Hen. So, two more already. plague upon such backing! give me them that will Fal. Their points being broken,face me.-Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I Poins. Down fell their hose.' Idrunk to-day. Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me P. Hen. 0 villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since close, came in, foot and hand, and with a thought, thou drunkest last. seven of the eleven I paid. Fal. All Is one for that. [He drinks.] A plague of all P. Hen. 0 monstrous! eleven buckram men grown cowards, still say I. out of two. P. Hen. What's the matter? Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotFal. What's the matter? there be four of us here ten knaves, in Kendal-green, came at my back, and let have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning. drive at me; —for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst P. Hen. Where is it. Jack! where is it? not see thy hand. Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets upon poor four of us3. them; gross as a mountain; open, palpable. Why, P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech.8a dozen of them two hours together. I have scaped by Fal. What! art thou mad? art thou mad? is not miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet: the truth, the truth? four through the hose; my buckler cut through and P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men in through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw: ecce sig- Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not 1 One that has cast his spawn. 2 So the first two quartos; the folios omit: day. The phrase is still in use in the eastern counties of England. 3 So all old copies; many mod. eds. omit: of. 4 Not in f. e. 5 All the quartos but the last, give this speech to P. HENRY; the last quarto, and the folio, to POINS. C Not in f. e. 7 Points is taken by POINS in the sense of tags, or strings, by which the clothes were fastened. 8 Old copies: catch; changed by some editions to "ketch," a tsub, and by others to " keech," the fat of an animal rolled up in a ball. SCENE IV. KING IIENRY IV. 361 see thy hand? come; tell us your reason: what sayest too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch thou to this? the true prince, no;-fie! Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. Bard.'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. Fal. What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the P. Hen.'Faith tell me now in earnest: how came strappado' or all the racks in the world, I would not Falstaff's sword so hacked? tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compul- Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said, sion! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would he would swear truth out of England, but he would give no man a reason uipon compulsion, I. make you believe it was done in fight; and persuaded P. Hen. I'11 be no longer guilty of this sin: this san- us to do the like. guine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear grass, this huge hill of flesh;- to make them bleed: and then to beslubber our garFal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin2, you dried ments with it, and to swear it was the blood of true neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle. you stock-fish,-O, for men. I did that I did not this seven year before; I breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor's yard, blushed to hear his monstrous devices. you sheath, you bow-ease. you vile standing-tuck;- P. Hen. 0 villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; years ago, and wert taken with the manner4, and ever and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire hear me speak but this. and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st away: what Poins. Mark, Jack. instinct hadst thou for it? P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four; you Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do you bound them, and were masters of their wealth.-Mark behold these exhalations? now, how plain a tale shall put you down.-Then did P. Hen. I do. we two set on you four, and, with a word, out-faced you Bard. What think you they portend? from your prize, and have it: yea, and can show it you P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. here in the house.-And. Falstaff, you carried your guts Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull- Re-enter FALSTAFF. calf. What a slave art thou. to hack thy sword as thou Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How hast done, and then say, it was in fight! What trick, now, my sweet creature of bombast!5 How long is't what device, what starting-hole, canst thou now find ago, Jack, since thou sawest thy own knee? out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack: what trick hast thou Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could now? have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: a plague Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: was it for me There's villainous news abroad: here was sir John to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true Bracy from your father: you must to the court in the prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Her- morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy; cules; but beware instinct: the lion will not touch the and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, true prince. Instinct is a great matter; I was a cow- and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his ard on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook6,-what, thee, during my life; I, for a valiant lion. and thou for a plague, call you him?a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you Poins. 0! Glendower. have the money.-Hostess, clap to the doors: watch Fal. Owen, Owen; the same; and his son-in-law, to-night, pray to-morrow.-Gallants, lads, boys, hearts Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that sprightly of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill What! shall we be merry? shall we have a play ex- perpendicular. tempore? P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his P. Hen. Content;-and the argument shall be, thy pistol kills a sparrow flying. running away. Fal. You have hit it. Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. Enter Hostess. Fal. Well. that rascal hath good mettle in him; he Host. 0 Jesu! My lord the prince,- will not run. P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess! what say'st P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou, then, to praise thou to me? him so for running? HIost. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the Fal. 0' horseback, ye cuckoo! but, afoot, he will court at door would speak with you: he says, he comes not budge a foot. from your father. P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there man3, and send him back again to my mother. too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Fal. What manner of man is he? Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard Host. An old man. is turned white with the news: you may buy land now Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? as cheap as stinking mackarel. -Shall I give him his answer? P. Hen. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do, Jack. June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy Fal.'Faith. and I'11 send him packing. [Exit. maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred. P. Hen. Now, sirs; by'r lady, you fought fair;-so Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like, did you, Peto;-so did you, Bardolph: you are lions we shall have good trading that way.-But, tell me, 1 This punishment consists in drawing the sufferer up to an elevation, by a strap passed under his elbows, and then letting him drop suddenly-usually dislocating his shoulder blade. 2 Hannmer suggests eel-skin. 3 A play upon the names of coins, the noble, 6s. 8d, and the royal, 10s. 4 In the fact. 5 Cotton-wool, used for stuffing dresses. 6 A pike, with a hook below its point.-Knight. 362 FIRST PART OF ACT II. Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou being heir rest banish. And tell me, now, thou naughty varlet, apparent, could the world pick thee out three such tell me, where last thou been this month? enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly stand for me, and I'1l play my father. afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it? Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith: I lack some of thy majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by instinct. the heels for a rabbit-sucker', or a poulterer's hare. Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, P. Hen. Well, here I am set. when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, Fal. And here I stand.-Judge, my masters. practise an answer. P. Henr. Now, Harry! whence come you? P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. me upon the particulars of my life. P. Hen. The complaints [ hear of thee are grievous. Fal. Shall I? content.-This chair shall be my state, Fal.'Sblood, my lord, they are false.-Nay, I'11 this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. tickle thee for a young prince, i' faith. P. lIen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy P. IHen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away rich crown for a pitiful bald crown! from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeFal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of ness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. thee, now shalt thou be moved.-Give me a cup of Why dost thou converse with that hulk8 of humours, sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of thought I have wept for I must speak in passion, and dropsies, that huge bombard9 of sack, that stuffed I will do it in king Cambyses' vein. cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree-oxx0, with P. Ien. Well, here is my leg.2 the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey Fal. And here is my speech.-Stand aside, nobility. iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Host. 0, Jesu! this is excellent sport, i' faith. Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and vain. eat it? wherein cunning'1, but in craft? wherein crafty, Host. 0, the father! how he holds his countenance. but in villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things? Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristfull queen, wherein worthy, but in nothing? For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Fal. I would your grace would take me with you 2 Host. 0, Jesu! he doth it as like one of these har- whom means your grace? lotry players as ever I see. P. Hen. That villainous abominable misleader of Fal. Peace, good pint-pot! peace, good tickle-brain! youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. — Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest Fal. My lord, the man I know. thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: for P. Hen. I know thou dost. though the camomile the more it is trodden on, the Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in faster it grows, sol youth, the more it is wasted, the myself, were to say more than I know. That he is sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it: thy mother's word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly. but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, be son to me, here lies the point-why, being son to then many an old host that I know, is damned: if to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to heaven prove a micher5, and eat blackberries? a ques- be loved. No, my good lord: banish Peto, banish tion not to be asked. Shall the sun of England prove Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, a thief, and take purses? a question to be asked. kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard Falstaff, and, therefore more valiant, being, as he is, of, and it is known to many in our land by the name old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, of pitch: pitchpit, as ancient writers do report, doth banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump defile: so doth the company thou keepest; for, Harry, Jack, and banish all the world. now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words only, but [Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH. in woes also.-And yet there is a virtuous man, whom Re-enter BARDOLPII, running. I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his Bard. 0! my lord, my lord! the sheriff, with a most name. monstrous watch, is at the door. P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have majesty? much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. Fal. A goodly6 portly man i' faith, and a corpulent: Re-enter Hostess. of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble Host. 0 Jesu! my lord, my lord!carriage: and, as I think. his age some fifty, or, by'r P. Hen. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlelady, inclining to threescore, and now I remember me. stick. What's the matter? his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, [ see virtue in his they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in? looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I speak it, gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the seeming so. 1 An allusion to the "Lamentable Tragedy" of Cambyses, by Thomas Preston. 2 My obeisance. 3 Old copies: trustful; Rowe made the change. 4 The later quartos and folio: yet. 5 One who lurks out of sight, a truant. 6 So the old copies; Malone changed the word to " good." 7 A sucking rabbit. 8 trunk: in f. e. 9 A large barrel; also, a drinking vessel. 10 An allusion to the Manningtree Fair. 11 Skilful. 12 Let me understand you. SCENE I. KING HENRY IV. 363 P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. P. Ilen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men, Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. sheriff so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a Sher. Good night, my noble lord. cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing P. Hen. I think it is good morrow, is it not? up. I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. as another. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras:-the rest P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul;s. walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, and Go, call him forth. a good conscience. Peto. Falstaff! —fast asleep behind the arras, and Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, snorting like a horse. and therefore I ll hide me. P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search [Exeunt all but the Prince and PETO.2 his pockets. [PETO searches.] What hast thou found? P. Hen. Call in the sheriff. Peto. Nothing but papers. my lord. Enter Sheriff and Carrier. P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them. Now, master sheriff, what's your will with me? Peto. [Reads.] Item, A capon.2s. 2d. Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry Item, Sauce......... 4d. Hath follow7d certain men unto this house. Item, Sack, two gallons,.. 5s. 8d. P. Hen. What men? Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper,.. 2s. 6d. Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord; Item, Bread........... ob.3 A gross fat man. P. Hen. 0 monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of Car. As fat as butter. bread to this intolerable deal of sack!-What there is P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here, else, keep close: we11 read it at more advantage. There For I myself at this time have employ'd him. let him sleep till day. I'11 to the court in the morning: And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourThat I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, able. I 11 procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, Send him to answer thee, or any man, I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score. For any thing he shall be charged withal: The money shall be paid back again with advantage. And so, let me entreat you, leave the house. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morSher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen row, Peto. Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt. ACT III. Hot. O! then the earth shook to see the heavens on SCENE I.-Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's fire House. ~Honu~se-. And not in fear of your nativity. Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, MORTIMER, and GLEN- Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth DOwER. In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vex'd And our induction4 full of prosperous hope. By the imprisoning of unruly wind Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, will Within her womb: which, for enlargement striving, you sit down?-And, uncle Worcester.-A plague Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down upon it! I have forgot the map. Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, Glend. No, here it is. Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur; In passion shook. For by that name as oft as Lancaster Glend. Cousin, of many men Doth speak of you, I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave His cheek looks pale, and with a rising sigh To tell you once again,-that at my birth, He wisheth you in heaven. The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds Glendower spoke of. Were strangely clamorous in the frighted fields. Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity, These signs have mark'd me extraordinary, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, And all the courses of my life do show, Of burning cressets; and at my birth, I am not in the roll of common men. The frame and huge6 foundation of the earth Where is he living,-clipp'd in with the sea Shak'd like a coward. That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,HIot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? if your mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself And bring him out, that is but woman's son, had never been born. Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. And hold me pace in deep experiments. Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better Welsh. If you suppose as fearing you it shook. I'11 to dinner. Glend. The heavens were all on fire; the earth did Mort. Peace, cousin Percy! you will make him mad. tremble. Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 1 The arras was usually hung at some distance from the wall. s There is no direction in the old copies, except Exit. Subsequent dialogue PETO takes part; mod. eds. change the name here and in the rest of the scene, to POINS. 3 Obolum, the old mode of noting a half-penny. 4 Isntroduction. 5 A small frame-work of iron filled with some flaming substance, and raised on a pole as a beacon, or a torch. 6 From the quarto. 1593. 364: FIRST PART OF ACT III. Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man; Glend. I will not have it alter'd. But will they come, when you do call for them? Hot. Will not you? Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command Glend. No, nor you shall not. the devil. Hot. Who shall say me nay? Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, Glend. Why, that will I. By telling truth: tell truth, and shame the devil.- Hot. Let me not understand you then: If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, Speak it in Welsh. And ['11 be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you, O! while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. For I was train'd up in the English court; Mort. Come, come; Where, being but young, I framed to the harp No more of this unprofitable chat. Many an English ditty, lovely well, Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; head A virtue that was never seen in you. Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, Hot. Marry and I'm glad of it with all my heart. And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew, Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too I had rather hear a brazen can'stick4 turn'd, How escap'd he agues, in the devil's name? Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree; Glend. Come, here's the map: shall we divide our And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, right, Nothing so much as mincing poetry. According to our three-fold order ta'en? IT is like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. Into three limits, very equally. Hot. I do not care. England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, I 11 give thrice so much land to any well-deserving By south and east is to my part assign'd: friend; All westward, Wales, beyond the Severn shore, But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, And all the fertile land within that bound, I'11 cavil on the ninth part of a hair. To Owen Glendower:-and, dear coz, to you Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gdne? The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night: And our indentures tripartite are drawn, I'11 haste the writer, and withal, I'11 break Which being sealed interchangeably, With your young wives5 of your departure hence. (A business that this night may execute) I am afraid my daughter will run mad, To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, iort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father. To meet your father, and the Scottish power, Hot. I cannot choose: sometime he angers me As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, Mv father Glendower is not ready yet, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies; Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days.- And of a dragon, and a finless fish, Within that space you may have drawn together A clip-winged griffin, and a moulten raven, [To Glendower. A couching lion, and a ramping cat, Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords; As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,And in my conduct shall your ladies come: He held me, last night, at the least nine hours, From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; In reckoning up the several devils' names, For there will be a world of water shed That were his lackeys: I cried, "humph," and "well/7 Upon the parting of your wives and you. go to," Hot. Methinks, my moiety', north from Burton here, But marked him not a word. O! he Is as tedious In quantity equals not one of yours. As a tired horse, a railing wife; See, how this river comes me cranking in, Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live And cuts me from the best of all my land With cheese and garlick in a windmill, far, A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle2 out. Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me I'11 have the current in this place damm'd up, In any summer-house in Christendom. And here the snug and silver Trent shall run, Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; In a new channel, fair and evenly: Exceedingly well read, and profited It shall not wind with such a deep indent In strange concealments; valiant as a lion, To rob me of so rich a bottom here. And wondrous affable, and as bountiful Glend. Not wind? it shall; it must: you see, it doth. As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? Mort. Yea, but mark, how he bears his course, and He holds your temper in a high respect, runs me up And curbs himself even of his natural scope, With like advantage on the other side; When you do cross his humour;'faith, he does. Gelding the opposed continent, as much I warrant you, that man is not alive, As on the other side it takes from you. Might so have tempted him as you have done, Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, Without the taste of danger and reproof: And on this north side win this cape of land; But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. And then he runs all straight and evenly3. Wor. In faith, my wilful lord, you are to blame, Hot. I'l have it so: a little charge will do it. And since your coming hither have done enough 1 Often used, as here, as a general term for share. 2 Portion. 3 runs straight and even: in f. e. 4 candle-stick: in folio. 5 In f. e.: and withal, Break -with your wives, &c. 6 In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame: in f. e. K>~~~~~~~~~~~~.. -—:~ r,~:~,!/,...- — t,, /x~j............ S5 -j -i — ~ T h' jj: ~. ij 1/>,>:~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~__ -~7-'U ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-....a~ —::-'~-: t.''- -. \ T -:':NL FALST:::,'-E —-F-:. — BA"DQI P-I-_, = ===== ======T ==T He:ry:IV Part ET %ene ) N 0,~~~~~~. _ _.-:>~.,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,:~ _ -.x: ~.~.,~:__ ~ _ - ~_' ~' ~ _ _ _.~,~: — L:. ~.........,:. ~::5,.. —-':.: _::. ~...,..,-"- - --- ---:_ _,,-~'?,.,:~.:~., - -~~~~~~~til FALSTAFF, B}ARIMI{)L 1, ANID ]{I':C,tU]TS. Henry TV. Part T., Act I11. Seen e'. SCENE H. KING HENRY IV. 365 To put him quite beside his patience. In Welsh. You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: Hot. I had rather hear, lady, my brach4, howl in Though sometimes it show greatness. courage blood, Irish. And that's the secret grace it renders you, Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken? Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, Hot. No. Defect of manners, want of government, Lady P. Then be still. Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain: Hot. Neither; It is a woman's fault. The least of which, haunting a nobleman, Lady P. Now. God help thee! Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. Upon the beauty of all parts besides, Lady P. What's that? Beguiling them of commendation. Hot. Peace? she sings. [A Welsh Song by Lady M. Hot. Well, I am school'd: good manners be your Hot. Come, Kate, I ll have your song too. speed. Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. Here come our wives) and let us take our leave. Hot. Not yours, in good sooth!'Heart! Re-enter. GLENDOWER, wtith the Ladies. You swear like to a comfit-maker's wife. AMort. This is the deadly spite that angers me: Not yours, in good sooth; and, as true as I live; My wife can speak no English. I no Welsh. AsGod shall mend me: and. as sure as day: Glend. My daughter weeps: she will not part with And giv'st such sareenet surety for thy oaths, She'11 be a soldier too; she 11 to the wars. [you; As if thou never walk'dst farther than Finsbury. Mort. Good father, tell her, that she, and my aunt Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, Percy, A good-mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth, Shall follow in your conduct speedily. And such protests of pepper-gingerbread, [GLENDOWER speaks to her in Welsh, and she To velvet-guards,5 and Sunday-citizens. answers him in the same. Come, sing. Glend. She Is desperate here; Lady P. I will not sing. A peevish' self-will'd harlotry, and 6one Hot.'T is the next way to turn tailor, or be redThat no persuasion can do good upon. breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn,I'll [She speaks to MORTIMER in Welsh. away within these two hours; and so come in when 3lort. I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh ye will. [Exit. Which thou pour'st down from these welling heavens, Glend. Come on6, lord Mortimer: you are as slow, I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. In such a parley would I answer thee. By this our book is drawn: we 711 seal, and part7 [She speaks again. To horse immediately. I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, IMort. With all my heart. [Exeunt. And that Is a feeling disputation: But I will never be a truant, love, SCENE II.-London. A Room in the Palace. Till I have learned thy language; for thy tongue Enter King HENRY, Prince of Wales, and Lords. Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, K. Hen. Lords, give us leave. The Prince of Wales Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, and I, With ravishing division, to her lute. Must have some private conference: but be near at Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will she e'en run mad. hand, [She speaks again. For we shall presently have need of you.Mort. 0! I am ignorance itself in this. [Exeunt Lords. Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes2 lay you I know not whether God will have it so, And rest your gentle head upon her lap, [down, For some displeasing service I have done, And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, That, in his secret doom, out of my blood And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, He'11 breed revengement and a scourge for me; Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness: But thou dost, in thy passages of life, Making such difference'twixt wake and sleep, Make me believe, that thou art only marked As is the difference betwixt day and night, For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, Begins his golden progress in the east. Could such inordinate, and low desires, Mort. With all my heart I ll sit, and hear her sing: Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts By that time will our book3, I think, be drawn. Such barren pleasures, rude society, Glend. Do so; As thou art matched withal, and grafted to, And those musicians that shall play to you, Accompany the greatness of thy blood, Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence; And hold their level with thy princely heart? And straight they shall be here. Sit, and attend. P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: Quit all offences with as clear excuse Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge lap. Myself of many I am charged withal: Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. [The music plays. Yet such extenuation let me beg, Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh: As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, And't is no marvel, he is so humorous. Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear By'i lady, he's a good musician. By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, Lady P. Then, should you be nothing but musical, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth For you are altogether governed by humours. Hath faulty wander'd, and irregular, Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing Find pardon on my true submission. 1 Silly. 2 Rushes were strewn on floors as a covering. 3 Often used, as here, for an agreement. 4 Small hound. 5 Velvet-guards, or edges, seem to have been a distinguishing peculiarity of the dress of London city wives.-IKnight. 6 Come, come: in f. e. 7 then: in i. e. 366 FIRST PART OF ACT III. K. Hen. God pardon thee!-yet let me wonder, And even as I was then is Percy now. At thy affections, which do hold a wing [Harry, Now by my scepter, and my soul to boot, Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. He hath more worthy interest to the state, Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, Than thou the shadow of succession: Which by thy younger brother is supplied; For of no rigllht, nor colour like to right, And art almost an alien to the hearts He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, Of all the court, and princes of my blood: Turns head against the lion's armed jaws, The hope and expectation of thy time And, being no more in debt to years than thou, Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on Prophetically doth fore-think thy fall. To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. Had I so lavish of my presence been, What never-dying honour hath he got So common-haekney'd in the eyes of men, Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds, So stale and cheap to vulgar company, Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms, Opinion, that did help me to the crown, Holds from all soldiers chief majority, Had still kept loyal to possession. And military title capital, And left me in reputeless banishment, Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ. A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothes, By being seldom seen, I could not stir, This infant warrior, in his enterprises But like a comet I was wonder'd at; Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once, That men would tell their children, "This is he': Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, Others would say, - Where? which is Bolingbroke?" To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, And then I stole all courtesy from heaven And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And dress'd myself in such humility, And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas; Mortimer, Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths) Capitulate3 against us, and are up. Even in the presence of the crowned king. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new; Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, My presence, like a robe pontifical. Which art my nearest and dearest enemy? Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast, Base inclination, and the start of spleen, And won by rareness such solemnity. To fight against me under Percy's pay, The skipping king, he ambled up and down To dog his heels, and courtesy at his frowns, With shallow jesters, and rash bavin' wits, To show how much thou art degenerate. Soon kindled, and soon burned; discarded state;2 P. Hen. Do not think so; you shall not find it so: Mingled his royalty with carping fools; And God forgive them, that so much have swayed Had his great name profaned with their scorns; Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! And gave his countenance. againrst his name, I will redeem all this on Percy's head, To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push And in the closing of some glorious day, Of every beardless vain comparative: Be bold to tell you that I am your son; Grew a companion to the common streets When I will wear a garment all of blood, Enfcoff'd himself to popularity: And stain my favour4 in a bloody mask, That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. They surfeited with honey; and began And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little That this same child of honour and renown, More than a little is by much too much. This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, So, when he had occasion to be seen, And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. He was but as the cuckoo is in June, For every honour sitting on his helm, Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes,'Would they were multitudes; and on my head As, sick and blunted with community, My shames redoubled! for the time will come, Afford no extraordinary gaze, That I shall make this northern youth exchange Such as is bent on sun-like majesty, His glorious deeds for my indignities. When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: Percy is but my factor, good my lord, Butsrather drowz'd, and hung their eyelids down, To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; Slept in his face; and rendered such aspect And I will call him to so strict account, As cloudy men use to their adversaries That he shall render every glory up, Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. For thou hast lost thy princely privilege, This, in the name of God, I promise here: With vile participation: not an eye The which. if he be pleased I shall perform, But is a-weary of thy common sight, I do beseech your majesty, may salve Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more; The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: Which now doth that I would not have it doIf not, the end of life cancels all bands; Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. Be more myself. K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this! K. Hen. For all the world,Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust herein. As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, Enter BLUNT. When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; How now good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. 1 A.faggot of brushwood. 2 carded his state: in f. e. 3 They draw up articles, or capita. 4 Countenance. The old copies: favours, i. e., features. SCENE Ill. KING HENRY IV. 367 Blunt. So is' the business that I come to speak of. salamander of yours with fire any time this two and Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, thirty years: God reward me for it! That Douglas, and the English rebels met, Bard.'Sblood! I would my face were in your belly. The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury. Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heartA mighty and a fearful head they are, burned. If promises be kept on every hand, Enter Hostess. As ever offer'd foul play in a state. How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired K. lien. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day. yet who picked my pocket?. With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; Host. Why, sir John, what do you think, sir John? For this advertisement is five days old.- Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have On Wednesday next; Harry. you shall set forward; searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by On Thursday we ourselves will march: man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a Our meeting is Bridgnorth; and, Harry, you hair was never lost in my house before. Shall march through Glostershire; by which account, Fal. You lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved, and Our business valued, some twelve days hence lost many a hair; and I'll be sworn, my pocket was Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet, picked. Go to, you are a woman; go. Our hands are full of business: let's away; Host Who I? No. I defy thee: God's light! I Advantage feeds him fat) while men delay. [Exeunt. was never called so in mine own house before. Fal. Go to: I know you well enough. HSCENE -asteadp. A Room i the Bo Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle?- Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. gown: I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight I'11 repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir liking2; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I Jbhn, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent shall have no strength to repent. An I have not for- you, four and twenty pound. gotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a Fal. He had his part of it: let him pay. pepper-corn, a brewer's horse. The inside of a church! Host He? alas! he is poor: he hath nothing. Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; what call you of me. rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker long. of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I Fal. Why, there is it.-Come, sing me a bawdy shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as a of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore little; Host. 0 Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, I diced not above seven times a week; went to a know not how oft, that that ring was copper. bawdy-house not above once in a quarter-of an hour' Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; paid money that I borrowed three or four times; lived'Sblood! and he were here, I would cudgel him like a well, and in good compass; and now I live out of all dog, if he would say so. order, out of all compass. Enter Prince HENRY and POINS4, marching. FALSTAFF Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon. like a fife. needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable Fal. How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i) compass, sir John. faith? must we all march? Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashin n? life. Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. not3 in the poop,-but't is in the nose of thee: thou P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How art the knight of the burning lamp. does thy husband? I love him well: he is an honest Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. man. Fal. No; I'11 be sworn, I make as good use of it as Host. Good my lord, hear me. many a man doth of a death's head. or a memento mori: Fal. Pr'ythee let her alone, and list to me. I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and P. Hen. What sayest thou, Jack? Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, Fal. The other night I fell asleep, here, behind the burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to vir- arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is turned tue, I would swear by thy face: my oath should be, bawdy-house; they pick pockets. By this fire, that's God's angel: but thou art alto- P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? gether given over, and wert, indeed, but for the light Fal. Wilt thou believe me. Hal? three or four bonds in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou of forty pound a-piece, and a seal ring of my grandfaran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I ther's. did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus. or a ball P. Hen. A trifle: some eight-penny matter. of wild-fire. there's no purchase in money. O! thou Host. So I told him, my lord: and I said I heard art a perpetual triumph. an everlasting bonfire-light. your grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is, and said, he torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern would cudgel you. and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, P. Hen. What! he did not? would have bought. me lights as good cheap, at the Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood dearest chandlers in Europe. I have maintained that in me else. 1 hath: in f. e. 2 In good flesh. 3 This word is not in f, e. 4 POINS, is not in the old copies. 368 FIRST PART OF ACT IV. Fal. There Is no more faith in thee than in a stewed with any other injuries but these, I am a villain; and prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox: yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong. and for womanhood, maid Marian' may be the deputy's Art thou not ashamed? wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in the Host. Say, what thing? what thing? state of innocence, Adam fell; and what should poor Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest Host. I am nothing to thank God on, I would thou I have more flesh than another man, and therefore shouldst know it: I am an honest man's wife; and, more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call pocket? me so. P. Hen. It appears so by the story. Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast Fal. Hostess. I forgive thee. Go, make ready breakto say otherwise. fast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest Fal. What beast? why an otter. reason: thou seest, I am pacified.-Still?-Nay, pr'yP. Hen. An otter, sir John: why an otter? thee begone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news Fal. Why? she's neither fish nor flesh; a man at court: for the robbery, lad,-how is that answered? knows not where to have her. P. Hen. 0! my sweet beef, I must still be good Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou or angel to thee.-The money is paid back again. any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou! Fal. 0! I do not like that paying back; it is a double P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders labour. thee most grossly. P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other do any thing. day, you ought him a thousand pound. Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, P. Hen. Sirrah! do I owe you a thousand pound? and do it with unwashed hands too. Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy love Bard. Do, my lord. is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I would cudgel you. find one that can steal well? 0! for a fine thief, of Fal. Did I, Bardolph? the age of two-and-twenty, or thereabouts! I am Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these Fal. Yea; if he said my ring was copper. rebels; they offend none but the virtuous: I laud them, P. Hen. I say,'t is copper: darest thou be as good I praise them. as thy word now? P. Hen. Bardolph! Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, Bard. My lord. I dare; but as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster, the roaring of the lion's whelp. To my brother John: this to my lord of Westmoreland.P. Hen. And why not, as the lion. Go, Poins, to horse, to horse! for thou, and I, Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion. Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.Dost thou think I ll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, Jack. meet me to-morrow in the Temple-hall an I do, I pray God, my girdle break! At two o'clock in the afternoon: P. Hen. 0! if it should, how would thy guts fall There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive about thy knees! But. sirrah. there's no room for Money, and order for their furniture. faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine; it is The land is burning, Percy stands on high, filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest wo- And either they, or we, must lower lie. man with picking thy pocket! Why. thou whoreson, [Exeunt Prince, POINS, and BARDOLPH. impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in Fal. Rare words! brave world!-Hostess, my breakthy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of fast; come.bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy 0! I could wish this tavern were my drum. [Exit. to make thee long-winded; if thy pocket were enriched ACT IV. But I will beard him. SCENE I.-The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. Hot. Do so and It is well.Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS. Enter a Messenger, with letters. Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth What letters hast thou there?-I can but thank you. In this fine age were not thought flattery, lMess. These letters come from your father. Such attribution should the Douglas have, Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not himself? As not a soldier of this season's stamp Mess. He cannot come, my lord: he's grievous sick. Should go so general current through the world. Hot.'Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick, By God, I cannot flatter: I defy In such a justling time? Who leads his power? The tongues of soothers; but a braver place Under whose government come they along? In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord. Wor. I prlythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? Doug. Thou art -the king of honour: Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; No man so potent breathes upon the ground, And at the time of my departure thence, 1 Robin Hood's companion-she was often introduced as a character in Morris dances. SCENE It. KING HENRY IV. 369 He was much feared by his physicians. Is marching hitherwards; with him, prince John. Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole, Hot. No harm: what more? Ere he by sickness had been visited: Ver. And farther, I have learn'd His health was never better worth than now. The king himself in person is set forth, Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect Or hitherwards intendeth speedily, The very life-blood of our enterprise: With strong and mighty preparation. IT is catching hither, even to our camp. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, He writes me here,-that inward sickness- The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, And that his friends by deputation could not And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet, And bid it pass? To lay so dangerous and dear a trust Ver. All furnished, all in arms, On any soul removId, but on his own. All plum'd like estridges, that wing the wind, Yet doth he give us bold advertisement Bated4 like eagles having lately bath'd That with our small conjunction we should on, Glittering in golden coats, like images; To see how fortune is disposed to us; As full of spirit as the month of May, For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; Because the king is certainly possessed Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. Of all our purposes. What say you to it? I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, Wor. Your fathers sickness is a maim to us. His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off:- Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, And yet, in faith,'tis not; his present want And vaulted with such ease into his seat, Seems more than we shall find it.-Were it good As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To set the exact wealth of all our states To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, All at one cast? to set so rich a main And witch the world with noble horsemanship. On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? Hot. No more, no more: worse than the sun in March, It were not good; for therein should we read This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; The very bottom and the soul of hope, They come like sacrifices in their trim, The very list, the very utmost bound And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war, Of all our fortunes. All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them: Dottg.'Faith, and so we should The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, Where now remains a sweet reversion: Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, We nowt may boldly spend upon the hope To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, Of what is to come in: And yet not ours.-Come, let me taste5 my horse, A comfort of retirement lives in this. Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt, Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, Against the bosom of the prince of Wales: If that the devil and mischance look big Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Upon the maidenhead of our-affairs. Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse.WTFor. But yet, I would your father had been here. 0, that Glendower were come! The quality and hair2 of our attempt Ver. There is more news: Brooks no division: it will be thought I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, By some, that know not why he is away, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike Doug. That Is the worst tidings that I hear of yet. Of our proceedings; kept the earl from hence. Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. And think, how such an apprehension Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto? May turn the tide of fearful faction, Ver. To thirty thousand. And breed a kind of question in our cause: Hot. Forty let it be: For, well you know, we of the offering side My father and Glendower being both away, Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, The powers of us may serve so great a day. And stop all sight-holes. every loop from whence Coe, let us take a muster speedily: The eye of reason may pry in upon us. Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. This absence of your father's draws a curtain, Doug. Talk inot of dying: I am out of fear That shows the ignorant a kind of fear Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. [Exeunt. Before not dreamt of. Hot. You strain too far. SCENE II.-A public Road, near Coventry. I, rather. of his absence make this use: Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry: fill me A larger dare to our great enterprize, a bottle of sack. Our soldiers shall march through Than if the earl were here: for men must think, we l11 to Sutton-Colfield to-night. If we, without his help, can make a head Bard. Will you give me money, captain? To push against the kingdom, with his help, Fal. Lay out, lay out. We should o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.- Bard. This bottle makes an angel. Yet all goes well; yet all our joints are whole. Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a word make twenty, take them all, I 11 answer the coinage. Spoke of in Scotland as this term3 of fear. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Enter Sir RICHARD VERNON. Bard. I will, captain: farewell. [Exit. Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. soused gurnet6. I have misused the king-s press damnaThe earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong bly. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty' This word is not in f. e. 2 Comp7exion, character. 3 dream: ir folio. 4 A term of archery, to beat time air. 5 Try. The two later:uartos and folio, read: take; which Knight follows. 6 A fish of the piper kind.-Verplanck. 24 370 FIRST PART OF ACT Iv. soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I pressed me none but good householders, yeomen's sons: in- SCENE III. — The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. quired me out contracted bachelors, such as had been Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, DOUGLAS, and VERNON., asked twice on the bans such a commodity of warm Hot. We'll fight with him to-night, slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drmn;;sueh as Wor. It may not be. fear the report of a ealiver, worse than a struck fowl, Doug. You give him, then, advantage. or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such Ver. Not a whit. toasts and butter,5 with hearts in their bellies no bigger Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply? than pins' heads, and they have bought out their ser- Ver. So do we. vices; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies. slaves Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd: stir not to-night. as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, 2 where the Ver. Do not, my lord. glutton's dogs licked his sores; and such as, indeed, Doug. You do not counsel well. were never soldiers, but discarded unjust serving men, You speak it out of fear, and a cold heart. younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapstrs,:and Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life, ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a calm world and a And I dare well maintain it with my life, long peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than If well-respected honour bid me on, an old pieced3 ancient: and such have I, to fill up the I hold as little counsel with weak fear, rooms of them that have bought out their services, that As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives:' you would think that I had a hundred and fifty tat- Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, tered prodigals, lately come from swine-keepHig, from Which of us fears. eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me.on the Dog.. Yea, or to-night. way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and Ver. Content. pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such Hot. To-night, say I. scarecrows. I'11.not march through Coventry with Ver. Come, come, it may.not be. them, that's flat:-nay, and the villains march wide I wonder much; betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves,on; for, indeed, I Being men of such great leading as you are had the most of them out of prison. There's but4 a shirt That you foresee not what impediments and a half in all my company: and the half shirit is Drag back our expedition: certain horse two napkins, tacked together, and thrown over the Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves: and the Your uncle Worcester's.horse came but to-day; shirt. to say the truth, stolen from my host at St. Al- And now their pride and mettle is asleep, bans, or the red-nosed inn-keeper of Daventry. But Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, that's all cne; they'11 find linen enough on every hedge. That not a horse is half the half himself. Enter Prince HENRY and WESTMORELAND. Hot. So are the ihorses of the enemy, P. Hen. How now, blown Jack how now. quilt In general. journey-bated, and brought low; Fal. What, Hal! how now. mad wag! what a devil T'ie better part of ours are full of rest. dost thou in Warwickshire?-My good lord of West-'Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: moreland, I cry you mercy: I thought your honour For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. had already been at Shrewsbury. [The Trumpet sounds a parley. West.'Faith, sir John,'tis more than time that I Enter Sir WALTER BLUNT. were there and you too; but my powers are there Blunt. I come vwith gracious offers from the king, already. The king, I can tell you, looks for us all: weIf you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. must away all night5. Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; and would to God Fal. Tut. never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat You were of our determination! to steal cream. Some of us love you well; and even those some P. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed: for thy theft Envy your great deservings, and good name, hath already nmatde thee butter. But tell me, Jack; Because you are not of our quality, whose fellows are these that come after? But stand against us like an enemy. Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so, P. lien. I did never see such pitiful rascals. So long as out of limit and true rule, Fal. Tut, tut good enough to toss6; food for pow- You stand against anointed majesty. der, food for powder; they'11 fill a pit, as well as better: But, to my charge.-The king hath sent to know tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. The nature of your griefs; and whereupon | West. Ay, but. sir John, methinks they are exceed- You conjure from the breast of civil peace ing poor and bare; too beggarly. Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land Fal.'Faith, for ti poverty, know not whertheirheyAudacious cruelty? If that the king had that: and for their bareness, I am sure, they never Have any way your good deserts forgot, learned that.of me. Which he confesseth to be manifold, P. Hen. No, I'11 be sworn; unless you call three He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed, I fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste: You shall have your desires with interest, Percy is already in the field. And pardon absolute for yourself, and these, Fal. What, is the king encamped? Herein misled by your suggestion. West. He is, sir John: I fear we shall stay too long. Hot. The king is kind; and, well we know, the king Fal. Well, Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, My father, with8 my uncle, and myself, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. Did give him that same royalty he wears; 1 According to Fynes Morison's Itinerary (1617), Londoners, were';in reproach" called Cockneys, and eaters of buttered toasts. 2 Used for covering walls. 3 faced:in f. e. 4 Old ctpies: not; mod. eds.: but.. So the quartos; folio.: to-night. 6 Toss on a pike. that this day lives: in f. e. 8 and: in f. e. SCENE I. KING HENRY IV. 371 And when he was not six-and-twenty strong, Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, Some surety for a safe return again, A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, And in the morning early shall mine uncle My father gave him welcome to the shore: Bring him our purposes; and so farewell. And, when he heard him swear, and vow to God, Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love. He came but to be duke of Lancaster Hot. And, may be, so we shall. To sue his livery,' and beg his peace, Blunt.'Pray God you do! [Exeunt. With tears of innocency. and terms of zealork. A Room in the Archbishop SCENE IV.-York. A Room in the Archbishop's My father, in kind heart and pity mov1d, Hos Swore him assistance, and performed it too. Now, when the lords and barons ofter the Arealm the rchbishop of YORK, and Sir MICHAEL. Perccivd Northumberland did lean to him Arch. Hie, good sir Michael; bear this sealed brief, The more and less came in with cap and lknee; With winged haste to the lord marshal: Met him in boroughs cities, villages, This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, To whom they are directed. If you knew Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths, How much they do import, you would make haste. Gave him their heirs, as pages followed him, Sir M. My good lord, Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. I guess their tenour. lie presently, as greatness knows itself, Arch. Like enough, you do. Steps me a little higher than his vow To-morrow good sir Michael, is a day,;Made to my father, while his blood was poor, Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men'Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg; Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform As I am truly given to understand, Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees, The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, That lie too heavy on the commonwealth; Meets with lord Harry: and, I fear, sir Michael, Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep What with the sickness of Northumberland, Over his country's wrongs; and, by this face, Whose power was in the first proportion, This seeming brow of justice, did he win And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence, The hearts of all that he did angle for: Who with them was a rated sinew5 too, Proceeded farther; cut me off the heads And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies, Of all the favourites, that the absent king I fear, the power of Percy is too weak In deputation left behind him here, To wage an instant trial with the king. When he was personal in the Irish war. Sir ill. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; Blunt. Tut! I came not to hear this. There is Douglas, and lord Mortimer. Hot. Then, to the point. Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. [Percy. In short time after he depos'd the king; Sir MI. But there is Mordake. Vernon, lord Harry Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life; And there's my lord of Worcester; and a head And, in the neck -of that, taskd2 -the whole state; Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March Arch. And so there is; but yet the king hath drawn (Who is, if every owner were due' plac'd, The special head of all the land together: Indeed his king) to be engag'd4 in Wales. The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster., There without ransom to lie forfeited; The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt, Disgrac'd me in my happy victories.; And many more corrivals, and dear men Sought to entrap me by intelligence; Of estimation and command in arms. Rated my uncle from the council-board: Sir M1. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd. In rage dismiss'd my father from the court; Arch. I hope no less, yet needful't is.to fear; Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong, And to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed; And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king This head of safety; and, withal, to pry Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, Into his title, the which we, find For he hath heard of our confederacy, Too indirect for long-continuance. And't is but wisdom to make strong against him: Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king? Therefore make haste. I must go write again Hot. Not so, sir Walter: we'11 withdraw awhile. To other friends; and so farewell, sir Michael. [Exeunt. ACT V. Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; SCENE I.-The King's Camp near Shrewsbury. And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Enter King HENRY,. Prince HENRY, Prince JOHN of Foretels a tempest, and a blustering day. Lancaster, Sir WALTER BLUNT and Sir JOHN FAL- K. Hen. Then, with the losers let it sympathise, STAFF. For nothing can seem foul to those that win.K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer [Trumpet sounds. Above yond? busky6 hill: the day looks pale Enter WORCESTER and VERNON. At his distemperature. How now, my lord of Worcester!'t is not well, P. Hen. The southern wind That you and I should meet upon such terms 1 The delivery of his property to him. See Richard II., p. 334,.n. 1. 2 Tax'd. 3 well: in f. e. A Delivered a gage or hostage. 6 So the quartos; the folio: was rated firmly. 6 Bosky/, wooded. 372 FIRST PART OF ACT V. As now we meet. You have deceived our trust, Such water-colours to impaint his cause; And made us doff our easy robes of peace, Nor moody beggars, starving for a time To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: Of pellmell havoc and confusion. This is not well, my lord; this is not well. P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul What say you to it? will you again unknit Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, And move in that obedient orb again, The prince of Wales doth join with all the world Where you did give a fair and natural light, In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes, And be no more an exhal'd meteor, This present enterprise set off his head, A prodigy of fear, and a portent I do not think, a braver gentleman, Of broached mischief to the unborn times? More active-valiant, or more valiant-young, Wor. Hear me, my liege. More daring, or more bold, is now alive For mine own part, I could be well content To grace this latter age with noble deeds. To entertain the lag-end of my life For my part, I may speak it to my shame, With quiet hours; for, I do protest, I have a truant been to chivalry, I have not sought the day of this dislike. [then? And so. I hear, he doth account me too; K. Hen. You have not sought it! say,I how comes it Yet this before my father's majesty: Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. I am content, that he shall take the odds P. Hen. Peace, chewct,2 peace! Of his great name and estimation, TWor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks And will, to save the blood on either side, Of favour, from myself, and all our house; Try fortune with him in a single fight. [thee. And yet I must remember you, my lord, K. IHen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture We were the first and dearest of your friends. Albeit considerations infinite For you my staff of office did I break Do make against it.-No, good Worcester, no, In Richard's time; and posted day and night We love our people well; even those we love, To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, That are misled upon your cousin's part; When yet you were in place, and in account, And. will they take the offer of our grace, Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man It was myself, my brother, and his son, Shall be my friend again, and I'11 be his. That brought you home, and boldly did outdare So tell your cousin, and bring me word The dangers of the time. You swore to us What he will do; but if he will not yield, And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, That you did nothing purpose'gainst the state, And they shall do their office. So, be gone. Nor claim no farther than your new-fallIn right We will not now be troubled with reply: The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster. We offer fair) take it advisedly. To this we swore our aid; but, in short space, [Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON. It rain'd down fortune showering on your head, P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life. And such a flood of greatness fell on you, The Douglas and the Hotspur both together What with our help, what with the absent king, Are confident against the world in arms. What with the injuries of a wanton time, K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge, The seeming sufferances that you had borne, For, on their answer, will we set on them; And the contrarious winds that held the king And God befriend us as our case is just! So long in his unlucky Irish wars, [Exeunt KING, BLUNT, and Prince JOHN. That all in England did repute him dead: Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and And, from this swarm of fair advantages, bestride me, so;'t is a point of friendship. You took occasion to be quickly woo'd P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that To gripe the general sway into your hand; friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster, Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. And, being fed by us, you us'd us so P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Fal.'T is not due yet: I would be loath to pay him Useth the sparrow, did oppress our nest, before his day. What need I be so forward with him Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk that calls not on me? Well,'t is no matter; honour That even our love durst not come near your sight, pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing when I come on? how then? Can honour set to -a We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief Out of your sight, and raise this present head: of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery. Whereby we stand opposed by such means then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in4 As you yourself have forg'd against yourself, that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, trim reckoning!-Who hath it? He that died o) WedAnd violation of all faith and troth nesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. Is it insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it K. Hen. These things, indeed. you have articulates not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction Proclaimed at market-crosses, read in churches, will not suffer it:-therefore, I'11 none of it: honour is To face the garment of rebellion a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [Exit. With some fine colour, that may please the eye SCENE 1.-The Rebel Camp. Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents,-The Rebel Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news Enter WORCESTER and VERNON. Of hurlyburly innovation: Wor. 0, no! my nephew must not know, sir Richard, And never yet did insurrection want The liberal kind offer of the king. l This word is not in f. e. 2 A dish or pie of mince meat. 3 Article by article. 4 So the first two quartos; the others and folio omit: in. SCENE M. KING HENRY IV. 373 Ver.'T were best, he did. There did he pause: but let me tell the world, Wor. Then are we all undone. If he outlive the envy of this day, It is not possible, it cannot be, England did never owe so sweet a hope, The king should keep his word in loving us; So much misconstrued in his wantonness. He will suspect us still, and find a time Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured To punish this offence in other faults: Upon his follies: never did I hear Suspicion1 all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; Of any prince so wild ol' liberty. For treason is but trusted like the fox, But be he as he will, yet once ere night Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished: and locked up, I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. That he shall shrink under my courtesy.Look how we can. or sad or merrily, Arm, arm, with speed!-And, fellows, soldiers, friends Interpretation will misquote our looks: Better consider what you have to do, And we shall feed like oxen at a stall. Than [, that have not well the gift of tongue, The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. Can lift your blood up with persuasion. My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, Enter a Massenger. It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood; Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. And an adopted name of privilege, Hot. I cannot read them now.A hare-brain'd Hotspur, governed by a spleen. 0 gentlemen! the time of life is short; All his offences live upon my head, To spend that shortness basely, were too long, And on his father's: we did train him on; If life did ride upon a dial's point, And, his corruption being ta'en from us, Still ending at the arrival of an hour. We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. An if we live, we live to tread on kings; Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know If die, brave death, when princes die with us. In any case the offer of the king. Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair, Ver. Deliver what you will, I'11 say, It is so. When the intent of bearing them is just. Here comes your cousin. Enter another Messenger. Enter HOTSPUR and DOUGLAS; Officers and Soldiers, Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace behind. Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, Hot. Mv uncle is return'd:-Deliver up For I profess not talking. Only thisMy lord of Westmoreland.-Uncle, what news? Let each man do his best: and here draw I Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. A sword, whose6 temper I intend to stain Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. With the best blood that I can meet withal Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. In the adventure of this perilous day. Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit. Now,-Esperance!-Percy!-and set on!HWor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. Sound all the lofty instruments of war, Hot. Did you beg any? God forbid! And by that music let us all embrace; Wor. I told him gently of our grievances,'Fore heaven and earth,6 some of us never shall Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus; A second time do such a courtesy. By now forswearing that he is forsworn: [The Trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt. He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge. h With haughty arms this hateful name in us. Re-enter DOUGLAS. Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the Battle. Doug. Arm, gentlemen! to arms! for I have thrown Then enter DOUGLAS and BLUNT, meeting. A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, Blunt. What is thy name, that in battle thus And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did hear it Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. Upon my head? Wor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the Doug. Know, then, my name is Douglas; king, And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. Because some tell me that thou art a king. Hot. 0! would the quarrel lay upon our heads; Blunt. They tell thee true. And that no man might draw short breath to-day, Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought But I. and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry, How show'd his tasking2? seem'd it in contempt? This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee, Ver. No, by my soul: I never in my life Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot7; Unless a brother should a brother dare And thou shalt find a king that will revenge To gentle exercise and proof of arms. Lord Stafford's death. [They fight, and BLUNT is slain. He gave you all the duties of a man, Enter HOTSPUR. Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue. Hot. 0 Douglas! hadst thou fought at Holmedon Spoke your deservings like a chronicle, thus, Making you ever better than his praise, I never had triumphed upon8 a Scot. By still dispraising praise, valued with you; Doug. All' s done, all Is won: here breathless lies And, which became him like a prince indeed, the king. He made a blushing citals of himself; Hot. Where? And chid his truant youth with such a grace, Doug. Here. As if he master'd then a double spirit, Hot. This, Douglas? no; I know this face full well: Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt, I Old copies: Supposition; Pope made the change. 2 The folio, and all but first quarto: talking. 3 Mention. 4 So the three earliest quartos; the last, and folio: at. 5 The folio inserts: worthy. 6 For heaven to earth: in f. e. 7 So the three early quartos; the folio: born to yield, thou haughty Scot. 8 So the first and second quartos; the others, and folio: over. 374 FIRST PART OF ACT v. Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. I did not think thee lord of such a, spirit: Doug. A fool go with thy soul, where'er it goes! Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John, A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear: But now. I do respect thee as my soul. Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point, Hot. The king hath many masking1 in his coats. With lustier maintenance than I did look for Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats: Of such an ungrown warrior. I'11 murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, P. Hen. 0! this boy Until I meet the king. Lends mettle to us all. [Exit. Hot. Up, and away! Alarums. Enter DOUGLAS. Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt. Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads. Alarums. Enter FALSTAFF. I am the Douglas, fatal to all those Fal. Though I could'seape shot-free at London, I That wear those colours on them'-what art thou) fear the shot here; here's no scoring, but upon the That counterfeit'st the person of a king? pate.-Soft! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt:- K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves there Is honiour for you; here's no vanity.-I am as hot at heart, as molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out So many of his shadows thou hast met, of me! I need no more weight than mine own bowels. And not the very king. I have two boys -I have led my raggamuffins where they are peppered: Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field: there's not2 three of my hundred and fifty left alive, But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. I will assay thee; and defend thyself. But who comes here? Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit, Enter Prince HENRY. And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: P. Hen. What! stand'st thou idle here? lend me But mine I am sure thou art. whoever thou be, Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff [thy sword: And thus I win thee. Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, [They fight: the KING being in danger, enter Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd. I pr'ythee, lend me. P. HENRY. thy sword. P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Fal. 0 Hal! 1 pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe Never to hold it up again! the spirits a while.-Turk Gregory3 never did such deeds in arms, Of valiant Shirley, Stafford; Blunt, are in my arms: as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have It is the prince of Wales that threatens thee, made him sure. Who never promiseth, but he means to pay.P. Hen. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. They fight: DOUGLAS flies. I pr'ythee lend me thy sword. Cheerly, my lord: how fares your grace? — Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, get'st not my sword: but take my pistol, if thou wilt. And so hath Clifton; I 11 to Clifton straight. P. Hen. Give it me. What. is it in the case? K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while. Fal. Ay, Hal;'t is hot,'t is hot: there's that will Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion; sack a city. [The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. And showed thou wak'st some tender of my life, P. Hen. What! is't a time to jest and dally now? In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. [Throus it at him, and exit. P. Hen. 0 God! they did me too much injury, Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, ['11 pierce him. If he That ever said I hearken'd for your death. do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his, If it were so, I might have let alone willingly, let him make a carbonado4 of me. I like not The insulting hand of Douglas over you; such grinning honour as sir Walter hath: give me life; Which would have been as speedy in your end, which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked As all the poisonous potions in the world, for, and there's an end. [Exit. And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. E - Pt o t. K. Hen. Make up to Clifton: I'll to sir Nicholas SCENE IV.-Another Part of the Field. Gawsey. [Exit King HENRY. Alarums. Excursions. Enter the KING, Prince HENRY, Enter HOTSPUR. Prince JOHN, and WESTMORELAND. Hot. If [ mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. Harry. withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much.- Hot. My name is Harry Percy. Lord John of Lancaster. go you with him. P. Hen. Why, then I see P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. A very valiant rebel of that name. P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up, I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. To share with me in glory any more: K. Hen. I will do so.-My lord of Westmoreland, Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere; Lead him to his tent. Nor can one England brook a double reign, West. Come, my lord, I I11 lead you to your tent. Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. P. Hen. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help: Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive To end the one of us; and would to God, The prince of Wales from such a field as this, Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, P. Hen. I'11 make it greater, ere I part from thee; And rebels' arms triumph in massacres! And all the budding honours on thy crest P. John. We breathe too long.-Come, cousin West- I'11 crop. to make a garland for my head. moreland, Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. [They fight. Our duty this way lies: for God's sake, come. Enter FALSTAFF. [Exeunt Prince JOHN and WESTMORELAND. Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal!-Nay, you shall P. Hen. By God thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster, find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 1 marching: in f. e. 2 So old copies; mod. eds.: but. 3 Gregory VII. 4 A piece of meat ready for broiling. SceNs V. KING HENiRY IV. 375 Enter DOUGLAS: he fights with FALSTAFF, who falls down Art thou alive, or is it phantasy as if he were dead, and exit DOUGLAS. HOTSPUR is That plays upon our eyesight? I pr'ythee, speak; wounded, and falls. We will not trust our eyes, without our ears. Hot. 0, Harry! thou fiast robbed me of my youth. Thou art not what thou seem'st. I better brook the loss of brittle life, Fal. No, that's certain: I am not a double man; Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then. am I a Jack. There They wound my thoughts worse than thyl sword my is Percy: [Throwing down the body.4] if your father flesh:- will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next But thought Is the slave of life, and life timers fool; Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke. I can And time, that takes survey of all the world, assure you. Must have a stop. 0! I could prophesy, P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee But that the earthy and cold hand of death dead. Lies on my tongue.-No, Percy, thou art dust, Fal. Didst thou?-Lord, lord, how this world is And food for- [Dies. given to lying!-I grant you I was down and out of P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, breath, and so was he; but we rose both at an instant, great heart!- I and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk! may be believed, so; if not, let them that should reWhen that this body did contain a spirit, ward valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I Ill A kingdom for it was too small a bound; take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the But now, two paces of the vilest earth thigh: if the man were alive. and would deny it, Is room enough:-this earth that bears thee dead) /zounds! I would make him eat a piece of my sword. Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. If thou wert sensible of courtesy, P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John.I should not make so dear2 a show of zeal:- Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: But let my favours hide thy niangled face, For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, And. even in thy behalfI'11 thank myself I ll gild it with the happiest terms I have. For doing these fair rites of tenderness. [A Retreat is sounded. Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven: The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours. Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field, But not remembered in thy epitaph.- To see what friends are living, who are dead. [Seeing FALSTAFF on the ground. [Exeunt Prince HENRY and Prince JOHN. What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh Fal. I'11 follow, as they say, for reward. He that Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell: rewards me, God reward him; if I do grow great,5 I 1ll I could have better spared a better man. grow less; for I 11 purge, and leave sack, and live 0! I should have a heavy miss of thee, cleanly, as a nobleman should do. If I were much in love with vanity. [Exit, dragging out PERCY~'s Body.6 Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.- SCENE V.-Another Part of the Field. Embowelld will I see thee by and by; Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. The Trumpets sound. Enter King HENRY, Prince HzNvY, Prince JOHN, WESTMORELAND, and Others, Fal. [Rising.] Embowelled! if thou embowel me iYce WoESTMORE and Others. to-day, I'11 give you leave to powder' me and eat me wth WORCESTER, and VERNON, prisoners. too, to-morrow. ISblood!'t was time to counterfeit, or K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Ill-spirited Worcester, did we not send grace, Counterfeit? I lie; I am no counterfeit: to die, is to Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? be a counterfeit: for he is but the counterfeit of a And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? man, who hath not the life of a man: but to counter- Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman's trust? feit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no Three knights upon our party slain to-day, counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life A noble earl, and many a creature else indeed. The better part of valour is discretion, in the Had been alive this hour, which better part, I have saved my life.'Zounds! I If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead. Betwixt our armies true intelligence. How, if he should counterfeit too, and rise? By my Wor. What I have done, my safety urged me to, faith, I am afraid he would prove the better counter- And I embrace this fortune patiently, feit. Therefore I ll make him sure; yea, and I ll swear Which not to be avoided falls on me.7 I killed him. Why may not he rise, as well as I? K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me: too: therefore, sirrah, with a new wound in your thigh come Other offenders we will pause upon.you along with me. [He takes HOTSPUR on his back. [Exeunt WORCESTER and VERNON, guarded. Re-enter Prince HENRY and Prince JOHN. How goes the field? P. Hen. Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw fleshed The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, Thy maiden sword. The noble Percy slain, and all his men P. John. But, soft! whom have we here? Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? And falling from a hill he was so bruised, P. Hen. I did; I saw him dead, breathless, and That the pursuers took him. At my tent bleeding The Douglas is, and I beseech your grace, On the ground.- I may dispose of him. 1 So all but the last quarto; that, and the folio: the. 2 So the first quarto: the others, and folio: great.. 3 Salt. 4 Not in f. e. 5 Folio inserts: again. 6 Bearing off the Body: in f. e. 7 Since not to be avoided, it falls on me. 376 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT v. K. I-en. With all my heart. You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, P. IHen. Then. brother John of Lancaster, to you Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest This honourable bounty shall belong. speed, Go to the Douglas, and deliver him To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free: Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: His valour, shown upon our crests to-day, Myself, and you, son Harry, will towards Wales, Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, To fight with Glendower and the earl of March. Even in the bosom of our adversaries. Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, P. John. I thank your grace for this high courtesy, Meeting the check of such another day: Which I shall put in act without delay.' And since this business so fair is done, K. Hen. Then this remains,,-that we divide our Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt. power.1 Which I shall give away immediately: in f. e, This speech is found in the four earliest, but not in the two latest quartos. or the folio. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. DRAMATIS PERSONA. KING HENRY THE FOURTH. TRAVERS and MORTON, Retainers of NorthumberHENRY. Prince of Wales; land. THOMAS, Duke of Clarence; His oFALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and a Page. PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER; PoINS and PETO. PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER; SHALLOW and SELENCE, Country Justices. EARL OF WARWICK; Of the Kin,,I DAVY, Servant to Shallow. EARL OF WESTMORELAND; Party. MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, and BULCALF, GOWER; HARCOURT;' Recruits. Lord Chief Justice of the Kingas Bench. FANG and SNARE Sheriff's Officers. A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice. RUMOUR, the Presenter. EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND; 1 A Porter. A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue. SCROOP, Archbishop of York; LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. LADY PERCY. LORD MOWBRAY; Opposites to the Hostess QUICKLY. DOLL TEAR-SHEET. LORD HASTINGS; King. LORD BARDOLPr; Lords, and Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, MesSIR JOHN COLEVILLE. senger, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, &c. SCENE, England. INDUCTION. Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle,. Can play upon it. But what need I thus | Warkworth. Before Norhumnberland s Castle. My wen-known body to anatomize My well-known body to anatomize Enter RUMOUR, painted full of Tongues. Among my household? Why is Rumour here? Rum. Open your ears; for which of you will stop I run before king Harry's victory; The vent of hearing, when loud runmour speaks? Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury I, from the orient to the drooping west, Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold Quenching the flame of bold rebellion The aets commenced on this ball of earth: Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, To speak so true at first? my office is The which in every language I pronounce, To noise abroad, that Harry Monmouth fell Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword; [ speak of peace, while covert enmity, And that the king before the Douglas' rage Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: Stooped his anointed head as low as death. And who but Rumour, who but only I, This have I rumour'd through the pleasant2 towns Make fearful musters, and prepared defence; Between that royal field of Shrewsbury Whilst the big year, swoln with some other grief, And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on, Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures; And not a man of them brings other news And of so easy and so plain a stop, Than they have learned of me; from Rumou's tongues That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true The still-discordant wavering multitude, wrongs. [Exit. ACT I. SCENE I.-The Same. Enter Warder, above.Ward. What shall I say you are? Enter Lord BARDOLPH.' Bard. Tell thou the earl, Bard. Who keeps the gate here? ho! Where is That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. the earl? Ward. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard: 1 This direction is only in the quarto, 1600. Rumour, or Fame, was often so represented. s peasant: in f. e. 3 Porter before tMie Gate; Enter,. 4'c.: in f. e. 1 Not in f. e. 378 SECOND PART OF ACT L Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, Enter MORTON. And he himself will answer. [Exit Warder.2 North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Foretels the nature of a tragic volume: Bard. Here comes the earl. So looks the strond, whereon th' imperious flood North. What news, lord Bardolph? every nmintte Hath left a witnessed usurpation. now I Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? Should be the father of some stratagem. Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; The times are wild: contention, like a horse Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask, Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, To fright our party. And bears down all before him. North. How doth my son and brother? Bard. Noble earl,Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. North. Good, an God will! Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, Bard. As good as heart can wish. So dull. so dead, in look, so woe-begone; The king is almost wounded to the death, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, Aid' ii the fortune of my lord, your son, And would have told him, half his Troy was burned: Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue. Killed by the hand of Doiglas; young prince John, And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. And Westmoreland and Stafford, fled: the field; This thou wouldst say,-Your son did thus, and thus; And Harry iNonimoutfls brawn, the hulk sit John, Your brother, thus, so fought the noble Douglas, Is prisoner to your son. 0O! such a day, Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds So' fought, so follow'd, and' so fairlly won, But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed Came not till now to dignify the times. Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, Since Caesar's fortunes. Ending with-brother, son, and all are dead. North. How is this deriv'd? Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? But for my lord, your son,Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from North. Why, he is dead.thence*; See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! A gentleman well-bred, and of good name, He that but fears the thing he would not know, That freely render'd. me these news for true. Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes, North. H'ere comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent; That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton: On Tuesday last to listen after news. Tell thou thy5 earl his divination lies, Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way, And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And he is furnish'ld with no certainties, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. More than he haply may retail from me. 3Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Enter TRAVERS. Your spirit is too true; your fears too certain. North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with2 North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy is dead.you? I see a strange confession in thine eye: Tra. My lord, sir John TiUmfrevile turn'id me back Thou shak'st thy head; and hold'st it fear, or sin, With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, To speak the truth. If he be slain, say so;6 Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard The tongue offends not, that reports his death; A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. Not he which says the dead is not alive. He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury: Hath but a losing office; and his tongue He told me that rebellion had' bad luck, Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. Remember'd knolling a departing friend. With that he gave his able horse the head, Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. And, bending forward, struck his armed heels jM.or. I am sorry I should force you to believe Against the panting sides of his poor jade That which I woiuld to heaven I had not seen; Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so. But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, He seem'd in running to devour the way, Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreath~d, Staying no longer question. To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down North. Ha.-Again. The never-daunted Percy to the earth, Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? From whence with life he never more sprung up. Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire ~Had iet ill-luck! Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, Bard. My lo-ct, I ll tell you what: Being bruited once, took fire and heat away If my young lord your son have not the day, From the best tempered courage in his troops: Upon mine honour, for a silken point,3 For from his metal was his party steeld; I'11 give my barony; never talk of it. Which once in him abated, all the rest North. Why should that gentleman, that rode by Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. Travers, And as the thing that's heavy in itself, Give, then, such instances of loss? Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed, Bard. Who, he? So did our men, heavy in Hoispur's loss, He was some hilding4 fellow, that had stolen Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, The horse he rode on, and, upon my life, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Spoke at a ventute. Look, here comes more news. Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, 1 Not in f. e. 2 So the quarto; folio: from. 3 String for fastening dress. 4 Low. 5 So the folio; the quarto: an. 6 The quarto omits: say so; SCENE TI. KING HIENRY IV. 379 Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester The gentle archbishop of York is up,7 Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot With well-appointed powers: he is a man, The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword Who with a double surety binds his followers. Had three times slain th' appearance of the king, My lord your son had only but the corps,'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame But shadows and the shows of men. to fight; Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight, For that same word, rebellion, did divide Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all The action of their bodies from their souls, Is, that the king hath won, and hath sent out And they did fight with queasiness, constrained A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord. As men drink potions, that their weapons only Under the conduct of young Lancaster, Seem'd on our side; but, for their spirits and sou's, And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. As fish are in a pond. But now, th' archbishop In poison there is physic; and these news, Turns insurrection to religion: Having been well, that would have made me sick, Suppos"d sincere and holy in his thoughts, Baing sick, have in some measure made me well: He's follow'd both with body and with mind, And as the wretch, whose fever-weakened joints, And doth enlarge his rising with the blood Like strengthless hinges, buckle' under life, Of fair king Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones; Impatient of his fit) breaks like a fire Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land, Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief, Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke, Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice2And more, and less, do flock to follow him. crutch! North. I knew of' this before; but, to speak truth, A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif! Go in with me; and counsel every man Thou art a guard too wanton for the head The aplest way for safety, and revenge. Which princes, fleshed with conquest, aim to hit. Get posts and letters) and make friends with speed: Now bind my brows with iron; and approach Never Eo few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt. The rugged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, A To frown upon th' enraged Northumberland.SCENE II-onon. Let heaven kiss earth: now, let not nature's hand Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, with his Page bearing his Keep the wild flood confined: let order die; Sword and Buckler. And let this world no longer be a stage Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my To feed contention in a lingering act, water? But let one spirit of the first-born Cain Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy lceign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set water; but for the party that owed it, he might have On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, more diseases than he knew for. And darkness be the burier of the dead! Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me: Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not lord?.3 able to invent any thing that tends to laughter, more Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not only honour. witty in myself. but the cause that wit is in other men. Mlor. The lives of all your loving complices I do here walk before thee, like a sow that hath overLean on your health: the which, if you give o'er whelmed all her litter but one: if the prince put thee To stormy passion, must perforce decay. into my service for any other reason than to set me off, You cast the event of war. my noble lord,' why then, I have no judgment. Thou whoreson manAnd summ'd the account of chance, before you said;- drake. thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to Let us make head. It was your presurmise, wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate That in the dole5 of blows your son might drop: till now: but I will in-sets you neither in gold nor You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, silver but in vile apparel, and send you back again to More likely to fall in, than to get o'er: your master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your You were advis'd, his flesh was capable master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit have a beard grown in the palm of my hand, than he Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged; shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick Yet did you say,-Go forth; and none of this, to say, his face is a face-royal. God may finish it when Though strongly apprehended, could restrain he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still The stiff-borne action: what hath then befallen, as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn six-pence Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, out of it; and yet he'Will be crowing, as if he had More than that being which was like-to be?writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss, may keep his own grace, but-he is almost out of mine, Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas, I can assure him.-What said Master Dumbleton about That, if we wrought out life, It was ten to one; the satin for my short cloak, and my slops? And yet we venturd, for the gain proposed Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd, assurance than Bardolph; he would not take his bond And, since we are o'erset, venture again, and yours: he liked not the security. Conme, we will all put forth; body, and goods. Fal. Let him be damned like the glutton: may his Mlor. IT is more than time: and, my most noble tongue be hotter.-A whoreson Achitophel: a rascally lord yea-forsooth knave, to bear a gentleman in hand, and I hear for certain, and dare0 speak the truth then stand upon security! -The whoreson smooth-pates; Bend. 2 Weak, petty. 3 This line is omitted in the folio. 4 This and the thirteen lines following, were first printed in the folio. 5 Distribution, allotment. 6 Folio: do. 7 This and the twenty lines following, were first printed in the folio. 8 Folio: set. 380 SECOND PART OF ACT I. do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with returned with some discomfort from Wales. them in honest taking up,' then must they stand upon Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty.-You would not security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in come when I sent for you. my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin. into this same whoreson apoplexy. as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him.-I pray you, let he may sleep in security: for he hath the horn of abun- me speak with you. dance. and the lightness of his wife shines through it; Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, and yet camnnot he see, though he have his own lantern an It please your lordship; a kind of 6 sleeping in the to light him.-Where Is Bardolph? blood, a whoreson tingling. Page. He Is gone into Smithfield to buy your worship Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. a horse. Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a study, and perturbation of the brain. I have read horse in Smithfield2: an I could get me but a wife in the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafthe stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. ness. Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant. Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the disease, for Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed you hear not what I say to y6u. the prince for striking him about Bardolph. Fal.7 Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an at Fal. Wait close: I will not see him. please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady Ch. Just. What's he that goes there? of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Atten. Falstaff, an It please your lordship. Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would amend Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? the attention of your ears; and I care not, if I do Atten. He, my lord; but he hath since done good become8 your physician. scrvice at Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so pawith some charge to the lord John of Lancaster. tient: your lordship may minister the potion of impriCh. Just. What, to York? Call him back again, sonment to me, in respect of poverty; but how I should Atten. Sir John Falstaff! be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a scruple Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. itself. Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters thing good.-Go, pluck him by the elbow: I must against you for your life, to come speak with me. speak with him. Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel Atten. Sir John,- in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Fal. What! a young knave, and begging?3 Is there Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in nnt wars? is there not employment? Doth not the king great infamy. lack subjects? do not the rebels need4 soldiers? Though Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse less. shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make waste is great. it. Fal. I would it were otherwise: I would my means Atten. You mistake me, sir. were greater, and my waist slenderer. Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am the lied in my throat if I had said so. fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and Ch. Just. Well, I am loth to gall a new-healed your soldiership aside, and give me leave to tell you, wound. Your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than gilded over your night's exploit on Gadshill: you may an honest man. thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so? I lay aside action. that which grows to me? If thou get'st any leave of Fal. My lordme hang me: if thou tak'st leave, thou wert better be Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake not hanged. You hunt-counterr' hence! avaunt! a sleeping wolf. Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. Fal. To wake a wolf. is as bad as to smell a fox. Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the better Fal. My good lord!-God give your lordship good part burnt out. time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I Fal. A wassel9 candle, my lord; all tallow: if I did heard say, your lordship was sick: I hope, your lordship say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, but clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in should have his effect of gravity. you, some relish of the saltness of time and I most Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverend care Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down, of your health. like his ill10 angel1. Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your expe- Fal. Not so, my lord: your ill angel12 is light, but, dition to Shrewsbury. I hope, he that looks upon me will take me without I Buying upon credit. a a" He that marries a wife out of a suspected inn or ale-house, buys a horse in Smithfield, and hires a servant in Paul's, as the diverb (proverb) is, shall likely have a jade to his horse, a knave for his man. an arrant, honest woman for his wife."Burt.n's Anatomy-quoted by Knight. The middle aisle of St. Paul's Cathedral seems to have been a sort of general exchange. 3 Folio: beg. 4 Folio: want. 5 Following on a wrong scent. 6 an't please your lordship; a kind of": is omitted in the folio. 7 The quarto: Old -for Oldcastle-the name which Falstaff seems to have been at first called. 8 Folio: be. 9 Wassail. 10 Folio: evil. 1 12 The coin so named. SCENE III. KING HENRY IV. 381 weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other, and go. I cannot tell; virtue is of so little regard in these so both the diseases'0 prevent11 my curses.-Boy! coster-monger' days,2 that true valour is turned bear- Page. Sir? herd. Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his Fal. What money is in my purse? quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the other Page. Seven groats and two-pence. gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You, that of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it are old, consider not the capacities of us that are out, but the disease is incurable.-(o, bear this letter young: you measure the heat of our livers with the to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward the earl of Westmoreland; and this to old mistress of our youth, I must confess, are wags too. Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll perceived the first white hair ofl2 my chin. About it: of youth, that are written down old with all the cha- you know where to find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of racters of age? Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one. or the a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an other, plays the rogue with my great toe. IT is no increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind matter, if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, short, your chin double, your wit single, and every and my pension shall seem the more reasonable. A part about you blasted with antiquity, and will you yet good wit will make use of any thing; it will turn discall yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, sir John! eases to commodity. [Exit. Fal. My lord, I was born, about3 three of the clock T * * i in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a SCENE III.-York. A Room in the Archbshop's round belly. For my voice,-I have lost it with hollaing. and singing of anthems. To approve my youth Enter the Archbishop of YORK, the Lords HASTINGS, farther, I will not: the truth is, I am only bold in MOWRBAY, Earl Marshal and BARDOLPH. judgment and understanding; and he that will caper Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and know with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the our means; money, and have at him. For the box ol the ear And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince, Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes.and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? him for it, and the young lion repents marry, not Mouwb. I well allow the occasion of our arms; in ashes, and sackcloth, but in new silk, and old But gladly would be better satisfied, sack. How, in our means. we should advance ourselves Ch. Just. Well God send the prince a better com- To look with forehead bold and big enough panion! Upon the power and puissance of the king. -Fr.. God send the companion a better prince! I Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file cannot rid my hands of him. To five and twenty thousand men of choice: Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and prince And our supplies live largely in the hope Harry.4 I hear you are going with lord John of Lan- Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns caser agiainst the archbishop, and the earl of North- With an incensed fire of injuries. umberland. Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. thus:But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at Whether our present five and twenty thousand home, that our armies join not in a hot day; for, by May hold up head without Northumberland. the Lord,5 I take but two shirts out with me, and I Hast. With him, we may. mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day. Bard. Ay, marry, there Is the point: and I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might But if without him we be thought too feeble, never spit white again. There is not a dangerous My judgment is, we should not step too far,13 action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it: Till we had his assistance by the hand; well, I cannot last for6 ever. 7But it was always yet the For in a theme so bloody-faced as this, trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, Conjecture, expectation, and surmise to make it too common. If you will needs say I Of aids incertain should not be admitted. am an old man, you should give me rest. I would Arch.'T is very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. as it is: I were better to be eaten to death with rust. Bard. It was, my lord: who lin'd himself with hope, than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Eating the air on promise of supply, Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless Flattering himself with project of a power your expedition. Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts; Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound And so, with great imagination, to furnish me forth? Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny: you are too And winking leap'd into destruction. impatient to bear crosses8. Fare you well commend Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt, me to my cousin Westmoreland. To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. [Exeunt Chief Juistice and Attendant. Bard. Yes, in'4 this present quality of war;15 Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle.9 Indeed the instant act, and cause"' on foot, A man can no more separate age and covetousness, Lives so in hope, as in an early spring than he can part young limbs and lechery; but the We see thl appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, 1 HItckstering. 2 times: in f. e. 3 about three o'clock in the afternoon: not in the folio. 4 and prince Harry: not in the folio. 5 The folio inserts:- if. 6 Not in f. e. 7 The rest of the speech is not in the folio. 8 A cross was a piece of money. 9 A beetle with three handles, requiring three men to wield it. 10 degrees: in f. e. 11 Anticipate. 12 So the old copies mod. eds.: on. 03 The rest of the speech was first printed in the folio. 14 if: in f. e. 16 This and the twenty lines following, were. with the exception of oneladded by the MS. emendator of the folio, 1632, first printed in tlhe folio. 16 instant action, a cause, &c.: in f. e. 382 SECO ND PART OF ACT n. Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair Arch. That he should draw his several strengths That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, together, We first survey the plot. then draw the model, And come against us in full puissance. And, when we see the figure of the house. Need not be dreaded. Then must we rate the cost of the erection; Hast. If he should do so, Which if we find outweighs ability, He leaves his back unarmed, the French and Welsh What do we then, but draw anew the model Baying him at the heels: never fear that. In fewer offices, or, at last', desist Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? To build at all? Much more, in this great work, Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland: (Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth; And set another up) should we survey But who is substituted'gainst the French, The plot, the2 situation. and the model; I have no certain notice. Consult' upon a sure foundation: Arch. Let us on6 Question surveyors, know our own estate, And publish the occasion of our arms. How able such a work to undergo. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; A careful leader sums what force he brings4 Their over-greedy love hath surfeited; To weigh against his opposite: or else, An habitation giddy and unsure We fortify on6 paper, and in figures, Hath he: that buildeth on the vulgar heart. Using the names of men, instead of men: 0, thou fond many! with what loud applause Like one that draws the model of a house Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, Before he was what thou wouldst have him be; Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, A naked subject to the weeping clouds, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. | That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. Hast. Grant, that our hopes, yet likely of fair birth, So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Should be still-born, and that we now possess Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard, The utmost man of expectation, And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, I think we are a body strong enough, And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? Even as we are, to equal with the king. They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die, Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty thou- Are now become enamour'd on his grave; sand? Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, Hast. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord When through proud London he came sighing on Bardolph; After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke, For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Cryvst now, " 0 earth, yield us that king again, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And take thou this!" O, thoughts of men accurst! And one against Glendower; perforce, a third Past, and to come, seem best; things present. worst. Must take up us. So is the unfirm king Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? [n three divided, and his coffers sound Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. With hollow poverty and emptiness. [Exeunt. ACT II. Host. No, nor I neither: I'11 be at your elbow. SCENE I.-Loncdon. A Street. Fang. An I but fist him once; an he come but Enter Hostess; FANG, and his Boy, with her; and within my vice9.- I SNARE following. Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant you. he I's Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action? an infinitive thing upon my score.-Good master Fang Fang. It is entered. hold him sure:-good master Snare, let him not'scape. Host. Where's your yeoman7? Is't a lusty yeoman? He comes continually to Pie-corner, (saving your manwill he stand to It? hoods) to buy a saddle; and he's indited to dinner to Fang. Sirrah, where Is Snare? the lubbar's head in Lumbert-street, to master Smootl's Host. 0 lord! ay: good master Snare. the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered, Snare. Here, here. and my case so openly known to the world, let him be Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff. brought in to his answer. A hundred ma,rk is a long Host. Yea. good master Snare; I have entered him score'0 for a poor lone woman to bear; and I have borne and all. and borne, and borne; and have been fubbed off. and Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for8 fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, he will stab. that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no Host. Alas the day! take head of him: he stabbed honesty in such dealing, unless a woman should be made me in mine own house, and that most beastly. In an ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong.good faith, he cares not what mischief he doth, if his Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH. weapon be out: he will foin like any devil: he will Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, spare neither man, woman, nor child. Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices, Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his master Fang and master Snare: do me, do me, do me thrust. your offices. 1 least: in f. e. 2f inf. e. e. Consent: in f. e. 4 This line is not in f. e. 5 in: in f. e. 6 This speech was first printed in the folio. 7 The bailiff's followers were so called. 8 Not in the folio. 9 The quarto: view. 10 one: in f. e. SCENE I. KING HENRY IV. 3:83 Fal. How now.! wNhose mare's dead; what-s the hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I matter? beseech you; I may have redress against them. Fang. Sir John; I arrest you at the suit of mistress Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted Quickly. with your manner of wrenching the true cause the Fal. Away, varlets!-Draw. Bardolph: cut me off false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng the villain's head: throw the quearn in the channel. of words that come with such more than impudent Host. Throw me in the channel? I 11 throw thee in sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consithe cha;nnel.' Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly deration; you have. as it. appears to me, practised upon rogue!-Murder. murder! 0. thou honey-suckle vil- the easy-yielding spirit of this woman,4 and made her lain! wilt thou kill God's officers, and the king's? 0, serve your uses both in purse and person. thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a man- Host. Yes, in troth, my lord. queller, and a woman-queller. Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace.-Pay her the debt you Fal. Keep them off. Bardolph. owe her, and unpay the villainy you have done with Fang. A rescue! a rescue! her: the one you may do with sterling money, and the Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two.-Thou other with current repentance. wilt not? thou wilt not? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou Fal. My lord, ] will not undergo this sneap without hemp-seed! reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent sauciFal. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fus- ness: if a man will make courtesy, and say nothing, he tilarian! I'11 tickle your catastrophe. is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble.duty remnem-. erd, I will not be your suitor: I say to you, I do Enter t~he Lord Czhief Jmustice, attecnded. desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty Ch. Just. What is the matter? keep the peace here, employment in the king's affairs. ho! Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do wrong: Host. Good my lord, be good to me! I beseech you, but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy stand to me! the poor woman. Ch. Jlust. How now, sir John! what, are you brawl- Fal. Come hither. hostess. [Taking her aside. ing here? Enter GOWER. Doth this become your place, your time, and business? Ch. Just. Now, master Gower! what news? You should have been well on your way to York.- Gow. The king. my lord. and Henry prince of Wales Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st on him? Are nearat hand: the rest this5 paper tells. [C. J. reads.6 Host. 0! my most worshipful lord, an't please your Falt. As I am a gentleman. grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is Host. Faith, you said so before. arrested at my suit. Fal. As I am a gentleman. Come, no more words Ch. Just. For what sum? of it. Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must all I have. He hath eaten me out of house and home: be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his; dining-chambers. but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and for o' nights, like the mare. thy walls,-a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I have prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work7, is any vantage of ground to get up. worth a thousand of these bed hangings, and these fly Ch. Just. How comes this. sir John?-Fie'! what bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. man of good temper would endure this tempest of Come, an it were not for thy humours, there is not a exclamation?-Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor better wench in England. Go. wash thy face, and widow to so rough a course to come by her own? draw thy action. Come, thou must not be in this Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? humour with me; dost not know me?8 Come. core, Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself, I know thou wast set on to this. and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty parcel-gilt2 goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at nobles; i' faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in earnest, la. Whitsun week, when the prince broke thy head for Fal. Let it alone; I'11 make other shift: you'll be a likening his father3 to a singing-man of Windsor; thou fool still. didst swear to ine then, as I was washing thy wound, Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. Canst gown. I hope, you'11 come to supper. You;11 pay me thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech. the butcher's all together? wife, come in then, and call me gossip Quickly? Fal. Will I live?-Go, with her, with her; hook on, coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar: telling us, she hook on. had a good dish of prawns, whereby thou didst desire Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at to eat some. whereby I told thee, they were ill for a supper? green wound,? And didst thou not. when she was gone Fal. No more words: let's have her. down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity [Exeunt Hostess, BARDOLPH, Officers, and Page. with such poor people; saying, that ere long they Ch. Just. I have heard better news. should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me, Fal. What Is the news, my good lord? and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night? to thy book-oath: deny it, if thou canst. Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says, Fal. I hope, my lord, all Is well: what is the news, up and down the town. that her eldest son is like you. my lord? She hath been in good case, and the truth is, poverty Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 1 thee there: in quarto. 2 Partly gilt. 3 him: in folio. 4 The rest of this speech is omitted in ithe folio. 5:the: in f. e. 6 Not in f. c. 7 In fresco. 8 dost not know me: not in the folio. 384 SECOND PART OF ACT II. ~Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and Against Northumberland and the archbishop. persistency: let the end try the man. But I tell thee, Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so sick; Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently: and keeping such vile company as thou art. hath in come, go along with me, good master Gower. reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. Fal. My lord! Poins. The reason? Ch. Just. What's the matter? P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me, if I should Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to weep? dinner? Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypoGow. I must wait upon my good lord here: I thank crite. you, good sir John. P. Hen. It would be every man's thought: and thou Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks: you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. never a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower? better than thine: every man would think me an hypoCh. Just. What foolish master taught you these crite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful manners, sir John? thought to think so? Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd. and so a fool that taught them me.-This is the right fencing much engraffed to Falstaff. grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. P. Hen. And to thee. Ch. Just. Now, the Lord lighten thee! thou art a Poins. By this light, I am well spoken on; I can great fool. [Exeunt. hear it with mine own ears: the worst that they can,SCENE 11.-The Same. Another Street. say of me is. that I am a second brother, and that I am SCENE II.-The Same. Another Street. I I a proper fellow of my hands, and those two things, I Enter Prince HENRY and POINS. confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes BarP. tlen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. dolph. Poins. Is it oome to that? I had thought, weariness P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he had durst not have attached one of so high blood. him from me Christian; and look. if the fat villain have P. Hen.'Faith, it does me, though it discolours the not transformed him ape. complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth Enter BARDOLPH and Page. it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? Bard. God save your grace. Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely stu- P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph. died, as to remember so weak a composition. Bard. Come, you virtuous3 ass, [To the Page.] you P. lIen. Belike then, my appetite was not princely bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor you now? What a maidenly man at arms are you creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble con- become? Is it such a matter to get a pottlepot's siderations make me out of love with my greatness. maidenhead? What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Page. He called me even now, my lord, through a or to know thy face to-morrow? or to take note how red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face many pair of silk stockings thou hast; viz, these, and from the window: at last, I spied his eyes: and, methose that were thy peach-coloured ones? or to bear thought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new the inventory of thy shirts; as, one for superfluity, and red4 petticoat, and peeped through. one other for use?-but that the tennis-court-keeper P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited? knows better than I,. for it is a low ebb of linen with Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! thee, when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away! not done a great while because the rest of thy low- P. Hen. Instruct us, boy: what dream, boy? countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland:1 and Page. Marry, my lord, Althea5 dreamed she was deGod knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of livered of a fire-brand, and therefore I call him her thy linen; shall inherit his kingdom; but the midwives dream. say, the children are not in the fault, whereupon the P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation.world increases and kindreds are mightily strength- There it is, boy. [Giving him money. ened. Poins. 0, that this good blossom could be kept from Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so cankers!-Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. hard,, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among good young princes would do so. their fathers being2 you, the gallows shall have wrong. so sick as yours at this time is? P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your gracers Poins. Yes, faith, and let it be an excellent good coming to town: there's a letter for you. thing. Poins. Delivered with good respect.-And how doth P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher the martlemas, your master? breeding than thine. Bard. In bodily health, sir. Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; that you will tell. but that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not. P. Hen. Marry, I tell thee,-it is not meet that I P. HIen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with should be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I could tell me as my dog; and he holds his place, for look you to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, how he writes. to call my friend) I could be sad, and sad indeed too. Poins. [Reads.] ": John Falstaff, knight,2"-every Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject.'man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name 1 The rest of this speech is not in the folio. 2 lying so sick as yours is: in folio. 3 pernicious: in folio. 4 This word is not in f. e. 5 Altheao is here mistaken for Hecuba. SCENE m. KING HENRY IV. 385 himself; even like those that are kin to the king, for SCENE III.-Warkworth. Before the Castle. they never prick their finger, but they say, " There is Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, Lady NORTHUMBERLAND, some of the king's blood spilt:"7 "How comes that?" and Lady PERCY. says he, that takes upon him not to conceive: the an- North. I pray thee, loving wife and gentle daughter, swer is, as ready as a borrowers cap; " I am the king s Give even way unto my rough affairs: poor cousin, sir Put not you on the visage of the times P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will Ad be like them to Percy troublesome. fetch it from Japheth. But to the letter:- Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more. Poins. " Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greet- North. Alas. sweet wife, my honour is at pawn, ing."-Why, this is a certificate. And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. P. Hen. Peace! Lady P. 0, yet. for God's sake, go not to these wars! Poins. "I will imitate the honourable Romans in The time was, father, that you broke your word, brevity:"-li-he sure means brevity in breath, short- When you were more endear'd to it than now; winded,-" I commend me to thee, I commend thee, When your own Percy, when my heart-dear Harry5 and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for Threw many a northward look, to see his father he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears, thou Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as Who then persuaded you to stay at home? thou may'st, and so farewell. There were two honours lost, yours, and your sonfs: "' Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much For yours,-may heavenly glory brighten it! as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Fal- For his -it stuck upon him, as the sun staff, with my familiars; John, with In the grey vault of heaven: and, by his light, my brothers and sisters; and sir John Did all the chivalry of England move with all Europe." To do brave acts, he was, indeed, the glass My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.6 eat it. He had no legs, that practised not his gait; P. Hen. That's but' to make him eat twenty of his And speaking thick7, which nature made his blemish, words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry Became the accents of the valiant; your sister? For those that could speak low, and tardily, Poins. God send the wench no worse fortune! but Would turn their own perfection to abuse, I never said so. To seem like him: so that, in speech, in gait, P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, In diet. in affections of delight, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock In military rules, humours of blood, us.-Is your master here in London? He was the mark and glass, copy and book, Bard. Yes, my lord. That fashion'd others. And him,-O wondrous him! P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in 0 miracle of men!-him did you leave, the old frank2? (Second to none, unseconded by you) Bard. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. To look upon the hideous god of war P. Hen. What company? In disadvantage; to abide a field, Page. Ephesians, my lord; of the old church. Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name P. Hen. Sup any women with him? Did seem defensible:-so you left him. Page. None, my lord,. but old mistress Quickly, and Never. 0! never, do his ghost the wrong, mistress Doll Tear-sheet. To hold your honour more precise and nice P. Hen. What pagan may that be? With others, than with him: let them alone. Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong: of my masters. Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, the town bull.-Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at Have talked of Monmouth's grave. supper? North. Beshrew your heart, Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I;ll follow you. Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits frome me, P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy,-and Bardolph;-no word With new lamenting ancient oversights. to your master that I am yet come to town: there Is for But I must go, and meet with danger there, your silence. [Giving money.3 Or it will seek me in another place, Bard. I have no tongue, sir. And find me worse provided. Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. Lady N. 0! fly to Scotland. P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt BARDOLPHr and Till that the nobles, and the armed commons, Page.]-This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. Have of their puissance made a little taste. Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way be- Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king, tween Saint Alban's and London. Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself To make strength stronger; but, for all our lovesr to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? First let them try themselves. So did your son; Poins. Put on two leathern jerkins, and aprons, and He was so sufferdd; so came I a widow, wait upon him at his table as drawers. And never shall have length of life enough, P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy descension! To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,, low transformation! that shall be mine; for in every For recordation to my noble husband.thing the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow North. Come, come, go in with me. IT is with my me, Ned. [Exeunt. mind, 1 This word is not in f. e. 2 Sty. 3 Not in f. e. 4 declension: in folio. 5 heart's dear Harry: in folio. 6 The rest of this speech was first printed in the folio. 7 Speaking rapidly. 25 386 SECOND PART OF ACT II. As with the tide swell'd up unto its height, Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion: you twoThat makes a still-stand, running neither way: never meet, but you fall to some discord. You are Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; But many thousand reasons hold me back.- you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What I will resolve for Scotland: there am I, the good year! one must bear, and that must be you: Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. you are the weaker vessel; as they say, the emptier SCENE IV.-London. A Room in the Boar's Head vessel. Tavern, in Eastheap. Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of Enter Two Drawers. Bourdeaux stuff in him: you have not seen a hulk 1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? better stuffed in the hold.-Come, I 11 be friends with apple-Johns'? thou know'st sir John cannot endure an thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; and whether apple-John. I shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once cares. set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, Re-enter Drawer. there were five more sir Johns; and, putting off his Draw. Sir, ancient12 Pistol's below, and would speak hat, said, ": I will now take my leave of these six dry, with you. round, old, withered knights." It angered him to the Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not heart, but he hath forgot that. come hither: it is the foul mouth'dst rogue in Eng1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down: and land. see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise2; mistress Tear- Host. If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by sheet would fain hear some music3. Dispatch:-the my faith; I must live amongst my neighbours I'll no room where they supped is too hot; they'11 come in swaggerers. I am in good name and fame with the straight. very best.-Shut the door;-there comes no swagger2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master ers here: I have not lived all this while, to have swagPoins anon,; and they will put on two of our jerkins gering now.-Shut the door, [ pray you. and aprons, and sir John must not know of it: Bar- Fal. Dost thou hear hostess? dolph hath brought word. Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John: there 1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis4: it will comes no swaggerers here. be an excellent stratagem. Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. 2 Draw. I'11 see, if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. Host. Tilly-valley, sir John, never tell me: your Enter Hostess and DOLL TEAR-SHEET. ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was Host. F faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are in before master Tisick, the deputy, t' other, day; and, as an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as he said to me,-it was no longer ago than Wednesday extraordinarily as heart would desire, and your colour, last,-" Neighbour Quickly," says he;-master Dumb, I warrant you, is as red as any rose; but, i' faith, you our minister, was by then: —" Neighbour Quickly,' have drunk too much canaries, and that's a marvellous says he, receive those that are civil; for," said he, searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can " you are in an ill name:"-now, he said so, I can tell say, what's this? How do you now? whereupon; " for," says he, " you are an honest woman, Dol. Better than I was. Hem. and well thought on therefore take heed what guests Host. Why, that Is well said; a good heart Is worth you receive:' receive," says he, "no swaggering comgold. Lo5! here comes sir John. panions." —There comes none here:-you would bless Enter FALSTAFF, singing. you to hear what he said.-No, I'll no swaggerers. Fal. "When Arthur first in court" —Empty the Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, jordan.-" And was a worthy king."6 [Exit Drawer. i' faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyHow now, mistress Doll? hound: he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her Host. Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth. feathers turn back in any show of resistance.-Call Fal. So is all her sex; an they be once in a calm, him up, drawer. they are sick. Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you man my house, nor no cheater"; but I do not love give me? swaggering: by my troth, I am the worse, when one Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. says-swagger. Feel, masters, how I shake-; look you, Dol. I make them? gluttony and diseases make I warrant you. them; I make them not. Dol. So you do, hostess. Fal. If the cook help to7 make the gluttony, you Host. Do I? yea, in very truth do I, an't were an help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, Doll, aspen leaf. I cannot abide swaggerers. we catch of you; grant that, my pure8 virtue, grant Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and Page. that. Pist. God save you, sir John! Dol. Yea, joy9; our chains, and our jewels. Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge Fal. "Your brooches, pearls, and owches:"1 0-for to you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know: to hostess. come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged cham- bullets. bers bravely:- Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang your- her. self!1 | Host. Come, I'11 drink no proofs, nor no bullets. 1 A species of apple which would keep a long time, and had a shrivelled-looking exterior. 2 Band. 3 The rest of the speech is not in the folio. 4 From the Fr. huit, the octave of a festival. Old, here means great. 5 Look: in folio. 6 Two lines from an old ballad, printed in Percy's Reliques, Vol. I. 7 help to: not in the quarto. 8 poor: in f. e. 9 Avy, marry: in f rom a ballad, in Percy's Reliques, Vol. I. il This sentence is not in the folio. 12 Standard-bearer, ensign. 13 Escheator. _ _ _ _ _ 7 7 2 (.__v1 __ _ O ilp~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I ~~~~~~~___L2'_~Z~ _____ /~~~~;~~~-;~~~-~"~~~-~~=~ A~i~ / ( ___ -i l ( jirl ~ A ~~~-~~~ ~~ — ~ __~-~~~ M J:__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ME NO.. A 77~tj7M; BeA / A/ [ A _______________ __________ V ~ j~'K~~' iiillll!lIii~i,Bible K liiili''" _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _i i ity IV i ~A!'Angeles,~ ~ ~~~~~~~~i!~ SCENE IV. KING HENRY IV. 387 I'11 drink no more than will do me good, for no man's Come we to full points here and are et ceteras nothing? pleasure, I. Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy: I will charge Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif.6-What! we have you. t seen the seven stars. Dol. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion. Dol. F.or God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen cannot endure such a fustian rascal. mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat Pist Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway for your master. nags? Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, shilliPg7, nay, an he do nothing but speak nothing he away! By this wine,I ll thrust my knife in your shall be nothing here. mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Bard. Come, get you down stairs. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale Pist. What! shall we have incision? shall we imjuggler, you!-Since when, I pray you, sir?-God's brue?- [Snatching up his sword. light! with two points on your shoulder? much! Then, death, rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days! Pist. I will murder your ruff for this. Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds Fal. No more, Pistol: I would not have you go off Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say! here. Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.1 Host. Here's goodly stuff toward! Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet cap- Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. tain. Dol. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. Dol. Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art Fal. Get you down stairs. [Drawing. thou not ashamed to be called captain? An captains HIost. Here's a goodlytumult! I' llforswear keeping were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for house, afore I 11 be in these territs and frights. So; taking their names upon you before you have earned murder, I warrant now.-Alas, alas! put up your them. You a captain, you slave! for what? for tear- naked weapons; put up your naked weapons. ing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house?-He a cap- [Exeunt BARDOLPH and PISTOL. tain! Hang him, rogue! He lives upon mouldy Dol. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet: the rascal is gone. stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A captain! these Ah! you whoreson little valiant villain, you. villains will make the word captain as odious' as the Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought he word occupy, which was an excellent good word made a shrewd thrust at your belly. before it was ill sorted: therefore captains had need Re.enter BARDOLPH. look to't. Fal. Have you turned him out of doors? Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. Bard. Yes, sir: the rascal Is drunk. You have hurt Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. him, sir, in the shoulder. Pist. Not I I tell thee what, corporal Bardolph; I Fal. A rascal, to brave me! could tear her.- -11 be revenged of her. Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor Page. Pray thee, go down. ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face; Pist. I'11 see her damned first;-to Pluto's damned -come on, you whoreson chops.-Ah, rogue! i7 faith, lake, by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, and tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than Down? down, dogs! down fates'! Have we not Hiren the nine worthies. Ah, villain! here? Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late, blanket. i' faith. I beseeki you now, aggravate your choler. Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if thou dost, Pist. These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack- I'11 canvass thee between a pair of sheets. And hollow-pamperld jades of Asia, [horses, Enter lMusic. Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,4 Page. The music is come, sir. Compare with Coesars, and with Cannibals, Fal. Let them play.-Play, sirs.-Sit on my knee, And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with Doll.-A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar. me' like quicksilver. Shall we fall foul for toys? Dol. I faith, and thou followedst him like a church. Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,8 when words. wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and foining o' nights, Bard. Begone, good ancient; this will grow to a and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven? brawl anon. Enter behind, Prince HENRY and POINS, disguised like Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins. Drawers. Have we not Hiren here? Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's Host. On my word, captain, there Is none such here. head: do not bid me remember mine end. What the goodyear! do you think I would deny her? Dol. Sirrah. what humour is the prince of? for God's sake, be quiet. Fal. A good shallow young fellow; he would have Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.5 made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread Come, give's some sack. well. Se fortuna me tormenta, il sperare me contenta.- Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit. Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire: Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit is Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there. as thick as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more con[Laying down his sword. ceit in him, than is in a mallet. 1 This speech is not in the folio. 2 The rest of this sentence, to the word: therefore," is not in the folio. 3 faters: in quarto; faitoutrs. or traitors. 4 A quotation from Marlowe's play of Tamerlane-they are addressed by the hero to the captive kings who draw his chariot. 5 A quotation from the play of " The Battle of Alcanzar," probably by Peele. 6 Fist. 7 The broad shilling of Edward VI.; the game, probably, resembled shuffle-board. 8 Roast pig was a favourite delicacy at Bartholomew Fair. 388 SECOND PART OF ACT II. Dol. Why does the prince love him so then? you ran away by Gad's-hill: you knew, I was at your Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness; and back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience. he plays at quoits well; and eats conger and fennel: Fal. No, no no; not so; I did not think thou wast and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragonsl; and rides within hearing. the wild mare2 with the boys; and jumps upon joint- P. Hen. I shall drive you, then, to confess the wilful stools; and swears with a good grace; and wears his abuse; and then I know how to handle you. boot very smooth like unto the sign of the leg; and Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. breeds no bate3 with telling of discreet stories; and P. Hen. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler, such other gambol faculties he has, that show a weak and bread-chipper, and I know not what? mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits Fal. No abuse, Hal. him: for the prince himself is such another; the weight Poins. No abuse! of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdu- Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, none. pois. I disprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his might not fall in love with him7-in which doing, I ears cut off? have done the part of a careful friend, and a true subPoins. Let's beat him before his whore. ject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No P. Hen. Look, whether4 the withered elder hath not abuse, Hal;-none, Ned, none;-no,'faith boys, none. his poll clawed like a parrot. P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous years outlive performance? gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the wicked? Fal. Kiss me, Doll. Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is thy boy of P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns what says the almanack to that? in his nose, of the wicked? Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon5, his man, Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. be not clasping to his master's old tables, his note-book, Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecohis counsel-keeper. verably; and his face is Lucifer's privy kitchen, Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. where he doth nothing but, roast malt-worms. For the Dol. Nay; truly; I kiss thee with a most constant boy,-there is a good angel about him, but the devil heart. outbids8 him too. Fal. I am old, I am old. P. Hen. For the women? Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, and young boy of them all. burns, poor soul. For the other, I owe her money, and Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle6 of? I shall re- whether she be damned for that, I know not. ceive money on Thursday; thou shalt have a cap to- Host. No, I warrant you. morrow. A merry song! come: it grows late; we ll Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think, thou art quit to bed. Thou'lt forget me; when I am gone. for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, Dol. By my troth, thou l't set me a weeping, an thou for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to say'st so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome till the law; for the which, I think, thou wilt howl. thy return.-Well, hearken the end. Host. All victuallers do so: what's a joint of mutFal. Some sack, Francis! ton or two in a whole Lent? P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. P. Hen. You, gentlewomanFal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's.-And art not Dol. What says your grace? thou Poins, his brother? Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what against. [Knocking heard. a life dost thou lead. Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman; thou there, Francis. art a drawer. Enter PETO. P. Hen. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out P. Hen. Peto, how now! what news? by the ears. Peto. The king your father is at Westminster, Host. 0, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my And there are twenty weak and wearied posts troth, welcome to London.-Now, the Lord bless that Come from the north; and as I came along sweet face of thine! 0 Jesu! are you come from I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, Wales? Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty,- And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. [blame, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. P. Hen. By heaven,. Poins, I feel me much to [Placing his hand upon DOLL. So idly to profane the precious time, Dol. How, you fat fool? I scorn you. When tempest of commotion, like the south Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your re- Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt, venge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. heat. Give me my sword, and cloak.-Falstaff, good night. P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely [Exeunt Prince HENRY, POINS, PETO, and did you speak of me even now, before this honest, BARDOLPH. virtuous, civil gentlewoman. Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, Host. God's blessing of your good heart! and so she and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. [Knocking is, by my trotlh. heard.] More knocking at the door? Fal. Didst thou hear me? Re-enter BARDOLPH. P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did, when How now? what Is the matter? Inflammable substances floating on liquor, and swallowed flaming. 2 Plays at see-saw. 3 Debate. 4 if: in folio. 5 Trigonum igneum, is the astronomical term when the upper planets meet in a fiery sign. Thefiery Trigon,.I think, consists of Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius.-Steevens. 6 Petticoat. 7 thee: in quarto. 8 blinds: in quarto. SCENE I. KING HENRY IV. 389 Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently: Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these A dozen captains stay at door for you. twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an honester, Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.]- and truer-hearted man,-Well, fare thee well. Farewell, hostess; —farewell, Doll. You see, my good Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet! wenches, how men of merit are sought after: the unde- Host. What's the matter? server may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Bard. [Within.] Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent away post, my master. I will see you again ere I go. Host. 0! run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. Come.Dol. I cannot speak;-if my heart be not ready to She comes blubbered.-Yea-will you come, Doll? burst.-Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. [Exeunt. Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt FAL. and BAR. ACT III. And see the revolution of the times SCENE I.-A Room mi the Palace. Make mountains level, and the continent, Enter King HENRY in his Nightgown, with a Page. Weary of solid firmness, melt itself K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick; Into the sea: and, other times, to see But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, The beachy girdle of the ocean And well consider of them. Make good speed. Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, [Exit Page. And changes fill the cup of alteration How many thousand of my poorest subjects With divers liquors! 0, if this were seen, Are at this hour asleep!-0 sleep! 0 gentle sleep! The happiesyouth, viewing his progress through, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.5 And steep my senses in forgetfulness?'T is not ten years gone, Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, Did feast together, and in two years after And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber Were they at wars: it is but eight years, since Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, This Percy was the man nearest my soul; Under high2 canopies of costly state, Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs, And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? And laid his love and life under my foot; 0, thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile, Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, A watch-case, or a common'larum bell? (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember) [To WARWICK. Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast When Richard, with his eye brimfull of tears, Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, In cradle of the rude imperious surge, Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy? And in the visitation of the winds," Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which Who take the ruffian billows by the top, My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne; — Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them Though then, God knows, I had no such intent, With deafening clamours in the slippery shrouds, But that necessity so bow'd the state, That with the hurly death itself awakes? That I and greatness were compelled to kiss. Canst thou, 0 partial sleep! give thy repose " The time shall come," thus did he follow it, To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; "The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, And in the calmest and most stillest night, Shall break into corruption:"-so went on, With all appliances and means to boot, Foretelling this same time's condition, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!4 And the division of our amity. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. War. There is a history in all men's lives, Enter WARWICK and SURREY. Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd; War. Many good morrows to your majesty! The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords? With a near aim, of the main chance of things War.'T is one o'clock, and past. As yet not come to life, which in their seeds, K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. lords. Such things become the hatch and brood of time; Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? And, by the necessary form of this, War. We have, my liege. King Richard might create a perfect guess, K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom That great Northumberland, then false to him, How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness, And with what danger, near the heart of it. Which should not find a ground to root upon, War, It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd, Unless on you. Which to his former strength may be restor'd, K. Hen. Are these things, then, necessities? With good advice, and little medicine. Then let us meet them like necessities; My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. And that same word even now cries out on us. K. Hen. 0 God! that one might read the book of fate, They say, the bishop and Northumberland 1 The rest of the speech is not in the folio. Dyce says, "She comes blubbered," is a stage direction. 2 the in f. e clouds: in f. e * Warburton suggested: happy, lowly clown. 6 This sentence, beginning with, "Oh, if " is not in the folio. 3.90 SECOND PART OF ACT I. Are fifty thousand strong. Dead!-he would have clapped in the clout at twelve War. It cannot be, my lord: score3; and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's The numbers of the fearld.-Please it your grace, heart good to see. —How a score of ewes now? To go to bed; upon my soul, my lord, Sil. Thereafter as they be; a score of good ewes The powers that you already have sent forth, may be worth ten pounds. Shall bring this prize in very easily. Shal. And is old Double dead:! To comfort you the more I have received Enter BARDOLPH. and one with him. A certain instance that Glendower is dead. Sil. Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men, as 1 Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill, think. And these unseasoned hours, perforce, must add Shal. Good morrow, honest gentlemen. Unto your sickness. Bard. I beseech you, which is justice Shallow? K. Hen. I will take your counsel: Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of And were these inward wars once out of hand, this county, and one of the king's justices of the We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exeunt. peace. What is your good pleasure with me? SCENE II.-Court before Justice SHALLOW'7 House Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my Sin Glouce stiershire. Hou captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall gentleman, by heaven, in Gloucestershire. 2 2 I and a most gallant leader. Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHA- Shal. He greets me well, sir: I knew him a good DOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULL-CALF, and Servants, be- backsword man. How doth the good knight? may I hind. ask, how my lady his wife doth? Shal. Come on, come on, come on, sir; give me your Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by than with a wife. the rood. And how doth my good cousin Silence? Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. indeed too. Better accommodated!-it is good; yea, Shal. And how doth my cousin, your betfellow? and indeed, is it: good phrases are surely, and ever were,; your fairest daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? very commendable. Accommodated:-it comes of Sil. Alas! a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. accommodo: very good; a good phrase. Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin Bard. Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. William is become a good scholar. He is at Oxford, Phrase, call you it? By this good5 day, I know not still, is he not? the phrase: but I will maintain the word with my Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost. sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exShal. He must then to the inns of court shortly. I ceeding good command, by heaven. Accommodated; was once of Clement's inn; where, I think, they will that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated; talk of mad Shallow yet. or, when a man is,-beings,-whereby,-he may be Sil. You were. called lusty Shallow then, cousin. thought -to be accommodated, which is an excellent Shal. By them.ass, I was called any thing; and I thing. would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. Enter FALSTAFF. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and Shal. It is very just.-Look, here comes good sir black George Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, and Will John.-Give me your good hand, give me your worSquele, a Cotswold man; you had not four such ship's good hand. By my troth, you like6 well, and swingebucklers in all the inns of court again; and, I bear your years very well: welcome, good sir John. may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were, Fal. I am glad to see you well, good master Robert and had the best of them all at commandment. Then Shallow. —Master Sure-card, as I think. was Jack Falstaff, now sir John, a boy, and page to Shal. No, sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in comThomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk.1 mission with me. Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you should about soldiers? be of the peace.: Shal. The same sir John, the very same. I saw him Sil. Your good worship is welcome. break Skogan's2head at the court gate, when he was a Fal. Fie! this is hot weather.-Gentlemen, have you crack not thus high: and the very same day did I provided me here half a dozen sufficient men? fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? Gray's-inn. Jesu! Jesu! the mad days that I have Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance Shal. Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's are dead! the roll?-Let me see, let me see: so, so, so, so. Yea, Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. marry, sir.-Ralph Mouldy!-let them appear as I Shal. Certain,'t is certain; very sure, very sure: call; let them do so, let them do so.-Let me see; death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all where is Mouldy? shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford iMoul. Here, an it please you. fair? Shal. What think you, sir John? a good limbed Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. fellow: young, strong, and of good friends. Shal. Death is certain.-Is old Double of your town Fal. Is thy name Mouldy? living yet? Moul. Yea, an it please you. Sil. Dead, sir. Fal. IT is the more time thou wert used. Shal. Jesu! Jesu! Dead!-he drew a good bow; Shal. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! things -and dead!-he shot a fine shoot:-John of Gaunt that are mouldy lack use: very singular good!-hI loved him well, and betted much money on his head. faith, well said, sir John; very well said. 1 This passage is cited to prove the identity of Falstaff with Sir John Oldcastle-the latter having been page to Mowbray. 2 The name of a jester. " Scogan's Jests," was a popular book in Shakespeare's time. 3 Hit the pin which held up the target, at twelve score paces. 4 everywhere: in folio Notfolio otiolio. 6 look: in folio. SCENE II. KING HENRY IV. 391 Fal. Prick him. [To SHALLOW. Bull. A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, sir; which I Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an you caught with ringing in the king's affairs upon his corocould have let me alone: my old dame will be undone nation day, sir. now, for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery. Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. You need not to have pricked me; there are other men We will have away thy cold; and I will take such fitter to go out than I. order, that thy friends shall ring for thee.-Is here all? Fal. Go to; peace, Mouldy! you shall go. Mouldy, Shal. Here is two more called than your number; it is time you were spent. you must have but four here, sir:-and so, I pray you, Moil. Spent! go in with me to dinner. Shal. Peace, fellow, peace! stand aside: know you Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot where you are?-For the other. sir John:-let me see. tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, mas-Simon Shadow! ter Shallow. Fal. Yea marry, let me have him to sit under: he's Shal. 0, sir John! do you remember since we lay like to be a cold soldier. all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields? Shal. Where's Shadow? Fal. No more of that, good master Shallow; no Shad. Here, sir, more of that. Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou? Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane NightShad. My mother's son, sir. work alive? Fal. Thy mother's son! like enough; and thy fa- Fal. She lives, master Shallow. ther's shadow: so the son of the female is the shadow Shal. She never could away with me.1 of the male. It is often so, indeed; but not of the fa- Fal. Never, never: she would always say, she could ther's substance. not abide master Shallow. Shal. Do you like him, sir John? Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, prick him; for She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own we have a number of shadows to fill up the muster-book. well? Shal. Thomas Wart! Fal. Old, old, master Shallow. Fal. Where's he? Shal. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but Wart. Here, sir. be old; certain she's old, and had Robin Night-work Fal. Is thy name Wart? by old Night-work, before I came to Clement's-inn., Wart. Yea, sir. Sil. That's fifty-five year ago. Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. Shal. Ha, cousin Silence that thou hadst seen that Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John? that this knight and I have seen!-Ha, sir John, said Fal. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built [ well? upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins: Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, master prick him no more. Shallow. Shal. Ha, ha, ha!-you can do it, sir; you can do Shal. That we have, that we have that we have; in it: I commend you well.-Francis Feeble! faith, sir John, we have. Our watch-word was, " Hem, Fee. Here, sir. boys!"-Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner. Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble? -0 the days that we have seen!-Come, come. Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. [Exeunt FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, and SILENCE. Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my Fal. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor, he friend, and here is four Harry ten shillings in French would have pricked you.-Wilt thou make as many crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done in a wo- hanged sir, as go: and yet, for mine own part, sir, I man's petticoat? do not care; but rather, because I am unwilling, and, Fee. I will do my good will, sir: you can have no for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my more. friends: else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, much. courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the Bard. Go to; stand aside. wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse.-Prick Moul. And good master corporal captain, for my old the woman's tailor well, master Shallow; deep master dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody to do Shallow. any thing about her, when I am gone; and she is old, Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir. and cannot help herself. You shall have forty, sir. Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou Bard. Go to; stand aside. mightst mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot Fee. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of so once;-we owe God a death. I'11 ne'er bear a base many thousands: let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. mind:-an t be my destiny, so; an't be not, so. No Fee. It shall suffice, sir. man's too good to serve his prince; and let it go which Fal. I am bound to tlhee reverend Feeble.-Who is way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the next. next? Bard. Well said; thou art a good fellow. Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green! Fee.'Faith, I'11 bear no base mind. Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. Re-enter FALSTAFF, and Justices. Bull. Here, sir. Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have? Fal.'Fore God, a likely fellow!-Come: prick me Shal. Four, of which you please. Bull-calf till he roar again. Bard. Sir, a word with you.-I have three pound to Bull. 0 lord! good my lord captain,- free Mouldy and Bull-calf. Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? Fal. Go to; well. Bull. 0 Lord! sir, I am a diseased man. Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have? Fal. What disease hast thou? Fal. Do you choose for me. Abide. 392 SECOND PART OF ACT IV. Shal. Marry then,-Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and Shal. Sir John, the Lord bless you, and God prosper Shadow. your affairs, and send us peace. At3 your return, visit Fai. Mouldy, and Bull-calf.-For you, Mouldy, stay our4 house. Let our old acquaintance be renewed: at home till you are past service:-and, for your part, peradventure. I will with you to the court. Bull-calf, grow till you come unto it: I will none of Fal.'Fore God, I would you would. you. Shal. Go to: I have spoke at a word. Fare you Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong. well. [Exeunt SHALLOW and SILENCE. They are your likeliest men, and I would have you Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Barserved with the best. dolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt BARDOLPH, ReFal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to cruits, *c.] As I return, I will fetch off these juschoose a man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the tices: I do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord, stature, bulk and big assemblance of a man? Give lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying! me the spirit, master Shallow.-Here's Wart -you This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate see what a ragged appearance it is: he shall charge to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he you, and discharge you, with the motion of a pewterer's hath done about Turnbull-street; and every third word hammer; come off, and on, swifter than he that gib- a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. bets-on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced I do remember him at Clement's-inn, like a man made fellow, Shadow,-give me this man: he presents no after supper of a cheese-paring: when he was naked, mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat,- head fantastically carved upon it with a knife: he was how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were off? 0, give me the spare men, and spare me the great invisible5; he was the very genius of famine6: yet ones.-Put me a calivel' into Wart's hand, Bardolph. lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called himBard. Hold, Wart: traverse: thus, thus, thus. mandrake. He came ever in the rear-ward of the Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So:-very fashion7: and sung those tunes to the over-scutched8 well:-go to:-very good:-exceeding good.-O, give huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald shot.- -they were his fancies, or his good-nights9. And Well said, i' faith, Wart: thou'rt a good scab; hold, now is this Vice's dagger0 become a squire, and talks there's a tester for thee. as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn Shal. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it brother to him: and I'11 be sworn he never saw him right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when I lay at but once in the Tilt-yard, and then he burst" his head, Clement's inn) I was then sir Dagonet in Arthur's for crowding among the marshal's men. I saw it; and show', there was a little quiver fellow, and he would told John of Gaunt, he beat his own name: for you manage you his piece thus: and he would about, and might have thrust"2 him, and all his apparel, into an about, and come you in, and come you in: " rah, tah, eel-skin: the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion tah," would he say; bounce,'" would he say; and for him, a court; and now has he land and beeves. away again would he go, and again would he come.- Well, I will be acquainted with him, if I return; and I shall never see such a fellow. it shall go hard, but I will make him a philosopher's Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. — two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for the God keep you, master Silence: I will not use many old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I words with you.-Fare you well, gentlemen both: I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. thank you: I must a dozen mile to-night.-Bardolph, [Exit. give the soldiers coats. ACT IV...- in York shire. | As might hold sortance with his quality, SCENE I.-A Forest n The which he could not levy; whereupon Enter the Archbishop of YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, and Others. To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers, Arch. What is this forest calld? That your attempts may overlive the hazard, Hast.'T is Gaultree forest, an't shall please your And fearful meeting of their opposite. grace. Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch Arch. Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers ground, forth, And dash themselves to pieces. To know the numbers of our enemies. Enter a Messenger. Hast. We have sent forth already. Hast. Now, what news? Arch.'T is well done.- Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, My friends and brethren in these great affairs, In goodly form comes on the enemy: I must acquaint you, that I have receiv'd And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number New-dated letters from Northumberland; Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus:- Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out. Here doth he wish his person, with such powers Let's away'3 on, and face them in the field. 1 A hand-gun. 2 An exhibition of archery at Mile-end green, where the archers assumed the characters of King Arthur's round-table. Sir Dagonet was the fool or buffoon of Arthur's court. 3 As: in folio. 4 my: in folio. 5 invincible: in f. e. Many mod. eds. read as in the text. 6 The rest of the sentence ending, mandrake," is not in the folio. 7 The rest of the sentence is not'in the folio. Scotched, cvt and slashed by the beadle's whip. 9 Small lyrical pieces, for the voice. 10 The Vice, a character of the early English drama, resembling a harlequin, was armed with a dagger of lath. 1] Broke. 12 trussed: in folio. 13 Let us sway: in f. e. SCENE I. KING HENRY IV. 393 Enter WESTMORELAND. Wherein have you been galled by the king? Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? What peer hath been suborned to grate on you, Mowb. I think it is my lord of Westmoreland. That you should seal this lawless bloody book West. Health and fair greeting from our general, Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. And consecrate commotion's bitter edge?9 Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace, Arch. My brother, general, the commonwealth, What doth concern your coming?To brother born an household cruelty"~ West. Then, my lord, I make my quarrel in particular. Unto your grace do I in chief address West. There is no need of any such redress; The substance of my speech. If that rebellion Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. Came like itself, in base and abject routs, Mowb. Why not to him, in part, and to us all, Led on by bloody youth, guarded2 with rags, That feel the bruises of the days before, And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary; And suffer the condition of these times I say, if darnn'd commotion so appear'd, To lay a heavy and unequal hand In his true, native, and most proper shape, Upon our honours? You, reverend father, and these noble lords, West. 0! my good lord Mowbray," Had not been here, to dress the ugly form Construe the times to their necessities, Of base and bloody insurrection And you shall say indeed, it is the time, With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, And not the king, that doth you injuries. Whose see is by a civil peace maintained; Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touchd; Either from the king, or in the present time, Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutord; That you should have an inch of any ground Whose white investments4 figure innocence, To build a grief on. Were you not restored The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's? Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace Mowb. What thing, in honour. had my father lost, Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war? That need to be reviv'd, and breathed in me? Turning your books to glaivesr, your ink to blood, The king that loved him, as the state stood then. Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine Was, force perforce, compelled to banish him: To a loud trumpet, and report6 of war? And when that Harry Bolingbroke, and he, Arch. Wherefore do I this?-so the question stands: Being mounted, and both roused in their seats, Briefly to this end.-We are all diseas'd; Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours, Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, And we must bleed for it: of which disease And the loud trumpet blowing them together; Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, I take not on me here as a physician 0! when the king did throw his warder down, Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, His own life hung upon the staff he threw: Troop in the throngs of military men; Then threw he down himself, and all their lives, But, rather, show a while like fearful war, That, by indictment, and by dint of sword, To diet rank minds, sick of happiness, Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stop West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. not what. I have in equal balance justly weigh'd The earl of Hereford was reputed, then, What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, In England the most valiant gentleman: And find our griefs heavier than our offences. Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smild? We see which way the stream of time doth run, But if your father had been victor there, And are enforc'd from our most quiet chairs He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry; By the rough torrent of occasion; For all the country, in a general voice, And have the summary of all our griefs, Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers, and love, When time shall serve, to show in articles Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, Which, long ere this, we offered to the king, And bless'd, and graced, indeed, more than the king. And might by no suit gain an audience But this is mere digression from my purpose. When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, Here come I from our princely general, We are denied access unto his person, To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace, Even by those men that most have done us wrong. That he will give you audience; and wherein The dangers of the days but newly gone, It shall appear that your demands are just, Whose meniory is written on the earth You shall enjoy them; every thing set off, With yet appearing blood, and the examples That might so much as think you enemies. Of every minute's instance, present now, Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer, Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms, And it proceeds from policy, not love. Not to break peace, or any branch of it, West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it so, But to establish here a peace indeed This offer comes from mercy, not from fear; Concurring both in name and quality. For, lo! within a ken our army lies, West. When ever yet was your appeal denied? Upon mine honour, all too confident 1 Then, my lord: not in quarto. 2 Bordered. 3 rage: in f. e. 4 White linen was the ordinary, as well as official dress, of a bishop. 5 graves: in f. e. 6 a point: in f. e. 7 This and the twenty-four following lines, are not in the quarto. 8 sphere: in f. e. Altered by Warburton, from "there" in the folio. 9 0l These lines are not in the folio, 11 This and the thirty-six following lines, are not in the quarto. 394 SECOND PART OF ACT IV...... To give admittance to a thought of fear. So that his power, like to a fangless lion, Our battle is more full of names than yours, May offer, but not hold. Our men more perfect in the use of arms Arch. IT is very true: Our armour all as strong, our cause the best: And therefore be assurrd, my good lord marshal, Then, reason will our hearts should be as good; If we do now make our atonement well, Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd. Our peace will, like a broken limb united, Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. Grow stronger for the breaking. West. That argues but the shame of your offence: Mowb. Be it so. A rotten case abides no handling. Here is returned my lord of Westmoreland. Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission, Re-enter WESTMORELAND. In very ample virtue of his father, West. The prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your To hear, and absolutely to determine lordship, Of what conditions we shall stand upon? To meet his grace just distance'tween our armies? West. That is intended in the general's name. Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then, set I muse you make so slight a question. forward. Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this Arch. Before, and greet his grace, my lord: we schedule, come. [Exeunt. For this contains our general grievances: SCENE II.-Another Part of the Forest. Each several article herein redressd: All members of our cause, both here and hence, Enter, from one side, MowBRAY, the Archbishop, HASTThat are insinew'd to this action, INGS, and Others: from the other side, Prince JOHN Acquitted by a true substantial form; of LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, Officers and AttendAnd present execution of our wills ants. To us, and to our purposes, confined: P. John. You are well encountered here, my cousin We come within our awful banks again, owbray.And knit our powers to the arm of peace. Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop; West. This will I show the general. Please you, And so to you, lord Hastings,-and to all.lords My lord of York, it better show'd with you, In sight of both our battles we may meet: When that your flock, assembled by the bell, And either end in peace, which God so frame, Encircled you to hear with reverence Or to the place of difference call the swords Your exposition on the holy text, Which must decide it. Than now to see you here an iron man, Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit WEST. Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom tells me, Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That no conditions of our peace can stand. That man, that sits within a monarch's heart, Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, Upon such large terms, and so absolute, Would he abuse the countenance of the king, As our conditions shall consist upon, Alack! what mischiefs might be set abroach, Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. In shadow of such greatness. With you, lord bishop, JMiouwb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such. It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken, That every slight and false-derived cause, How deep you were within the books of God? Yea, every idle, nice and wanton reason To us, the speaker in his parliament; Shall to the king taste of this action: To us, th' imagin'd voice of God himself; That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, The very opener and intelligencer, We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind, Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, And our dull workings: 0! who shall believe, And good from bad find no partition. But you misuse the reverence of your place, Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this),-the king is Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, weary As a false favourite doth his prince's name, Of dainty and such picking grievances: In deeds dishonourable? You have taken up, For he hath found, to end one doubt by death Under the counterfeited seal' of God, Revives two greater in the heirs of life. The subjects of his substitute, my father; And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, And, both against the peace of heaven and him, And keep no tell-tale to his memory, Have here up-swarm'd them. That may repeat and history his loss Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, To new remembrance. For full well he knows, I am not here against your father's peace; He cannot so precisely weed this land, But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, As his misdoubts present occasion: The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, His foes are so enrooted with his friends, Crowd us, and crush us to this monstrous form That, plucking to unfix an enemy, To hold our safety up. I sent your grace He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. The parcels and particulars of our griefs; So that this land, like an offensive wife, The which have been with scorn shov'd from the court, That hath enrag'd her man2 to offer strokes Whereon this Hydra-son of war is born; As he is striking, holds his infant up, Whose dangerous eyes may well be charmed asleep, And hangs resolved correction in the arm With grant of our most just and right desires, That was uprear'd to execution. And true obedience, of this madness cur'd, Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. On late offenders, that he now doth lack Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes The very instruments of chastisement; To the last man. 1 Malone, and most mod. eds. read: consigned. 2 enrag'd him on: in f. e. 3 zeal: in f. e. SCENE in. KING HENRY IV. 395 Hast. And though we here fall down, Re-enter WESTMORELAND. We have supplies to second our attempt; Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? If they miscarry, theirs shall second them; West. The leaders having charge from you to stand, And so success of mischief shall be born, Will not go off until they hear you speak. And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, P. John. They know their duties. Whiles England shall have generation. Re-enter HASTINGS. P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already,4 shallow, Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses To sound the bottom of the after-times. East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up, West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly, Each hurries towards his home and sporting-place. How far-forth you do like their articles. West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the which P. John. I like them all, and do allow them well: I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:And swear, here, by the honour of my blood, And you, lord archbishop,-and you, lord Mowbray; My father's purposes have been mistook; Of capital treason I attach you both. And some about him have too lavishly Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable? Wrested his meaning, and authority.- West. Is your assembly so? My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd; Arch. Will you thus break your faith? Upon my soul. they shall. If this may please you, P. John. I pawn'd thee none. Discharge your powers unto their several counties, I promis'd you redress of these same grievances, As we will ours; and here, between the armies, Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, Let's drink together friendly, and embrace, I will perform with a most christian care. That all their eyes may bear those tokens home But, for you, rebels, look to taste the due Of our restored love, and amity. Meet for rebellion,5 and such acts as yours. Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses. Most shallowly did you these arms commence, P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.And thereupon I drink unto your grace. [word: Strike up our drums! pursue the scatter'd stray; Hast. Go, captain, [To an Officer] and deliver to the Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.army Some guard these traitors to the block of death: This news of peace: let them have pay, and part. Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. [Exeunt. I know, it will please them: hie thee, captain.? r [Exit7 Officer SCENE IIT.-Another Part of the Forest. [Exit Oficer.' Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. Alarums: Excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLEVILE, [Drinks.'n eeting. West. I pledge your grace: [Drinks.2] and, if you Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition are knew what pains you; and of what place, I pray? I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is Colevile You would drink freely; but my love to you of the dale. Shall show itself more openly hereafter. Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name, a knight is Arch. I do not doubt you. your degree, and your place, the dale: Colevile shall West. I am glad of it.- still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dunHealth to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. geon your dale6,-a dale7 deep enough; so shall you [Drinks3 be still Colevile of the dale. Mowb. You wish me health in very happy season; Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? For I am, on the sudden, something ill. Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoever I am. Do Arch. Against ill chances men are ever merry, ye yield, sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, But heaviness foreruns the good event. they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for West. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow thy death: therefore, rouse up fear and trembling, and Serves to say thus,-some good thing comes to-mor- do observance to my mercy. row. Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff, and in that Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. thought yield me. Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly [Shouts within. of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any other P. John. The word of peace is render'd. Hark, how word but my name. An I had but a belly of any they shout! indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory. Europe: my womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest, -Here comes our general. For then both parties nobly are subdued, Enter Prince JOHN of LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, And neither party loser. and Others. P. John. Go, my lord, P. John. The heat is past, follow no farther now.And let our army be discharged too.- Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.[Exit WESTMORELAND. [Exit WEST. And, good my lord, so please you, let your trains Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? March by us, that we may peruse the men When every thing is ended, then you come: We should have cop'd withal. These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, Arch. Go, good lord Hastings;One time.or other break some gallows' back. And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be [Exit HAsTINGS. thus: I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was P. John. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night to- the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, gether.- an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old 2 3 Not in f. e. 4 In the folio, this line has only: Our army is dispers'd. 6 The rest of the line is not in the quarto. 6 7 place: in f. e. 396 SECOND PART OF ACT IV. motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes: which, dehither with the very extremest inch of possibility: I liver'd o'er to the voice, (the tongue) which is the have foundered nine-score and odd posts; and here, birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immacu- your excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood; late valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and furious knight, and valorous enemy. But what of that? pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: he saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, I came, saw, and over- inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face, came. which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital deserving. commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to Fal. I know not: here he is, and here I yield him, their captain, the heart, who, great, and puffed up and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this rest of this day's deeds; or, by the lord, I will have it valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot. To the which learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt sack commences it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof two-pences. to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame, comes it, that prince Harry is valiant; for the cold o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cin- blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, ders of the element, which show like pins) heads to her, like lean, sterile, and bae land, manured, husbanded, believe not the word of the noble. Therefore let me and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good, have right, and let desert mount. and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very P. John. Thine Is too heavy to mount. hot, and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first Fal. Let it shine then. human2 principle 1 would teach them should be, to forP. John. Thine's too thick to shine. swear thin potations, and to addict themselves to sack. Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may Enter BARDOLPH. do me good, and call it what you will. How now, Bardolph? P. John. Is thy name Colevile? Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. Col. It is, my lord. Fal. Let them go. I ll through Glostershire; and P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire: I Fal. And a famous true subject took him. have him already tempering between my finger and Cole. I am, my lord. but as my betters are, my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come That led me hither: had they been rul'd by me, away. [Exeunt. You should have won them dearer than you have. IV. estminster. A Room in the Palace Fal. I know not how they sold themselves, but thou, SCENE IV Wes. A Rm in te P e like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis'; and I Enter King HENRY, CLARENCE Prince HUMPHREY, thank thee for thee. WARWICK, and Others. Re-enter WESTMORELAND. K. Hen. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end P. John. Now, have you left pursuit? To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. We will our youth lead on to higher fields, P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, And draw no swords but what are sanctified. To York, to present execution.- Our navy is addressed3, our power collected, Blunt, lead him hence, and see you guard him sure. Our substitutes in absence, well invested, [Exit COLEVILE, guarded. And every thing lies level to our wish: And now despatch we toward the court, my lords. Only, we want a little personal strength, I hear, the king my father is sore sick: And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, Our news shall go before us to his majesty,- Come underneath the yoke of government. Which, cousin, you shall bear,-to comfort him; War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty And we with sober speed will follow you. Shall soon enjoy. Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, through Glostershire; and, when you come to court, Where is the prince your brother? stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. P. Humph. I think, he Is gone to hunt, my lord, at P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my condi- Windsor. tion, K. Hen. And how accompanied? Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. Fal. I would, you had but the wit:'t were better K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with than your dukedom.-Good faith, this same young him? sober-blooded boy doth not love me, nor a man cannot P. Humph. No, my good lord: he is in presence here. make him laugh; but that Is no marvel, he drinks no Cla. What would my lord and father? wine. There Is never any of these demure boys come K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clato any proof, for thin drink doth so over-cool their rence. blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother? a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas. marry, they get wenches. They are generally fools and Thou hast a better place in his affection, cowards, which some of us should be too. but for Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy, inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold A.nd noble offices thou may'st effect operation in it: it ascends me into the brain; dries me Of mediation, after I am dead, there all the foolish, and dull. and cruddy vapours which Between his greatness and thy other brethren. environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, Therefore omit him not: blunt not his love, 1 2 Not in the folio. 3 Ready. SCENE IV. KING HENRY IV. 397 Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, K. Hen. 0 Westmoreland! thou art a summer bird, By seeming cold. or careless of his will, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings For he is gracious, if he be observed. The lifting up of day. [Enter HARCOURT.] Look! here's He hath a tear for pity, and a hand more news. Open as day for melting charity; Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty; Yet, notwithstanding, being incens'd, he Is flint, And, when they stand against you, may they fall As humorous as winter, and as sudden As those that I am come to tell you of. As flaws1 congealed in the spring of day. The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd: With a great power of English, and of Scots, Chide him for faults, and do it reverently Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown. When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth, The manner and rude order of the fight, But, being moody, give him line and scope, This packet, please it you, contains at large. Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, [Giving a packet.6 Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, make me sick? A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, Will fortune never come with both hands full, That the united vessel of their blood, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? Mingled with venom of suggestion2, She either gives a stomach, and no food,(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in) Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast, Shall never leak, though it do work as strong And takes away the stomach,-such are the rich, As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. That have abundance, and enjoy it not. Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. I should rejoice now at this happy news, K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.Thomas? 0 me! come near me; now I am much ill. [Falls back.6 Cla. He is not there to-day: he dines in London. P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty! K. Hen. And how accompanied?3 canst thou tell Cla. 0 my royal father! that? West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself: look up Cia. With Poins, and other his continual followers. War. Be patient, princes: you do know, these fits K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds, Are with his highness very ordinary. And he, the noble image of my youth, Stand from him, give him air; he l11 straight be well. Is overspread with them: therefore, my grief Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs. Stretches itself beyond the hour of death. Th' incessant care and labour of his mind The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in. In forms imaginary. th' unguided days, So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.7 And rotten times, that you shall look upon P. Humph. The people fear me;8 for they do observe When I am sleeping with my ancestors. Unfatherld heirs, and loathly births of nature: For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, The seasons change their manners, as the year When rage and hot-blood are his counsellors, Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. When means and lavish manners meet together, Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between; O, with what wings shall his affections fly And the old folk. timers doting chronicles, Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! Say, it did so, a little time before lWar. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite. That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. The prince but studies his companions, War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. Like a strange tongue: wherein, to gain the language, P. Humph. This apoplexy will, certain, be his end.'T is needful, that the most immodest word K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence Be look'd upon, and learned; which once attain'd, Into some other chamber: softly, pray. Your highness knows, comes to no farther use, [They place the KING on a Bed in an inner part But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms, of the room. The prince will, in the perfectness of time, Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Cast off his followers, and their memory Unless some dull and favourable hand Shall as a pattern or a measure live, Will whisper music to my weary spirit. By which his grace must mete the lives of others, War. Call for the music in the other room. Turning past evils to advantages. K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. K. Hen.'T is seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. In the dead carrion. [Enter WESTMORELAND.] Who Is War. Less noise, less noise! here? Westmoreland? Enter Prince HENRY. West. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence? Added to that that I am to deliver! Cla. I am here, brother full of heaviness. Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand: P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad? Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, How doth the king? Are brought to the correction of your law. P. Humph. Exceeding ill. There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed, P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet? But peace puts forth her olive every where. Tell it him. The manner how this action hath been borne P. Humph. He altered much upon the hearing it. Here at more leisure may your highness read, P. Hen. If he be sick with joy, he will recover With every course in his particular. [Giving a paper.4 Without physic. 1 Thin ice. a Temptation. 3 The rest of this line is not in the quarto. 4 5 Not in f. e. 6 Swoons: in f. e. 7 Daniel (Civil Wars, 1595, book III., st. 116), speaking of the illness of Henry IV., says: Wearing the wall so thin, that now the mind, Might well look thorough, and his frailty find. s Make me fearful. 398 SECOND PART OF ACT V. War. Not so much noise, my lords.-Sweet prince, For this they have been thoughtful to invest speak low; Their sons with arts, and martial exercises; The king your father is disposed to-sleep; When, like the bee, tolling5 from every flower Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. The virtuous sweets,6 War. Will It please your grace to go along with us? Our thighs packed with wax, our mouths with honey, P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by the king. We bring it to the hive, and like the bees, [Exeunt all but Prince HENRY. Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste Why doth the crown lie there, upon his pillow, Yield his engrossments to the ending father.Being so troublesome a bedfellow? Re-enter WARWICK. 0 polished perturbation! golden care! Now, where is he that will not stay so long, That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide Till his friend sickness' hands7 determin'd8 me? To many a watchful night, sleep with it now! War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks; As he, whose brow with homely biggin bound, With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, Snores out the watch of night. 0 majesty! That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit. Would, by beholding him, have washed his knife Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. That scalds with safety.-By his gates of breath: K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown? There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: Re-enter Prince HENRY. Did he suspire, that light and weightless down Lo, where he comes.-Come hither to me, Harry.Perforce must move.-My gracious lord! my father!- Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep, [Exeunt CLARENCE, Prince HUMPHREY, Lords, ~c. That from this. golden ringol- hath divorc'd P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. So many English kings. Thy due from me K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair, Shall, O dear father! pay thee plenteously: That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours My due from thee is this imperial crown, Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth, Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Thou seeklst the greatness that will overwhelm thee! Derives itself to mne.-Lo! herea it sits, Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity [Putting it on his head. Is held from falling with so weak a wind, Which heaven shall guard; and put the world's whole That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. strength Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some few hours, Into one giant arm, it shall not force Were thine without offence, and at my death This- lineal honour from me. This from thee Thou hast sealld up my expectation: Will I to mine leave, as t is left to me. [Exit. Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not, K. Hen. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Re-enter WARWICK, and the rest. Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, Cla. Doth the king call? Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, a'fr. What would your majesty?3 How fares your To stab at half an hour of my life. grace? What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour? K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself, Cla. We let the prince, my brother, here, my liege, And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear Who undertook to sit and watch by you. That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. K. Ilen. The prince of Wales? Where is he? let Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, me see him: Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head; He is not here.4 Only compound me with forgotten dust: War. This door is open; he is gone this way. Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. P. Hlumph. He came not through the chamber where Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; we stay'd. For now a time is come to mock at form. K. Hen. Where is the crown? who took it from my Harry the fifth is crowned!-Up, vanity! pillow? Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence; War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. And to the English court assemble now, K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence:-go, seek From every region, apes of idleness! him out. Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum: Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, My sleep my death?- Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? [Exit WARWICK. Be happy, he will trouble you no more: This part of his conjoins with my disease, England shall double gild his treble guilt, And helps to end me.-See, sons, what things you are: England shall give him office, honour, might; How quickly nature falls into revolt, For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks When gold becomes her object. The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog For this the foolish over-careful fathers Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. H-ave broke their sleeps with thoughts, 0 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! Their brains with care, their bones with industry: When that my care could not withhold thy riots, For this they have engrossed and pil'd up What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; 0! thou wilt be a wilderness again, rigol: in f. e.; the word means, a circle. 2 where: in quarto. 3 The rest of the speech is not in the quarto. 4 This line is not in the folio. 5 culling: in folio. 6 This line is not in the quarto. 7 hath: in folio. 8 Ended. SCENE I. KING HENRY IV. 399 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants. And I had many living to upbraid P. Hen. 0, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, My gain of it by their assistances; [Kneeling. Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed, The moist impediments unto my speech, Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears, I had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke, Thou seest, with peril I have answered; Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had: heard For all my reign hath been but as a scene The course of it so far. There is your crown; Acting that argument; and now my death And He that wears the crown immortally, Changes the mode: for what in me was purchase,2 Long guard it yours! If I affect it more, Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; Than as your honour, and as your renown, So thou the garland wear'st successively. Let me no more from this obedience rise,. Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, Which my most true and inward duteous spirit Thou art not firm enough; since griefs are green, Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. And all my3 friends, which thou must make thy friends, Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; And found no course of breath within your majesty, By whose fell working I was first advanced, How cold it struck my heart! if I do feign And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 0! let me in my present wildness die, To be again displaced. Which to avoid, And never live to show thl incredulous world I cut some4 off; and had a purpose now The noble change that I have purposed. To lead out many to the Holy Land, Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look And dead almost, my liege, to think you were, Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, I spake unto the crown, as having sense, Be it thy course to busy giddy minds And thus upbraided it: " The care on thee depending, With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, Hath fed upon the body of my father; May waste the memory of the former days. Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. More would I, but my lungs are wasted so, Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, That strength of speech is utterly denied me. Preserving life in medicine potable: How I came by the crown, 0 God, forgive, But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, And grant it may with thee in true peace live! Hast eat thy bearer up.2" Thus, my most royal liege, P. Hen. My gracious liege5 Accursing it, I put it on my head; You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; To try with it, as with an enemy Then plain, and right, must my possession be: That had before my face murder'd my father Which, I with more than with a common pain, The quarrel of a true inheritor:'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Enter Prince JoHN of LANCASTER, WARWICK, Lords, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; and Others. if any rebel or vain spirit of mine K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of LanDid, with the least affection of a welcome, caster. Give entertainment to the weight of it, P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal Let God for ever keep it from my head, father! And make me as the poorest vassal is, K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! John: K. Hen. 0 my son!' But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown God put it in thy mind to take it hence, From this bare, wither'd trunk: upon thy sight, That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, My worldly business makes a period. Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. Where is my lord of Warwick? Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, P. Hen. My lord of Warwick! And hear, I think, the very latest counsel K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, War. IT is call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. I met this crown; and I myself know well K. Hen. Laud be to God!-even there my life must How troublesome it sat upon my head: end. To thee it shall descend with better quiet, It hath been prophesied to me many years, Better opinion, better confirmation; I should not die but in Jerusalem, For all the soil of the achievement goes Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land.With me into the earth. It seemed in me, But bear me to that chamber; there I'11 lie: But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. —Glostershire. A Hall in SHALLOW'S Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shal~House. ~~~~low. House. Shal. I will not excuse you; you shall not be exEnter SHALLOW, FALSTAFFI BARDOLPH, and Page. cused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no Shal. By cock and pie, sir you shall not away to- excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused.-Why, night.-What, Davy, I say! Davy! Not in the qcuarto. 2 f. e.: purchased; i. e., not obtained by inheritance. 3 thy: in f. e. 4 them: in f. e. 5 This line is not in the quarto. 400 SECOND PART OF ACT V. Enter DAVY. as men take diseases, one of another: therefore, let Davy. Here, sir. men take heed of their company. I will devise matter Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy,-let me see, Davy; enough out of this Shallow, to keep prince Harry in let me see:-yea, marry, William cook, bid him come continual laughter the wearing-out of six fashions, hither.-Sir John, you shall not be excused. (which is four terms, or two actions) and he shall laugh Davy. Marry, sir, thus; those precepts' cannot be without intervallums. 0! it is much, that a lie with served: and, again, sir,-shall we sow the headland a slight oath, and a jest with a sad brow, will do with with wheat? a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders. 0! Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William you shall see him laugh, till his face be like a wet' cook:-are there no young pigeons? cloak ill laid up. Davy. Yes, sir.-Here is, now, the smith's note for Shal. [Within.] Sir John! shoeing, and plough irons. Fal. I come, master Shallow: I come, master ShalShal. Let it be cast, and paid.-Sir John, you shall low. [Exit FALSTAFF. not be excused. SCENE II. —Westminster. An Apartment in the Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs SCENE.- estminst. An Apartment in the be had:-and. sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day at Enter WARWICK and the Lord Chief Justice. Hinckley fair? War. How now, my lord chief justice! whither away? Shal. He shall answer it.-Some pigeons, Davy; a Ch. Just. How doth the king? couple of short-legged hens, a joint of mutton, and any War. Exceeding well: his cares are now all ended. pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? War. He's walked the way of nature, Shal. Yea, Davy. I will use him well. A friend And to our purposes he lives no more. i' the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his Ch. Just. I would, his majesty had call'd me with men well, Davy, for they are arrant knaves, and will him: backbite. The service that I truly did his life Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten2 sir; for Hath left me open to all injuries. they have marvellous foul linen. War. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not. Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy business, Ch. Just. I know he doth not, and do arm myself Davy. To welcome the condition of the time; Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Which cannot look more hideously upon me Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against Enter Prince JOIN Prince HUMPHREY, CLARENCE, that Visor: that Visor is an arrant knave, on my WESTMORELAND, and Others. knowledge. War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry: Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir; O! that the living Harry had the temper. but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen! countenance at his friend's request. An honest man, How many nobles then should hold their places, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not. That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort. I have served your worship truly, sir, this eight years: Ch. Just. 0 God! I fear all will be overturned. and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morknave against an honest man, I have but a very little row. credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin. friend, sir; therefore I beseech your worship,3 let him P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. be countenanced. War. We do remember; but our argument Shal. Go to; I say, he shall have no wrong. Look Is all too heavy to admit much talk. about, Davy. [Exit DAVY.] Where are you, sir John? P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath made us Come, come, come; off with your boots.-Give me heavy! your hand, master Bardolph. Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! Bard. I am glad to see your worship. P. Humph. O! good my lord, you have lost a friend, Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master indeed; Bardolph.-And welcome, my tall fellow. [To the And I dare swear, you borrow not that face Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit SHALLOW. Of seeming sorrow: it is, sure, your own. Fal. I 11 follow you, good master Robert Shallow. P. John. Though no man be assured what grace to Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt BARDOLPH and You stand in coldest expectation: [find, Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make I am the sorrier; 7would, t were otherwise. four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves as master Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff fair, Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the semblable Which swims against your stream of quality. coherence of his men's spirits and his: they, by observ- Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honour, ing him, do bear themselves like foolish justices; he, Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; by conversing with them, is turned into a justice-like And never shall you see, that I will beg serving man. Their spirits are so married in conjunc- A ragged and forestalld remission. tion with the participation of society, that they flock If truth and upright innocency fail me, together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had I 11 to the king, my master, that is dead, a suit to master Shallow, I would humour his men And tell him who hath sent me after him. with the imputation of being near their master: if to War. Here comes the prince. his men, I would curry with master Shallow, that no Enter King HENRY V. man could better command his servants. It is certain, Ch. Just. Good morrow, and heaven save your that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is caught, majesty! Warrants. 2 bitten: in folio. 3 I beseech you: in quato. 4 imperial: in folio. SCENE n. KING HENRY IV. 401 King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, Into the hands of justice." —You did commit me, Sits not so easy on me as you think.- For which, I do commit into your hand Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear: Th' unstained sword that you have used to bear; This is the English, not the Turkish court; With this remembrance,-that you use the same Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit, But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, As you have done'gainst me. There is my hand. For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you: You shall be as a father to my youth: Sorrow so royally in you appears, My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear, That I will deeply put the fashion on, And I will stoop and humble my intents And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad; To your well-practis'd, wise directions.But entertain no more of it, good brothers, And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you: Than a joint burden laid upon us all. My father is gone wild into his grave, For me, by heaven, I bid you be assurd, For in his tomb lie my affections I'l be your father and your brother too; And with his spirit sadly I survive, Let me but bear your love, I 11 bear your cares: To mock the expectation of the world, Yet weep, that Harry's dead, and so will I; To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears, Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down By number, into hours of happiness. After my seeming. The tide of blood in me P. John, Sc. We hope no other from your majesty. Hath proudly flowed in vanity till now: King. You all look strangely on me;-and you most. Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea, [To the Chief Justice. Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. And flow henceforth in formal majesty. Ch. Just. I am assurFd, if I be measurld rightly, Now, call we our high court of parliament, Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, King. No!That the great body of our state may go How might a prince of my great hopes forget In equal rank with the best governed nation; So great indignities you laid upon me? That war, or peace, or both at once, may be What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison As things acquainted and familiar to us, The immediate heir of England! Was this easy? In which you. father, shall have foremost hand.May this be washed in Lethe, and forgotten? [To the Lord Chief Justice. Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father; Our coronation done, we will accite, The image of his power lay then in me: As I before rememberd, all our state: And, in th' administration of his law And (God consigning to my good intents) Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say, Your highness pleased to forget my place, God shorten Harry's happy life one day. [Exeunt. The majesty and power of law and justice, SCENE I. lostershire. The Grden of The image of the king whom I presented, v n M I. D | SHALLOW'S House. And struck me in my very seat of judgment:S LOWs House. Whereon, as an offender to your father, Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the I gave bold way to my authority, Page, and DAVY. And did commit you. If the deed were ill, Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard; where, in Be you contented, wearing now the garland, an arbour, we will eat a last yearns pippin of my own To have a son set your decrees at nought; graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth.-Come, To pluck down justice from your awful bench; cousin Silence;-and then to bed. To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword Fal.'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, That guards the peace and safety of your person: and a rich. Nay, more; to spurn at your most royal image, Shal. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars And mock your workings in a second body. all, sir John:-marry. good air.-Spread, Davy; spread, Question your royal thoughts, make the ease yours, Davy; well said, Davy. Be now the father, and propose a son;:Fal. This Davy serves you fot good uses: he is your Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, serving-man, and your husband. See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd, varlet, sir John.-By the mass, I have drunk too much And then imagine me taking your part, sack at supper:-a good varlet. Now sit down, now And in your power soft silencing your son. sit down.-Come, cousin. After this cold considerance, sentence me; Sil. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a,-we shall And, as you are a king, speak in your state Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, [Singing. What I have done, that misbecame my place And praise heaven for the merry year; My person, or my liege's sovereignty. When flesh is cheap and females dear, King. You are right, justice; and you weigh this well. And lusty lads roam here and there, Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword; So merrily, And I do wish your honours may increase, And ever among so merrily. Till you do live to see a son of mine Fal. There's a merry heart!-Good master Silence, Offend you, and obey you, as I did. I'11 give you a health for that anon. So shall I live to speak my father's words:- Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. " Happy am I, that have a man so bold Davy. Sweet sir, sit;I 11 be with you anon:-most That dares do justice on my proper son; sweet sir, sit.-Master page, good master page, sit: And not less happy, having such a son, proface!' What you want in meat, we 711 have in drink. That would deliver up his greatness so But you must bear: the heart's all. [Exit. 1 A vord of uncertain origin, meaning " much good may it do you." 26 402 SECOND PART OF ACT v. Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph;-and my little And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, soldier there, be merry. And golden times. and happy news of price. Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife has all; [Singing. Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this For women are shrews, both short and tall: world. T is merry in hall, when beards wag all, Fist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base! And welcome merry shrove-tide. I speak of Africa, and golden joys. Be merry, be merry, c. Fal. 0 base Assyrian knight! what is thy news? Fal. I did not think master Silence had been a man Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. of this mettle. Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. Sil. Who I? I have been merry twice and once, ere now. Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? Re-enter DAVY. And shall good news be baffled? Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats' for you. Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. [Setting them before BARDOLPH. Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. Shal. Davy,- Pist. Why then, lament therefore. Davy. Your worship. —I ll be with you straight.- Shal. Give me pardon, sir — if, sir, you come with A cup of wine, sir? news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways, Sil. A cup of wine, that Is brisk and fine, [Singing. either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, And drink unto the leman mine; under the king, in some authority. And a merry heart lives long-a. Pist. Under which king, Bezonian!4 speak, or die. Fal. Well said, master Silence. Shal. Under king Harry. Sil. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet Pist. Harry the fourth? or fifth? of the night. Shal. Harry the fourth. Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. Pist. A foutra for thine office! Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come; Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom. Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth: Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou wantest When Pistol lies, do this; and fig5 me, like any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart.-Wel- The bragging Spaniard. come, my little tiny thief; and welcome, indeed, too.- Fal. What! is the old king dead? I'11 drink to master Bardolph, and to all the cavalieros Pist. As nail in door: the things I speak are just. about London. Fal. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse.-Master Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the Bard. An I might see you there, Davy,- land, It is thine.-Pistol, I will double-charge thee with Shal. By the mass, you'11 crack a quart together. dignities. Ha! will you not, master Bardolph? Bard. 0 joyful day!-I would not take a knightBard. Yea, sir, in a pottle pot. hood for my fortune. Shal. By God's leggins I thank thee.-The knave Pist. What! I do bring good news. will stick by thee, I can assure thee that: he will not Fal. Carry master Silence to bed.-Master Shallow, out; he is true bred. my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am fortune's Bard. And I'11 stick by him, sir. steward. Get on thy boots: we'11 ride all night.-0, Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: be sweet Pistol!-Away, Bardolph. [Exit BARD.]-Come, merry. [Knocking heard.] Look, who Is at the door Pistol, utter more to me; and, withal, devise somethere. Ho! who knocks? [Exit DAVY. thing, to do thyself good.-Boot, boot, master Shallow: Fal. Why, now you have done me right. I know, the young king is sick for me. Let us take [To SILENCE, who drinks a bumper. any man's horses; the laws of England are at my comSil. Do me right,2 [Singing. mandment. Happy are they which have been my And dub me knight: friends, and woe unto my lord chief justice! Samingo. Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! Is't.not so? " Where is the life that late I led0,7 say they; Fal.'T is so. Why, here it is: welcome this pleasant day!7 [Exeunt. Sil. Is It so? Why, then say, an old man can do SCENE IV.-London. A Street. somewhat. Re-enter DAVY. Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess QUICKLY, and DOLL Davy. An It please your worship, there's one Pistol TEAR-SHEET. come from the court with news. Host. No, thou arrant knave: I would to God I Fal. From the court? let him come in.- might die, that I might have thee hanged; thou hast Enter PISTOL. drawn my shoulder out of joint. How now, Pistol? 1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over to Pist. Sir John, God save you, sir. me, and she shall have whipping-cheer enough8. I Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? warrant her. There hath been a man or two lately Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man' to good. killed about her. Sweet knight, th' art now one of the greatest men Dol. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie; Come on: I'11 In the realm. tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an Sil. By'r lady, I think he be, but goodman Puff of the child I now go with do miscarry, thou hadst better Pist. Puff? [Barson. thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain. Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!- Host. 0 the Lord, that sir John were come! he Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I And helter-skelter have 1 rode to thee; pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry! I Russet apples. 2 A phrase used in drinking healths. 3 none: in folio. 4 A term of reproach, derived from the Italian bisogno, signifying " a fresh, needy soldier." 5 Insult, by putting the thumb between the fore and middle finger; fico, has the same signification. 6 This quotation is also made in " Taming of the Shrew." 7 these pleasant days: in f. e. s Not in the quarto. SCENE V. KING HENRY IV. 403 1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. again; you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you Ch. Just. Have you your wits? know you what't is both go with me, for the man is dead, that you and you speak? Pistol beat among you. Fal. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart! Dol. I ll tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer, I King. I know thee not, old man: fall to thy prayers; will have you as soundly swinged for this,-you blue- How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester! bottle rogue! you filthy famished correctioner! If I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, you be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles. So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; 1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. But, being awake, I do despise my dream. Host. 0 God, that right should thus overcome might! Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace; Well, of sufferance comes ease. Leave gormandizing; know, the grave doth gape Dol. Come, you rogue, come: bring me to a justice. For thee thrice wider than for other men, Host. Ay; come, you starved blood-hound. Reply not to me with a fool-born jest: Dol. Goodman death! goodman bones! Presume not that I am the thing I was; Host. Thou atomy thou. For God doth know, so shall the world perceive Dol. Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal! That I have turn'd away my former self: 1 Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. So will I those that kept me company. SCENE V-A public Ple nr We r A y. When thou dost hear I am as I have been, SCENE AV.-A public Place near Westminster Abbey. Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, Enter two Grooms, strewing Rushes. The tutor and the feeder of my riots: 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes! Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, 2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. As I have done the rest of my misleaders, 1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from Not to come near our person by ten mile. the coronation. Despatch, despatch. [Exeunt Grooms. For competence of life I will allow you, Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, PISTOL) BARDOLPH, and the That lack of means enforce you not to evil; Page. And as we hear you do reform yourselves, Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow; I We will, according to your strength and qualities, will make the king do you grace. I will leer upon him, Give you advancement.-Be it your charge, my lord, as he comes by, and do but mark the countenance that To see perform'd the tenor of our word.he will give me. Set on. [Exeunt KING and his Train. Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. Fal. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me.-[To Shal. Ay, marry, sir John; which I beseech you to SHALLOW.] 0! if I had had time to have made new let me have home with me. liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pound I Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not borrowed of you. But't is no matter; this poor show you grieve at this: I shall be sent for in private to doth better: this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. him. Look you, he must seem thus to the world. Shal. It doth so. Fear not your advancement; I will be the man yet Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. that shall make you great. Pist. It doth so. Shal. I cannot perceive how, unless you should give Fal. My devotion. me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I Pist. It doth, it doth, it doth. beseech you, good sir John, let me have five hundred Fal. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to of my thousand. deliberate not to remember, not to have patience to Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that shift me. you heard was but a colour. Shal. It is most certain. Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating Fal. Fear no colours: go with me to dinner. Come, with desire to see him: thinking of nothing else; lieutenant Pistol; —come, Bardolph.-I shall be sent putting all affairs else in oblivion, as if there were for soon at night. nothing else to be done but to see him. Re-enter Prince JOHN, the Chief Justice, Oficers, t'c. Pist.'T is semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est.'T is Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstaff to the Fleet. all in every part. Take all his company along with him. Shal.'T is so, indeed. Fal. My lord, my lord!Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy nobler liver, Ch. Just. I cannot now speak: I will hear you soon. And make thee rage. Take them away. Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts Pist. Se fortuna me tormenta, il sperare me contenta. Is in base durance, and contagious prison; [Exeunt FAL. SHAL. PIST. BARD. Page, and Officers. Haul'd thither P. John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's. By most mechanical and dirty hand:- [snake He hath intent, his wonted followers Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's Shall all be very well provided for; For Doll is in; Pistol speaks nought but truth. But all are banish'd, till their conversations Fal. I will deliver her. Appear more wise and modest to the world. [Shouts within, and trumpets sound. Ch. Just. And so they are. Pist. There roared the sea, and trumpet-clangor P. John. The king hath calld his parliament, my lord. sounds. Ch. Just. He hath. Enter KING and his Train, including the Chief Justice. P. John. I will lay odds, that, ere this year expire, Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal! my royal Hal! We bear our civil swords, and native fire, Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal As far as France. I heard a bird so sing, imp of fame! Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy! Come, will you hence? [Exeunt. 1 In the quarto ed., the king and his train here pass across the stage. 404 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT V. EPILOGUE, BY ONE THAT CAN DANCE.' First my fear, then my courtesy, last my speech. you command me to use my legs? and yet that were My fear is your displeasure, my courtesy my duty, and but light payment, to dance out of your debt; but a my speech to beg your pardons. If you look for a good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and good speech, now, you undo me; for what I have to so will I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven say, is of mine own making, and what indeed I should me; if the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do say, will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. But to not agree with the gentiewomen, which was never seen the purpose, and so to the venture.-Be it known to before in such an assembly. you) (as it is very well) I was lately here in the end of One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it, and to much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will promise you a better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you continue the story, with sir John in it, and make you with this; which, if, like an ill venture, it come un- merry with fair Katharine of France; where, for any luckily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors. thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already lose. Here, I promised you, I would be, and here I he be killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle commit my body to your mercies: bate me some, and died a martyr, and this is not the man. My tongue I will pay you some; and, as most debtors do, promise is weary; when my legs are too, I will bid you good you infinitely. night: and so kneel down before you; but. indeed, to If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me. will pray for the queen. [End with a dance. 1 These words are not in f. e. 2 Not in f, e KING HENRY V. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. PISTOL, NYM, BARDOLPH. DUKE OF GLOUCESTER t to the King. Bo Servant to them. A Herald. DUKE OF BEDFORD, j CHORUS. DUKE OF EXETER, Uncle to the King. CHARLES THE SIXTH, King of France. DUKE OF YORK, Cousin to the King. LEWIS, the Dauphin, EARLS OF SALISBURY) WESTMORELAND, and WAR- DUKES OF BURGUNDY, ORLEANS, and BOURBON. WICK. The CONSTABLE of FRANCE. ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. BISHOP OF ELY. RAMBURES, and GRANDPRE, French Lords. EARL OF CAMBRIDGE, MONTJOY. A French Herald. LORD SCROOP Conspirators. Governor of Harfleur. Ambassadors to England. SIR THOMAS GREY, SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, GOWER, FLUELLEN. ISABEL] Queen of France. MACMORRIS, JAMY, Officers in King Henry7s KATHARINE, Daughter of Charles and Isabel. army. ALICE, a Lady attending on the Princess. BATES, COURT, WILLIAMS, Soldiers. MRS. QUICKLY, a Hostess. Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. The SCENE in England, and in France. CHORUS. And let us, cyphers to this great accompt, Enter CHORUS, as Prologue.' On your imaginary forces work. 0, for a muse of fire, that would ascend Suppose, within the girdle of these walls The brightest heaven of invention! Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Into a thousand parts divide one man, Leashed in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, And make imaginary puissance: Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them The flat unraised spirit that hath dar'd, Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth For't is your thoughts that now must deck our kings, So great an object: can this cockpit hold Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times, The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Turning th' accomplishment of many years Within this wooden 02 the very casques, Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, That did affright the air at Agincourt? Admit me chorus to this history;! pardon, since a crooked figure may Who, prologue-like, your humble patience:pray, Attest in little place a million; Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.3 ACT I. Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? SCENE I. —London. An Antechamber in the King's Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against us, Palace. gWe lose the better half of our possessions; Enter the Archbishop of CANTERBURY, and Bishop of For all the temporal lands, which men devout ELY. By testament have given to the church, Cant. My lord, I'11 tell you, that self bill is urg'd, Would they strip from us being valued thus.Which in th' eleventh year of the last king's reign As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights, But that the scambling4 and unquiet time Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; Did push it out of farther question. And, to relief of lazars, and weak age, 1 The words, as Prologue: not in f. e. 2 The Globe Theatre, where the play was probably first acted. 3 All the choruses were first printed in the folio. 4 Scrambling. 406 KING HENRY V. ACT I. Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil, Did to his predecessors part withal. A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied; Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord? And to the coffers of the king beside, Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty; A thousand pounds by the year. Thus runs the bill. Save, that there was not time enough to hear Ely. This would drink deep. (As, I pelceiv'd, his grace would fain have done) Cant.'T would drink the cup and all. The severals, and unhidden passages Ely. But what prevention? Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms, Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard. And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. Ely. What was th' impediment that broke this off? The breath no sooner left his father's body, Cant. The French ambassador upon that instant But that his wildness, mortified in him Crav'd audience; and the hour, I think, is come, Seem'd to die too: yea, at that very moment, To give him hearing. Is it four o'clock? Consideration like an angel came, Ely. It is. And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy, Leaving his body as a paradise, Which I could with a ready guess declare, T' envelop and contain celestial spirits. Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. Never was such a sudden scholar made: Ely. I'11 wait upon you, and I long to hear it. [Exetnt. Never came reformation in a flood Never came reformation in a flood, faultSCENE II.-The Same. A Room of State in the Same. With such a heady current,1 scouring faults Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness Enter King HENRY~ GLOSTER, BEDFORD) EXETER, So soon did lose his seat, and all at once, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants. As in this king. K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury? Ely. We are blessed in the change. Exe. Not here in presence. Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. And, all-admiring, with an inward wish West. Shall we call the ambassador, my liege?2 You would desire the king were made a prelate: K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolv'd, Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs Before we hear him, of some things of weight, You would say, it hath been all-in-all his study: That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. List his discourse of war, and you shall hear Enter the Archbishop of CANTERBURY, and Bishop of A fearful battle rendered you in music: ELY. Turn him to any cause of policy, Cant. God, and his angels, guard your sacred throne, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, And make you long become it! Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, My learned lord, we pray you to proceed, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, And justly and religiously unfold, To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences; Why the law Salique, that they have in France, So that the art and practice part of life Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. Must be the mistress to this theoric: And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Since his addiction was to courses vain; Or nicely charge your understanding soul, His companies unlettered rude, and shallow: With opening titles miscreate, whose right His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports; Suits not in native colours with the truth; And never noted in him any study, For God doth know, how many, now in health, Any retirement, any sequestration Shall drop their blood in approbation From open haunts and popularity. Of what your reverence shall incite us to. Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, Therefore, take heed how you impawn our person, And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, How you awake our sleeping sword of war: Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality: We charge you in the name of God, take heed; And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation For never two such kingdoms did contend, Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Are every one a woe, a sore complaint, Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty.'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the swords Cant. It must be so; for miracles are ceas'd, That make such waste in brief mortality. And therefore we must needs admit the means, Under this conjuration, speak, my lord, How things are perfected. And we will hear, note, and believe in heart, Ely. But, my good lord, That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd, How now for mitigation of this bill As pure as sin with baptism. Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you Incline to it, or no? peers, Cant. He seems indifferent, That owe yourselves, your lives, and services, Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, To this imperial throne.-There is no bar Than cherishing th' exhibiters against us;To make against your highness7 claim to France, For I have made an offer to his majesty- But this, which they produce from Pharamond,Upon our spiritual convocation, In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant. And in regard of causes now in hand, "No woman shall succeed in Salique land." Which I have open'd to his grace at large, Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze, As touching France,-to give a greater sum To be the realm of France and Pharamond Than ever at one time the clergy yet The founder of this law, and female bar: 1 So the second folio; the first: currence. 2 In the quartos, the play commences here. SCENE II. KING HENRY V. 407 Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, 0 noble English! that could entertain That the land Salique is in Germany, With half their forces the full pride of France, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; And let another half stand laughing by, Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, All out of work, and cold for action. There left behind and settled certain French; Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, Who, holding in disdain the German women And with your puissant arm renew their feats. For some dishonest manners of their life, You are their heir, you sit upon their throne; Established then this law;-to wit, no female The blood and courage, that renowned them, Should be inheritrix in Salique land: Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege Which Salique, as I said,'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen. Ripe for exploits, and mighty enterprises. Then doth it well appear, the Salique law Exe. Your brother kings, and monarchs of the earth, Was not devised for the realm of France; Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, Nor did the French possess the Salique land As did the former lions of your blood. Until four hundred one and twenty years West. They know your grace hath cause, and means, After defunction of king Pharamond, and might: Idly supposed the founder of this law; So hath your highness:-never king of England Who died within the year of our redemption Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects, Four hundred twenty-six, and Charles the great Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, Subdued the Saxons, and did- eat the French And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. Beyond the river Sala in the year Cant. O! let their bodies follow, my dear liege, Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right: King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty Did, as heir general, being descended Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair, As never did the clergy at one time Make claim and title to the crown of France. Bring in to any of your ancestors. Hugh Capet also,-who usurp'd the crown K. Hen. We must not only arm t' invade the French, Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male But lay down our proportions to defend Of the true line and stock of Charles the great,- Against the Scot; who will make road upon us To found1 his title with some shows of truth With all advantages. Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught Cant. They of those marches, gracious sovereign, Convey'd himself as th' heir to the lady Lingare, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son Our inland from the pilfering borderers. To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth, only, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Who hath been still a greedy3 neighbour to us: Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied For you shall read, that my great grandfather That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, Never went with his forces into France, Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, But that the Scot on his unfurnished kingdom Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain: Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, By the which marriage the line of Charles the great With ample and brim fulness of his force; Was reunited to the crown of France. Galling the gleaned land with hot essays, So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, That England, being empty of defence, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear Hath shook, and trembled at th' ill neighbourhood. To hold in right and title of the female. Cant. She hath been then more feared than harm'd, So do the kirgs of France unto this day; my liege; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, For hear her but exampled by herself: To bar your highness claiming from the female; When all her chivalry hath been in France, And rather choose to hide them in a net, And she a mourning widow of her nobles, Than amply to imbare2 their crooked titles She hath herself not only well defended, Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. But taken, and impounded as a stray, K. Hen. May I with right and conscience make this The king of Scots; whom she did send to France, claim? To fill king Edward's train' with prisoner kings, Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign; And make their5 chronicle as rich with praise, For in the book of Numbers is it writ, As is the ooze and bottom of the sea When the man dies, let the inheritance With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, West. But there's a saying, very old and true,Stand for your own: unwind your bloody flag; If that you will France win, Look back into your mighty ancestors: Then with Scotland first begin:" Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb, For once the eagle, England, being in prey, From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, To her unguarded nest the weasel, Scot, And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince, Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs; Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, Making defeat on the full power of France,, To tear and havoc more than she can eat. Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home: Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp Yet that is not6 a crush'd necessity, Forage in blood of French nobility. Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries;;find: in f e. 2 imbar: in folio. 3 giddy: in f. e. 4 fame: in f. e. 6 your: in quarto. 6 but: in f. e. 408 KING HENRY Y. ACT I. And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. Unto whose grace our passion is as subject, While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons; Th' advised head defends itself at home: Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness, For government, though high, and low, and lower, Tell us the Dauphin's mind. Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, Amb. Thus then, in few. Congreeing in a full and natural close, Your highness, lately sending into France, Like music. Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide Of your great predecessor, Edward third. The state of man in divers functions, In answer of which claim, the prince our master Setting endeavour in continual motion; Says, that you savour too much of your youth, To which is fixed, as an aim or butt And bids you be advised, there Is nought in France Obedience: for so work the honey bees, That can be with a nimble galliard won: Creatures that by a rule in nature teach You cannot revel into dukedoms there. The art of order to a peopled kingdom: He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, They have a king, and officers of state;' This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, [Showing it.' Where some, like magistrates, correct at home Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings K. Hen. What treasure. uncle? Make boot upon the summer s velvet buds; Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. [Opening it.4 Which pillage they with merry march bring home K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant To the tent-royal of their emperor: with us. Who, busied in his majesty, surveys His present, and your pains, we thank you for: The singing masons building roofs of gold, When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler, The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, That all the courts of France will be disturbed Delivering o'er to executors pale With chases.5 And we understand him well, The lazy yawning drone. I this infer- How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, That many things, having full reference Not measuring what use we made of them. To one consent, may work contrariously; We never valu'd this poor seat of England, As many arrows, loosed several ways, And therefore, living hence, did give ourself Come to one mark; as many ways unite; To barbarous license; as't is ever common, As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; That men are merriest when they are from home. As many lines close in the dial's center: But tell the Dauphin,-I will keep my state; So may a thousand actions, once afoot, Be like a king, and show my soul6 of greatness, End in one purpose, and be all well borne When I do rouse me in my throne of France: Without defeat. Therefore, to France, my liege. For here I have laid by my majesty, Divide your happy England into four; And plodded like a man for working days, Whereof take you one quarter into France, But I will rise there with so full a glory, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, If we, with thrice such powers left at home, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, And tell the pleasant prince, this mock of his Let us be worried, and our nation lose Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones;7 and his soul The name of hardiness, and policy. Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the Dau- That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows phin. [Exit an Attendant. Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Now are we well resolv'd: and, by God's help, Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down, And yours, the noble sinews of our power, And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. Or break it all to pieces: or there we'11 sit, But this lies all within the will of God, Ruling in large and ample empery, To whom I do appeal; and in whose name, O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on, Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, To venge me as I may, and to put forth Tombless, with no remembrance over them: My rightful hand in a well hallow'd cause. Either our history shall, with a full mouth, So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin, Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, His jest will savour but of shallow wit, Like Turkish mute shall have a tongueless mouth, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.Not worshippfd with a waxen epitaph. Convey them with safe conduct.-Fare you well. Enter Ambassadors of France. [Exeunt Ambassadors. Now are we well preparld to know the pleasure Exe. This was a merry message. Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for, we hear, K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. Your greeting is from him, not from the king. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour, Amb. May't please your majesty, to give us leave That may give furtherance to our expedition; Freely to render what we have in charge; For we have now no thought in us but France, Or shall we sparingly show you far off Save those to God, that run before our business. The Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy? Therefore, let our proportions for these wars K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king, Be soon collected, and all things thought upon, 1 sorts: in f. e. 2 as many ways meet in one town: in f. e. 3 4 Not in f. e. 5 A match at tennis, in which the struggle consists in seeing who will keep up the ball the longest. 6 sail: in f. e. 7 Cannon balls were, at first, of stone. 1il ii! ____ Ii i~iUT i, i L ~ ~ ~ 1/,.~ )i~~. i-iY:~~ ~,.~.....,,,,M, ). Henry V nct H. c ne.....:~ii, iI Z i L'-q I t: ri'~' lli.~ i, i i1\ j i -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ l~~~~ i'`~~~~~~~~~i= 7 ij J. I, i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"'~ la I~~~~~~~i:ilI: Iii; i'''~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~;~ 1 ~ il NYMI 15ARDIOLP11, PISTI'OL AND Mk6. QUiCKIAk. Henry V. Act I]. S.ce-ne I. SCENE I. KING HENRY V. 409 That may with seasonable' swiftness add Therefore, let every man now task his thought, More feathers to our wings; for, God before, That this fair action may on foot be brought. We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. [Exeunt. ACT II. Enzter aC~HOREUS ~Nym.'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that Is the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: it. Now strive2 the armourers, and honour's thought Bard. It is certain. corporal, that he is married to Reigns solely in the breast of every man. Nell Quickly; and, certainly, she did you wrong, for They sell the pasture now to buy the horse; you were troth-plight to her. Following the mirror of all Christian kings, Nym. I cannot tell: things must be as they may: With winged heels, as English mercuries: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about For now sits Expectation in the air; them at that time, and some say knives have edges. It And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, must be as it may: though patience be a tired jade6 With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, Promis'd to Harry and his followers. I cannot tell. The French, advis'd by good intelligence Enter PISTOL and Mrs. QUICKLY. Of this most dreadful preparation, Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife.Shake in their fear, and with pale policy Good corporal, be patient here.-How now, mine host Seek to divert the English purposes. Pistol? O England! model to thine inward greatness, Pist. Base tike7, call'st thou me host? Like little body with a mighty heart, Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term; What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Were all thy children kind and natural. Quick. No, by my troth, not long: for we cannot But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will With treacherous crowns, and three corrupted men, be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight. [NYMi One, Richard earl of Cambridge, and the second, draws his sword.] O well-a-day, lady! if he be not Henry lord Scroop of Marsham, and the third, hewn8 now!-we shall see wilful adultery and murder Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland, committed. Have, for the gilt of France, (O guilt, indeed!) Bard. Good lieutenant9-good corporal, offer nothing Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France: here. And by their hands this grace of kings must die, Nym. Pish! If hell and treason hold their promises, Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog; thou prick-eared Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. cur of Iceland! [Draws his sword.~ Linger your patience on; and well digest Quick. Good corporal Nym, show thy valour, and Th' abuse of distance. and so' force a play. put up your sword. The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; Nym. Will you shog" off? I would have you solus.l The king is set from London; and the scene Pist. Solus, egregious dog? 0 viper vile Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton. The solus in thy most marvellous face; There is the playhouse now, there must you sit, The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat. And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy; And bring you back; charming the narrow seas And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, I do retort the solus in thy bowels: We 11 not offend one stomach with our play. For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, But, till the king come forth, and not till then, And flashing fire will follow. Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. Nym. I am not Barbason13; you cannot conjure me. SCENE I.-London. Eastcheap. have an humour to knock you indifferently well. If SC:ENE I.-London. Easteheap. you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with Enter Nvm and BARDOLPH., 1,lI will scour you with nter NY and BARDOLPH. my rapier, as [ may, in fair terms: if you would walk Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. I may; and that Is the humour of it. Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet? Pist. 0 braggart vile, and damned furious wight! Nym. For my part I care not: I say little; but The grave doth gape, and doating death is near; when time shall serve, there shall be smites;-but Therefore exhale.'4 that shall be as it may. I dare not fight: but I will Bard. Hear me; hear me what I say:-he that wink, and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one; but strikes the first stroke, I'11 run him up to the hilts, as what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure I am a soldier. [Draws. cold as another man's sword will; and there Is an end.5 Pist. An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate, Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends, Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give; and we'11 be all three sworn brothers to France: let it Thy spirits are most tall.'5 be so, good corporal Nym. [PISTOL and NYM sheathe their swords.'6 1 reasonable: in f. e. 2 thrive: in f. e. 3 The words " and so": not in f. e. 4 smiles: in f. e. 5 and there's the humour of it: in quarto. 6 mare: in f. e. 7 A common dog, a mongrel. 8 Dyce reads: drawn. 9 These words are usually transferred to the close of the preceding speech-with the superfluous addition of the word. Bardolph. 10 Not in f. e. 1 jog: in f. e. 12 f e. here give the stage direction: Sheathing his sword. 13 The name of a fiend. 14 f. e. here give the direction: PISTOL and NYM draw. 15 Valiant. i6 Not in f.e. 410 KING HENRY V. ACT It. Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair SCENE II.Southampton. A Council-Chamber. terms; that is the humour of it. SCENE Southmpton. Fist Coupe le gorge, that's the word?-I defy thee Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND. again. Bed.'Fore God, his grace is bold to trust these traitors. 0 hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. No; to the spital go, West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves, And from the powdering tub of infamy As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse: Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly By interception which they dream not of. For the only she; and —auca, there Is enough.1 Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow7, Enter the Boy. Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours: That he should. for- a foreign purse so sell Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, That he shoulds for a to deah and trea sell His sovereh~n's life to death and treachery and your2 hostess.-He is very sick, and would to bed. upes d. Eter 2n i cn;, +.,? z r. 1 OTrumpets sound. Enter King HENRY, SCROOP, CAM-Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets. B n AG Lo BRIDGE. GREY~ Lords, and Attendants. and do the office of a warming-pan:'faith, he's very H. Ne d aoa i K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. Bard. Away, you rogue. My lord of Cambridge-and my kind lord of M-rBard. Away, you rogue. Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding And you y gentle knihtive me your touhts one of these days: the king has killed his heart.- y the p e e r -th us Think you not, that the powers we bear with us Good husband, come home presently. Good husband, come home presently. Will cut their passage through the force of France, Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends oWe Doing the execution, and the act, I make you two friends? WeFor which we have in head assembled them? must to France together. Why, the devil, should we k eep nves to cut one another's throae dev, s d Scroop. No doubt, my liege. if each man do his best. keep knives to cut one another s throats? keep knives to cut one Another's throats? K. Hen. I doubt not that: since we are well persuaded, Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on K Hen I doubt not that snce we re wel suaded I. * * * T * We carry not a heart with us firom hence. Nym. You 11 pay me the eight shillings I won of you That grw not in a fai r conset with ours at?tf'= D That grows not in a fair consent with ours; Pist. Base is the slave that payNor leave not one behind, that doth not wish raAT. *. *.SucceRs and conquest to attend on us. Nym. That now I will have that's the humour of it. uccess and conest to attend on us. Fist. As manhood shall compound. Push ho. PCam. Never was monarch better fear'd, and lov'd, Pist. As manhood shall compound. Push home.'.., [Draw again. Than is your majesty: there's not a subject, Bard. By thissword tmakes the f sThat sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Bad. By this sword he that first thrust Under the sweet shade of your government.'11 kill him; by this sword, I will. a. 7.. Grey. True: those that were your father s enemies Fist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their Gre. e: those that were your father's enemies ~course.' Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve you course. With hearts create of duty and of zeal. [fulness, Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be e We therefre of duat c e of zeal. ln friends: an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with K. nhrfore hae cae n me too. Pr'ythee, put up And shall forget the office of our hand me too. Prrythee- put up. D 7 Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of you Sooner than quittance of desert and merit, ~at betting?-~ ~ ~ IAccording to the weight and worthiness. at betting?I ist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, Pist. A noble shalt thou have and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee And labour shall refresh itself with hope, I w.. 1'..To do your grace incessant services. And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: To do your gre ineesant services I'11 live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me.- K H e udge of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday Is not this just? for I shall sutler be Enlargethe ma commtted y Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. That rail'd against our person: we consider Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. I Sheahes his sword.75 It was excess of wine that set him on; Give me thy hand. eaesAnd, on ours more advice we pardon him. Nym. I shall have my noble? Scroop. That Is mercy, but too much security: Fist. In cash most justly paid. Let him be punish'd, sovereign; lest example TNym. Well the, that's the humour of it. Breed by his sufferance more of such a kind. lym. Well then, that s the humour of it.. They shake hands0 6 K. Hen. 0! let us yet be merciful, my lord. Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. R1e-enter Mrs. QUICKLY. Grey. You show great mercy, if you give him life Quici As ever you come of women, come in quickly After the taste of much correction. to sir John. A.h, poor heart! he is so shaked of a K. Hen. Alas! your too much love and care of me burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to Are heavy orisons 7gainst this poor wretch behold. Sweet men, come to him. If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the knight, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, that's the even of it. When capital crimes, chew'd, swallowe'd and digested, Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; Appear before us?-We'11 yet enlarge that man, His heart is fracted and corroborate. Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care, Nym. The king is a good king; but it must be as it And tender preservation of our person, may: he passes some humours, and careers. Would have him punish'd. And now to our French Pist. Let us condole the knight. for lambkins we causes: will live. [Exeunt. Who are the states commissioners? Cam. I one, my lord: 1 The folio adds: to. go to; which mod. eds. usually print: go to. 2 you, seems a better reading. s Draws: in f. o. 4 This speech is only in the quarto. 5 6 Not in f. e. 7 The practice here alluded to, seems to have been not unusual. 8 his: in f. e. 9 late: in f. e. SCENE rn. KING HENRY V. 411 Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned? Scroop. So did you me, my liege. Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge there is Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet; yours;- Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger; There yours, lord Scroop of Marsham:-and, sir knight, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood; Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:- Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement; Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.- Not working with the eye without the ear, [They read and start.' And but in purged judgment trusting neither? My lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem; We will aboard to-night.-Why, how now, gentlemen And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, What see you in those papers, that you lose To mark3 the full-fraught man, and best indued. So much complexion?-look ye, how they change: With some suspicion. I will weep for thee, Their cheeks are paper.-Why, what read you there, For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood Another fall of man. —Their faults are open; Out of appearance? Arrest them to the answer of the law, Cam. I do confess my fault, And God acquit them of their practices. And do submit me to your highness' mercy, Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. Richard earl of Cambridge. K. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us but late, I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry, By your own counsel is suppressed and kill'd: lord Scroop, of Marsham. You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas For your own reasons turn int: your bosoms, Grey, knight of Northumberland. As dogs upon their masters, worrying you2.- Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discoverd, See you, my princes, and my noble peers, And I repent my fault more than my death; These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge here,- Which I beseech your highness to forgive, You know, how apt our love was to accord Although my body pay the price of it. To furnish him with all appertinents Cam. For me,-the gold of France did not seduce, Belonging to his honour; and this man Although I did admit it as a motive, Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd, The sooner to effect what I intended: And sworn unto the practices of France, But God be thanked for prevention; To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Beseeching God and you to pardon me. Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn.-But 0! Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop? thou cruel, At the discovery of most dangerous treason, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, Prevented from a damned enterprise. That knew'st the very bottom of my soul My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use? sentence. May it be possible, that foreign hire You have conspir'd against our royal person, Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, Join'd with an enemy proclaimed, and from his coffers That might annoy my finger?'t is so strange, Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; That, though the truth of it stands off as gross Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. His princes and his peers to servitude. Treason and murder ever kept together, His subjects to oppression and contempt, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, And his whole kingdom unto desolation. Working so grossly in a natural course Touching our person, seek we no revenge; That admiration did not whoop at them: But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, But thou, 7gainst all proportion, didst bring in Whose ruin you have' sought, that to her laws Wonder to wait on treason, and on murder: We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, Poor miserable wretches, to your death; That wrought upon thee so preposterously, The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you Hath got the voice in hell for excellence, Patience to endure, and true repentance And other devils, that suggest by treasons Of all your dear offences.-Bear them hence. Do botch and bungle up damnation [Exeunt Conspirators, guarded. With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetch'd Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof From glistering semblances of piety: Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Since God so graciously hath brought to light Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. This dangerous treason, lurking in our way If that same demon, that hath gull'd thee thus To hinder our beginnings: we doubt not now, Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, But every rub is smoothed on our way. He might return to vasty Tartar back, Then, forth; dear countrymen: let us deliver And tell the legions-I can never win Our puissance into the hand of God, A soul so easy as that Englishman's. Putting it straight in expedition. 0, how hast thou with jealousy infected Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? No king of England, if not king of France. [Exeunt. 1 Not in f. e. 2 them: in quarto. 3 make: in folio. Theobald changed the word. 4 The quartos have no trace of this, or the thirtyseven previous lines. 5 from the quarto. 412 KING HENRY V. ACT I. SCENE III.-London. Mrs. Quickly's House, in SCENE IV.-France. A Room in the French Eastcheap. King's Palace. Enter PISTOL, Mrs. QUICKLY, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy. Flourish. Enter the French King attended; the DauQuick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring phin, the Duke of BURGUNDY, the Constable, and thee to Staines. Others. Pist. No; for my manly heart doth yearn.- Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power Bardolph, be blythe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins; upon us, Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, And more than carefully it us concerns, And we must yearn therefore. To answer royally in our defences. Bard.'Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, either in heaven, or in hell. Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, Quick. Nay, sure, he Is not in hell: he's in Arthur's And you, prince Dauphin, with all swift despatch, bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom.'A made To line, and new repair, our towns of war a fine end and went away, an it had been any christom With men of courage, and with means defendant: child;' a parted ev'n just between twelve and one, ev'n For England his approaches makes as fierce, at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble As waters to the sucking of a gulph. with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon It fits us, then, to be as provident his finger's end, I knew there was but one way; for his As fear may teach us, out of late examples nose was as sharp as a pen on a table of green frieze.2 Left by the fatal and neglected English How now, sir John? quoth I: what, man! be of good Upon our fields. cheer. So'a cried out-God, God, God! three or four Dau. My most redoubted father, times: now I, to comfort him, bid him, a should not It is most meet we arm us'gainst the foe; think of God; I hoped, there was no need to trouble For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, himself with any such thoughts yet. So,'a bade me (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in question) lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the But that defences, musters, preparations. bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; Should be maintained, assembled, and collected, then I felt to his knees, and so upward, and upward, As were a war in expectation. and all was as cold as any stone. Therefore, I say,'t is meet we all go forth, Nym. They say hle cried out of sack. To view the sick and feeble parts of France; Quick. Ay, that'a did. And let us do it with no show of fear; Bard. And of women. No, with no more, than if we heard that England Quick. Nay, that'a did not. Were busied with a Whitsun morris dance: Boy. Yes, that'a did; and said, they were devils For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, incarnate. Her sceptre so fantastically borne Quick.'A could never abide carnation; It was a By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, colour he never liked. That fear attends her not. Boy.'A said once, the devil would have him about Con. 0 peace, prince Dauphin! women. You are too much mistaken in this king. Quick.'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women: Question your grace the late ambassadors, but then he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of With what great state he heard their embassy, Babylon. How well supplied with noble counsellors, Boy. Do you not remember, la saw a flea stick upon How modest in exception, and, withal, Bardolph's nose, and'a said it was a black soul burn- How terrible in constant resolution, ing in hell? And you shall find, his vanities forespent Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, fire: that's all the riches I got in his service. Covering discretion with a coat of folly; Nym. Shall we shog.? the king will be gone from As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots Southampton. That shall first spring, and be most delicate. Pist. Come, let's away.-My love, give me thy lips. Dau. Well,'t is not so, my lord high constable; Look to my chattels, and my moveables: But though we think it so, it is no matter: Let senses rule; the word is, "Pitch and pay;" In cases of defence, t is best to weigh Trust none; The enemy more mighty than he seems, For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, So the proportions of defence are filld; And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck: Which, of a weak and niggardly projection, Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. Doth like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting Go, clear thy crystals.-Yoke-fellows in arms, A little cloth. Let us to France: like horse-leeches, my boys, Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong; To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet him. Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us, Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. And he is bred out of that bloody strain, Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. That haunted us in our familiar paths: Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but Witness our too much memorable shame, adieu. [command. When Cressy battle fatally was struck, Pist. Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee And all our princes captiv'd by the hand Quick. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt. Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales; 1 The chrisom, was a white cloth placed upon the head of a child after it was anointed with the chrism, or sacred oil. The name was afterwards given to the white cloth in which the child was wrapped at the ceremony, and which was used as its shroud, if it died within a month of its birth. Children so dying were called Chrisoms, in the old bills of mortality. 2 The old copies read: a table of green fields; v'hich Theobald conjecturally altered to, "'a babbled of green fields." SCENE I. KING HENRY V. 413 Whilst that his mightyl sire, on mountain standing, I n thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove, Up in the air, crowned with the golden sun, That, if requiring fail, he will compel: Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him, And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Mangle the work of nature, and deface Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy The patterns that by God, and by French fathers, On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Of that victorious stock; and let us fear Turning the widows) tears, the orphans' cries, The native mightiness and fate of him. The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, Enter a Messenger. For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, MIess. Ambassadors from Harry King of England That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. Do crave admittance to your majesty. This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message; Fr. King. We 711 give them present audience. Go,Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, and bring them. To whom expressly I bring greeting too. [Exeunt Mess. and certain Lords. Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this farther: You see, this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Back to our brother of England. Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to Dau. For the Dauphin, threaten I stand here for him: what to him from England? Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Exe. Scorn, and defiance, slight regard, contempt, Take up the English short, and let them know And any thing that may not misbecome Of what a monarchy you are the head: The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin Thus says my king: and, if your father's highness As self-neglecting. Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Re-enter Lords, with EXETER and Train. Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, Fr. King. From our brother of England? He'11 call you to so hot an answer of it, Exe. From him; and thus he greets your majesty. That caves and womby vaultages of France He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock That you divest yourself, and lay apart In second accent of his ordinance. The borrowed glories, that by gift of heaven, Dau. Say, if my father render fair return, By law of nature, and of nations, long It is against my will; for I desire To him, and to his heirs; namely, the crown, Nothing but odds with England: to that end, And all wide-stretched honours that pertain As matching to his youth and vanity, By custom and the ordinance of times, I did present him with the Paris balls. Unto the crown of France. That you may know, Exe. He'11 make your Paris Louvre shake for it,'T is no sinister, nor no awkward claim, Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe. Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, And, be assurd, you'11 find a difference, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, As we his subjects have in wonder found, He sends you this most memorable line, Between the promise of his greener days, [Giving a pedigree. And these he masters now. Now he weighs time, In every branch truly demonstrative; Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read Willing you overlook this pedigree, In your own losses, if he stay in France. And when you find him evenly derived Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. From his most famed of famous ancestors, Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king Edward the third, he bids you then resign Come here himself to question our delay, Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held For he is footed in this land already. From him, the native and true challenger. Fr. King. You shall be soon despatched with fair Fr. King. Or else what follows? conditions. Exe. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown A night is but small breath, aqd little pause, Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: To answer matters of this consequence. Therefore, ih fierce tempest is he coming, [Flourish. Exeunt. ACT III. Enter CuonUS. ~Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge. 0! do but think, Chor. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, You stand upon the rivage and behold In motion of no less celerity A city on th' inconstant billows dancing; Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen For so appears this fleet majestical, The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow follow! Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy; With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning: And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Play with your fancies, and in them behold Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing Either past, or not arrived to, pith and puissance: Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd To sounds confus'd: behold the threaden sails, With one appearing hair, that will not follow Blown2 with th' invisible and creeping wind, These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? 1 mountain: in f. e. 2 Borne: in f. e. 414 KING HENRY V. ACT In. Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege: And sword and shield, Behold the ordnance on their carriages, In bloody field, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur, Do7 win immortal fame. Suppose, th' ambassador from the French comes back: Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in London! I Tells Harry that the king doth offer him would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, Pist. And I: Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. If wishes would prevail with me, The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner My purpose should not fail with me, With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, But thither would I now.8 [Alarum; and Chambers' go off. Boy. And9 as duly, And down goes all before them. Still be kind, But not as truly, And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. As bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELLEN. SCENE I.-France. Before Harfleur. Enter FLUELLEN. SCENE. ance. Before Harfiur. Flu. Up to the preach, you dogs! avaunt, you culAlarums. Enter King HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, lions! [Driving them forward. GLOSTER, and Soldiers, with Scaling Ladders. Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould! K. Hen.2 Once more unto the breach, dear friends, Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage; once more; Abate thy rage, great duke! Or close the wall up with our English dead! Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! In peace, there Is nothing so becomes a man, Nym. These be good humours!-your honour wins As modest stillness, and humility; bad humours. But when the blast of war blows in our ears, [FLUELLEN drives out NYM, PISTOL, and BARDOLPHI.1 Then imitate the action of the tiger: Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these three Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, swashers. I am boy to them all three, but all they Disguise fair nature with hard-favourld rage: three, though they would serve me, could not be man Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; to me; for, indeed, three such antics do not amount to Let it pry through the portage of the head, a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered, and redLike the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it, faced; by the means whereof,'a faces it out, but fights As fearfully, as doth a galled rock not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, sword; by the means whereof 7a breaks words, and Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard, that Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; men of few words are the best men; and therefore he Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit scorns to say his prayers, lest'a should be thought a To his full height! —On on, you noblest3 English! coward: but his few bad words are match'd with as Whose blood is fet4 from fathers of war-proof, few good deeds; for'a never broke any man's head Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, but his own, and that was against a post when he was Have in these parts from morn till even fought drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. Bardolph stole a lute-case; bore it twelve leagues, and Dishonour not your mothers: now attest, sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a Be copy now to men of grosser blood, fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men And teach themhow to war.-And you, good yeomen, would carry coals." They would have me as familiar Whose limbs were made in England, show us here with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handkerThe mettle of your pasture: let us swear chiefs: which makes much against my manheod, if I That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not, should take from another's pocket, to put into mine, For there is none of you' so mean and base, for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. them, and seek some better service: their villainy goes I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: up. [Exit. Follow your spirit; and upon this charge, Re-enter FLUELLEN, GowER following. Cry-God for Harry! England! and Saint George! Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to [Exeunt. Alarum, and Chambers go off. the mines: the duke of Gloster would speak with you. SCENE II.-The Same. Flu. To the mines? tell you the duke, it is not so ces ps over t e N P good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is Forces pass over; then enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL ot according to the disciplines of the war: the conand Boy. cavities of it is not sufficient: for, look you, th' athverBard. On, on, on, on bn! to the breach, to the sary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you) is digged breach! himself four yards under the countermines. By Cheshu, Nym. Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too I think,'a will plow up all, if there is not better dihot; and for mine own part, I have not a case of5 rections. lives; the humour of it is too hot, that is the very Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the plain-song of it. siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman; a Pist. The plain song is most just, for humours do very valiant gentleman, i' faith. abound; Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not? Knocks go and come, Gow. I think it be. To all and some6 Flu. By Cheshu. he is an ass, as in the world. I will God's vassals feel the same; verify as much in his peard: he has no more directions I Small pieces of ordnance. 2 This speech is not found in the quartos. 3 Knight reads: noblesse. The first folio has: noblish. 4 Fetched. 5 Pair. 6 This line is not in f. e.; the preceding and following line are usually given as one. 7 doth: in f. e. 8 hie: in f. e. 9 This word is not in f. e. t1 Exeunt NYM, &o., followed by FLUELLEN: in f. e. 11 This seems to have been a low, menial office. SCENE IV. KING HENRY V. 415 in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. SCENE III.-The Same. Before the Gates of Harfleur. Enter MACMORR at a nter s JA at a distance. ter King HENRY, his Train and Forces. The Gow. Here la comes; and the Scots captain, cap- Governor and some Citizens on the Walls. tain Jamy, with him. K. lien. How yet resolves the governor of the town? Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentle- This is the latest parle we will admit: man, that is certain; and of great expedition, and know- Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves ledge in the ancient wars, upon my particular knowledge Or, like to men proud of destruction, of his directions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argu- Defy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier. ment as well as any military man in the world, in the A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. If I begin the battery once again, Jamy. I say, gude day, captain Fluellen. I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain James. Till in her ashes she lie buried. Gow. How now, captain Macmorris! have you quit The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? And the fleshed soldier, rough and hard of heart, Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done: the work ish give In liberty of bloody hand shall range over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, I With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it Your fresh fair virgins, and your flowering infants. ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so What is it then to me, if impious war, Chrish save me, la, in an hour. 0! tish ill done, tish Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, ill done; by my hand, tish ill done. Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now will you Enlink'd to waste and desolation? vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, What is It to me, when you yourselves are cause, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the If your pure maidens fall into the hand wars, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look Of hot and forcing violation? you, and friendly communication; partly, to satisfy my What rein can hold licentious wickedness, opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, look you, of When down the hill he holds his fierce career? my mind, as touching the direction of the military dis- We may as bootless spend our vain command cipline: that is the point. Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil, Jamy. It sail be very gude, gude feith, gude captains As send precepts to the Leviathan bath: and [ sail quit' you with gude leve, as I may To come ashore. Therefore, you men of IIarflcur, pick occasion; that sail I, marry. Take pity of your town, and of your people, 1Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; The day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace king, and the dukes; it is no time to discourse. The O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds town is beseeched, and the trumpet calls us to the Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy. breach, and we talk, and, by Chrish, do nothing:'t is If not, why, in a moment look to see shame for us all; so God sa' me,'t is shame to stand The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters: be cut, and works to be done, and there ish nothing Your fathers taken by the silver beards done, so Chrish sal me, la. And their most reverend heads dashed to the walls; Jamy. By the mess, ere these eyes of mine take Your naked infants spitted upon pikes themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death: and aile Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry pay it as valorously as I may, that sail I surely do, that At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. is the brief and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, some question'tween you tway. Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroyed? Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under Gov. Our expectation ha th is day an end. your correction, there is not many of your nation- The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, Inac. Of my nation! What ish my nation? ish a Returns us that his powers are not yet ready villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal? What To raise so great a siege. Therefore. great king, ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? We yield our town- and lives to thy soft mercy. Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than Enter our gates; dispose of us, and ours, is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I shall think For we no longer are defensible. you do not use me with that affability as in discretion K. Hen. Open your gates!-Come, uncle Exeter, you ought to use me, look you; being as goot a man Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, [Gates opened. as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the And fortify it strongly'gainst the French: derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself: The winter coming on, and sickness growing so Chrish sal me, I will cut off your head. Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. Goiw. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest: Jamy. Au! that's a foul fault. [A Parley sounded. To-morrow for the march are we addrest. Gow. The town sounds a parley. [Flourish. The KING, ~c. enter the Town. Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold SCENE IV.Rouen. A Room in the Palace. as to tell you, I know the disciplines of wars; and there Enter KATHARINE and ALICE. is an end. [Exeunt. Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. Alice. Un peu, madame. Requite. 416 KING HENRY V. ACT III. Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que j'apprenne And overlook their grafters? d parler. Comment appellez vous la main, en Anglois? Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman Alice. La main? elle est appellee, de hand. bastards. Kath. De hand. Et les doigts? Mort de ma vie! if they march along Alice. Les doigts? ma foy, je oublie les doigts; mais Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense, qu'ils sont To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm appelle de fingres; ouy, de fingres. In that nook-shotten' isle of Albion. Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je Con. Dieu de battailes! where have they this mettle? pense, que je suis le bon escolier. J'ay gagne deux mots Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull, d;Anglois vistement. Comment appellez vous les ongles? On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Alice. Les ongles? les appellons, de nails. Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, Kath. De nails. Ecoutez; dites moi, si je parle A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley broth, bien: de hand, de fingres, de nails. Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois. And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Kath. Dites moi lAnglois pour le bras. Seem frosty? 0! for honour of our land, Alice. De arm, madame. Let us not hang like roping icicles Kath. Et le coude. Upon our houses7 thatch. whiles a more frosty people Alice. De elbow. Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields, Kath. De elbow. Je m'en faitz la repetition de tous Poor we may call them, in their native lords. les mots, que vous m'avez appris des a present. Dau. By faith and honour, Alice. In est trop difficile, madame. comme je pense. Our madams mock at us, and plainly say, Kath. Excusez moi. Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de Our mettle is bred out; and they will give fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. Their bodies to the lust of English youth, Alice. De elbow, madame. To new-store France with bastard warriors. Kath. 0 Seigneur Dieu! je m'en oublie; de elbow. Bour. They bid us to the English dancing-schools, Comment appellez vous le col? And teach lavoltas2 high, and swift corantos; Alice. De nick, madame. Saying, our grace is only in our heels, KLath. De nick: Et le menton? And that we are most lofty runaways. Alice. De chin. Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald? speed Kath. De sin. Le cot, de nick: le menton, de sin. him hence; Alice. Oui. Sauf vostre honneur; en verite, vous Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d' Angleterre. Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour, edged Kath. Je ne doute point d' apprendre par la grace de More sharper than your swords, hie to the field. Dieu, et en peu de temps. Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; Alice. N'avez vouz pas dfjd oublie ce que je vous ay You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, enseignee.? Alengon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Kath. Non, je reciterai a vous promptement. De Jaques Chatillon, Rarnbures, Vaudemont, hand, de fingre, de mails,- Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Alice. De nails, madame. Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois, Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights, Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow. For your great states, now quit you of great shames. Kath. Ainsi dis je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin: Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land Comment appellez vous le pied et la robe? With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur; Alice. De foot, madame; et de con. Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Kath. De foot, et de con? O Seigneur Dieu! ces Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et impu- The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon. dique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user. Je ne Go down upon him,-you have power enough,voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de And in a captive chariot into Rouen France, pour tout le monde. I1 faut de foot, et de con, Bring him our prisoner. neantmoins. Je reciterai une autre fois ma lefon en- Con. This becomes the great. semble: de hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, Sorry am I, his numbers are so few, de nick, de sin, de foot, de con. His soldiers sick. and famished in their march, Alice. Excellent, madame! For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, Kath. C est assez pour une fois: allons nous a disner. He 711 drop his heart into the sink of fear, [Exeunt. And for achievement offer us his ransom. SCENE -The. Another oom in the Fr King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on MontSCENE V.-The Same. Another Room in the Same. A oy; And let him say to England, that we send Enter the French KING, the Dauphin, Duke of BOUt- To know what willing ransom he will give.BON, the Constable of France, and others. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. Fr. King.'Tis certain, he hath passed the river Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. Somme. Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with us.Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all, Let us not live in France: let us quit all, And quickly bring us word of England's fall. [Exeunt. And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. *Dau. 0 Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of usCENE VI.-The Eglsh Camp n Pcardy. The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN. Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Gow. How now, captain Fluellen? come you from Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, the bridge? 1 An island that shoots out into capes and promontories. 2 An Italian dance resembling a waltz. SCENE VI. KING HENRY V. 417 Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent services and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his committed at the pridge. return into London under the form of a soldier. And Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe? such fellows are perfect in the great commanders' Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous, as names, and they will learn you by rote where services Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour were done;-at such and such a sconce, at such a with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is was shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood not (God be praised, and plessed!) aly hurt in the on: and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, world; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with ex- which they trick up with new-coined5 oaths: and what cellent discipline. There is an ancient, lieutenant1, a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the there, at the pridge,-I think, in my very conscience, camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony, and he is a wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But you must man of no estimation in the world: but I did see him learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you do as gallant service. may be marvellously mistook. Gow. What do you call him? Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower; I do perFlu. He is called ancient Pistol. ceive he is not the man that he would gladly make Gow. I know him not. show to the world he is: if I find a hole in his coat, I Enter PISTOL. will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you, the Flu. Here is the man. king is coming, and I must speak with him from the Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: pridge. The duke of Exeter dpth love thee well. Enter King HENRY, GLOSTER, and Soldiers6 sick and Flu. Ay, I praise Got; and I have merited some tattered. love at his hands. Flu. Got pless your majesty! Pist. Bardolph, a soldier firm and sound of heart, K. Hen. How now, Fluellen? cam'st thou from the And buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate bridge? And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of That goddess blind, Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge: the That stands upon the rolling restless stone,- French is gone off, look you. and there is gallant and Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is most prave passages. Marry, th7 athversary was have painted plind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify possession of the pridge, but he is enforced to retire, to you that fortune is plind; and she is painted also and the duke of Exeter is'master of the pridge. I can with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man. it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been very spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, aild rolls. In great, reasonable great: marry, for my part, I think good truth, the poet makes a most excellent descrip- the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like tion of it: fortune is an excellent moral. to be executed for robbing a church; one Bardolph, if Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; your majesty know the man: his face is all bubukles, For he hath stol'n a pax2, and hanged must'a be. and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire; and his lips A damned death! plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, someLet gallows gape for dog, let man go free, times plue, and sometimes red but his nose is exeAnd let not hemp his wine-pipe suffocate. cuted, and his fire's out. But Exeter hath given the doom of death, K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut For pax of little price: off: and we give express charge, that in our marches Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice through the country, there be nothing compelled from And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut the villages, nothing taken but paid for; none of the With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach: French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language, Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your gentler gamester is the soonest winner. meaning. Tucket. Enter MONTJOY, Pist. Why then, rejoice therefore. Mllont. You know me by my habit. Fluc. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice K. Hen. Well then, I know thee: what shall I know at; for if, look you, he were my brother, I would of thee? desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him Mldont. My master's mind. to execution, for discipline ought to be used. K. Hen. Unfold it. Pist. Die and be damn'd; andfico for thy friendship! Mont. Thus says my king:-Say thou to Harry of Flu. It is well.. England, Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep; Pist. The fig of Spain! [Exit PISTOL3, making the advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him, [sign". we could have rebuked him at Harfleur: but that we Flu. Very good. thought not good to bruise an injury, till it were full Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal: I ripe: now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is remember him now; a bawd; a cutpurse. imperial. England shall repent his folly, see his Flu. I'11 assure you, a uttered as prave words at the weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him, therepridge, as you shall see in a summer's day. But it is fore, consider of his ransom; which must proportion very well, what he has spoke to me; that is well, I the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, warrant you, when time is serve. the disgrace we have digested: which, in weight to Gow. Why,'t is a gull, a fool, a rogue; that now re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our 1 So the folio; the word is usually omitted in mod. eds. 2 A small image of the Saviour on which the kiss of peace was bestowed by the congregation at +he close of the mass. 3 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 4 The sign consisted in putting the thumb between the thumb and middle finger. 5 new-tuned: in f. e. 6 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 27 418 KING HENRY V. ACT III. losses, his exchequer is too poor; for the effusion of Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a for Perseus: he is pure air and fire and the dull elenumber; and for our disgrace, his own person, kneel- ments of earth and water never appear in him, but only ing at our feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. in patient stillness, while his rider mounts him: he is, To this add defiance and tell him, for conclusion, he indeed, a horse; and all other jades you may call beasts. hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and pronounced. So far my king and master: so much excellent horse. my office. Dau. It is the prince of palfreys: his neigh is like K. Hen. What is thy name? I know thy quality. the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces Mont. Montjoy. homage. K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, Orl. No more, cousin. And tell thy king,-I do not seek him now, Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from But could be willing to march on to Calais the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary Without impeachment; for, to say the sooth, deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent Though't is no wisdom to confess so much as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and Unto an enemy of craft and vantage, my horse is argument for them all.'T is a subject My people are with sickness much enfeebled; for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's soveMy numbers lessened, and those few I have, reign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us, and Almost no better than so many French: unknown) to lay apart their particular functions, and Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, I thought upon one pair of English legs and began thus: " Wonder of Nature!"Did march three Frenchmen.-Yet, forgive me, God, Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. That I do brag thus!-this your air of France Dau. Then did they imitate that which I composed Hath blown that vice in me: I must repent. to my courser; for my horse is my mistress. Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am: Orl. Your mistress bears well. My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk. Dau. Me well: which is the prescript praise, and My army but a weak and sickly guard; perfection of a good and particular mistress. Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, Con. Nay, for methought yesterday, your mistress Though France himself, and such another neighbour, shrewdly shook your back. Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. [Giving a chain.' Con. Mine was not bridled. Go, bid thy master well advise himself: Dau. Oh! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and If we may pass, we will; if we be hinderd, you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off We shall your tawny ground with your red blood and in your strait trossers3. Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. Con. You lave good judgment in horsemanship. The sum of all our answer is but this: Dau. Be warned by me, then: they that ride so, and We would not seek a battle as we are, ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have Nor, as we are, we say, we will not shun it: my horse to my mistress. So tell your master. Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness. Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears his [Exit MONTJOY. own hair. Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now. Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. a sow to my mistress. March to the bridge; it now draws toward night. Dau. Le chien est retourne a Soni propre vomissement, Beyond the river we'11 encamp ourselves, et la truie lavee aubourbier: thou makest use of any thing. And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt. Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress: or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. SCENE VII-The FrenchCamp,nearAgcourt Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in Enter the Constable of France, the Lord RAMBURES, the your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it? Duke of ORLEANS, the Dauphin, and others. Con. Stars, my lord. Con. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. Would it were day! Con. And yet my sky shall not want. Orl. You have an excellent armour: but let my Dau. That may be; for you bear a many superfluhorse have his due. ously, an It were more honour some were away. Con. It is the best horse of Europe. Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who Orl. Will it never be morning? would trot as well, were some of your brags disDau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high consta- mounted. ble, you talk of horse and armour- Dau. Would, I were able to load him with his deOrl. You are as well provided of both as any prince sert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a in the world. mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. Dau. What a long night is this!-I will not change Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. of my way; but I would it were morning, for I would Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails fain be about the ears of the English. were air2, le cheval volant, the Pegasus, qui a les narines Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: prisoners? he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it: Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the have them. pipe of Hermes. Dau.'T is midnight: I 711 go arm myself. [Exit. Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. 1 Not in f. e. 2 hairs: in f. e. 3 Bare-legged-trossers, or strossers were trousers. SCENE I. KING HENRY V. 419 Ram. He longs to eat the English. Enter a Messenger. Con. I think he will eat all he kills. Mes. My lord high constable, the English lie within Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant fifteen hundred paces of your tents. prince. Con. Who hath measured the ground? Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the Mes. The lord Grandpre. oath. Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman.-Would Orl. He is simply the most active gentleman of France. it were day!-Alas, poor Harry of England!-he longs Con. Doing is activity, and he will still be doing. not for the dawning, as we do. Orl. He never did harm that I heard of. Orl. What a wretched and peevish2 fellow is this Con. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep that king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers good name still. so far out of his knowledge. Orl. I know him to be valiant. Con. If the English had any apprehension, they Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better would run away. than you. Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any Orl. What's he? intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he head-pieces. cared not who knew it. Ram. That island of England b:eeds very valiant Orl. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him. creatures: their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage. Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body saw Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the mouth it, but his lackey:'t is a hooded valour, and when it of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like appears it will bate1. rotten apples. You may as well say that's a valiant Orl. Ill will never said well. flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. Con. I will cap that proverb with-there is flattery Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with in friendship. the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving Orl. And I will take up that with-give the devil their wits with their wives: and, then, give them great his due. meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like Con. Well placed: there stands your friend for the wolves, and fight like devils. devil: have at the very eye of that proverb, with-a Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. pox of the devil. Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they have only Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much- stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to a fool's bolt is soon shot. arm: come, shall we about it? Con. You have shot over. Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see; by ten, Orl.'T is not the first time you were overshot. We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exeunt. ACT IV. Enter CHORUS. pThe royal captain of this ruined band, Co nenr CHORUS.re Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, Cho. Now entertain conjecture of a time, Let him cry —Praise and glory on his head! When creeping murmur and the poring dark For forth he goes, and visits all his host, Fills the wide vessel of the universe. Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile, From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. The hum of either army stilly sounds, Upon his royal face there is no note That the fix'd sentinels almost receive How dread an army hath enrounded him, The secret whispers of each other's watch: Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Fire answers fire and through their paly flames Unto the weary and all-watched night; Each battle sees the other's umber'd face: But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty; Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents, That every wretch, pining and pale before, The armourers accomplishing the knights, Beholding him. plucks comfort from his looks. With busy hammers closing rivets up, A largess universal, like the sun, Give dreadful note of preparation. His liberal eye doth give to every one, The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all, And the third hour of drowsy morning's nam'd. Behold, as may unworthiness define Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, A little touch of Harry in the night. The confident and over-lusty French And so our scene must to the battle fly; Do the low-rated English play at dice; Where, 0 for pity! we shall much disgraceAnd chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night, With four or five most vile and ragged foils, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp Right ill-dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous,So tediously away. The poor condemned English, The name of Agincourt. Yet, sit and see; Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Minding true things by what their mockeries be. [Exit. Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morningls danger; and their gesture sad, SCENE I.-The English Camp at Agncourt. Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Enter King HENRY, BEDFORD, and GLOSTER. Presenteth them unto the gazing moon K. Hen. Gloster,'t is true that we are in great danger; So many horrid ghosts.! now, who will behold The greater, therefore, should our courage be.1 Falcons, when unhooded, bate or beat the air, by flapping their wings. 2 Foolish. 420 KING HENRY V. ACT IV. Good morrow, brother Bedford.-God Almighty! Flu. So, in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak lower. There is some soul of goodness in things evil, It is the greatest admiration in the universal world. Would men observingly distil it out, when the true and ancient prerogatifes and laws of For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, the wars is not kept. If you would take the pains but Which is both healthful, and good husbandry: to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall Besides, they are our outward consciences, find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or And preachers to us all; admonishing, pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp: I warrant you, you That we should dress us fairly for our end. shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of Thus may we gather honey from the weed, it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the And make a moral of the devil himself. modesty of it, to be otherwise. Enter ERPINGHAM. Gow. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham: night. A good soft pillow for that good white head Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a prating Were better than a churlish turf of France. coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, Erp. Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better; look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxSince I may say, now lie I like a king. comb? in your own conscience now? K. Hen.'T is good for men to love their present pains, Gow. I will speak lower. Upon example; so the spirit is eased: Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. And when the'.lind is quickened, out of doubt, [Exeunt GowER and FLUELLEN. The organs, though defunct and dead before K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move There is much care and valour in this Welshman. With casted slough and fresh legerity. Enter JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT, and MICHAEL Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.-Brothers both, WILLIAMS. Commend me to the princes in our camp; Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning Do my good morrow to them; and, anon, which breaks yonder? Desire them all to my pavilion. Bates. I think it be; but we have no great cause to Glo. We shall, my liege. desire the approach of day. [Exeunt GLOSTER and BEDFORD. Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I Erp. Shall I attend your grace? think we shall never see the end of it.-Who goes there? K. Hen. No, my good knight; K. Hen. A friend. Go with my brothers to my lords of England: Will. Under what captain serve you? I and my bosom must debate a while, K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. And,then, I would no other company. Will. A good old commander, and a most kind genErp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry.tieman. I pray you, what thinks he of our estate? [Exit ERPINGHAM.. K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st look to be washed off the next tide. cheerfully. Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? Enter PISTOL. K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should; for, Pist. Qui va la'?' though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a K. Hen. A friend. man, as I am: the violet smells to him, as it doth to Pist. Discuss unto me: art thou officer? me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me; all Or art thou base, common, and popular? his senses have but human conditions: his ceremonies K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man, and Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike? though his affections are higher mounted than ours, K. Hen. Even so.. What are you? yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. Therefore, when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are: Pist. The king's a baweock, and a heart of gold, yet in reason no man should possess him with any apA lad of life, an imp of fame; pearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should disOf parents good, of fist most valiant: hearten his army. I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string Bates. He may show what outward courage he will; I love the lovely bully. What's thy name! but, I believe, as cold a night as't is, he could wish K. Hen. Harry le Roy. himself in Thames up to the neck: and so I would he Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. [crew? here. Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen? K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of K. Hen. Yes. the king: I think, he would not wish himself any where Pist. Tell him, I'11 knock his leek about his pate, but where he is. Upon Saint David's day. Bates. Then, I would he were here alone; so should K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's that day, lest he knock that about yours. lives saved. Pist. Art thou his friend? K. Hien. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish K. Hen. And his kinsman too. him here alone, howsoever you speak this, to feel other Pist. The fico for thee then! men's minds. Methinks, I could not die any where K. Hen. I thank you. God be with you! so contented as in the king's company, his cause being Pist. My name is Pistol called. [Exit. just,.and his quarrel honourable. K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. Will. That's more than we know. Enter FLUELEN and GOWER, severally. Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for Gow. Captain Fluellen! we know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects. 1 The act commences here in the quartos. sCE i L. KING HENRY V. 421 If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes peacock's feather. You'11 never trust his word after the crime of it out of us. come,'t is a foolish saying. Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king himself K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round': I should hath a heavy reckoning to make: when all those legs, be angry with you, if the time were convenient. and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. together at the latter day, and cry all-" We died at K. Hen. I embrace it. such a place: some swearing, some crying for a sur- Will. How shall I know thee again? geon, some upon their wives left poor behind them, K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear some upon the debts they owe, some upon their chil- it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge dren rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well, it, I will make it my quarrel. that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dis- Will. Here's my glove: give me another of thine. pose of any thing, when blood is their argument? K. Hen. There. Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou matter for the king that led them to it, whom to diso- come to me and say, after to-morrow, " This is my bey were against all proportion of subjection. glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear. K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, king's company. under his master's command, transporting a sum of Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irre- Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends: we conciled iniquities, you may call the business of the have French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to master the author of the servant's damnation. But reckon. this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, crow;ns to one they will beat us, for they bear them on nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their shoulders; but it is no English treason to cut their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, French crowns, and to-morrow the king himself will be there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers. come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls, all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder: Our sins, lay on the king!-we must bear all. some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of per- 0 hard condition! twin born-with greatness, jury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have Subject to the breath of every fool, before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, law, and outrun native punishment, though they can That private men enjoy? outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God: And what have kings, that privates have not too, war is his beadle: war is his vengeance; so that here Save ceremony, save general ceremony? men are punished, for before-breach of the king's laws, And what art thou. thou idol ceremony? in now the king's quarrel: where they feared the death, What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more they have borne life away, and where they would be Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers? safe, they perish: then, if they die unprovided, no more What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in? is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was be- 0 ceremony, show me but thy worth! fore guilty of those impieties for the which they are What is thy soul but adulation'? now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's; but Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form? every subjects soul is his own. Therefore, should Creating awe and fear in other men. every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd bed, wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying Than they in fearing. so death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was But poison'd flattery? O! be sick, great greatness, gained: and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to And bid thy ceremony give thee cure. think, that making God so free an offer, he let him out- Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out live that day to see his greatness, and to teach others With titles blown from adulation? how they should prepare. Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Will.'T is certain, every man that dies ill, the ill Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, upon his own head: the king is not to answer it. Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; and That play'st co subtly with a king's repose: yet I determine to fight lustily for him. Ia am king, that find thee; and I know, K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not'T is not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, be ransomed. The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, Will. Ay, he said so to make us fight cheerfully; The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, The farced3 title running'fore the king, and we ne'er the wiser. The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his That beats upon the high shore of this world; word after. No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Will. You pay him then! That's a perilous shot out Not all these laid in bed majestical, of an elder gun, that a poor and a private displeasure Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, can do against a monarch. You may as well go about Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distasteful" bread, 1 Plain. of adoration: in f. e, s Stuffed, inflated. 4 distressful: in f. e. 422 KING HENRY Y. A v. Never sees horrid night, the child of hell To give each naked curtle-ax a. stain, But, like a lackey, from the rise to set, That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, Sweats in the eye of Phcebus, and all night And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on them, Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, T is positive'gainst all exceptions, lords, And follows so the ever running year That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants, With profitable labour to his grave: Who in unnecessary action swarm And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, About our squares of battles, were enow Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a king. Though we upon this mountain's basis by The slave, a member of the country's peace, Took stand for idle speculation: Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots, But that our honours must not. What's to say? What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, A very little little let us do, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. And all is done. Then, let the trumpets sound Enter ERPINGHAM. The tucket-sonnance3, and the note to mount: Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, For our approach shall so much dare the field, Seek through your camp to find you. That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. K. Hen. Good old knight, Enter GRANDPRE. Collect them all together at my tent: Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? I'11 be before thee. Yon' island carrions, desperate of their bones, Erp. I shall do't, my lord. [Exit. Ill-favour'dly become the morning field: K. Hen. 0, God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts: Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, Possess them not with fear: take from them now And our air shakes them passing scornfully. The sense of reckoning, if' th' opposed numbers Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host, Pluck their hearts from them!-Not to-day, 0 Lord! And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. 0! not to-day, think not upon the fault The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, My father made in compassing the crown. With torch-staves in their hands,4 and their poor jades I Richard's body have interred new, Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips, And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, Than from it issued forced drops of blood. And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal5 bit Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Lies, foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless; Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up And their executors, the knavish crows, Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Description cannot suit itself in words, Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; To demonstrate the life of such a battle, Though all that I can do is nothing worth, In life so lifeless as it shows itself. [death. Since that my penitence comes after all, Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for Imploring pardon. Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits, Enter GLOSTER. And give their fasting horses provender, Glo. My liege! And after fight with them? K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice?-Ay; Con. I stay but for my guard. On, to the field! I know thy errand, I will go with thee.- I will the banner from a trumpet take, The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Exeunt. And use it for my haste. Come, come away! The The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The French Camp. Enter Dauphin, ORLEANS) RAMBURES, and others. SCENE III.-The English Camp. Orl. The sun doth gild our armour: up, my lords! Enter all the English Host; GLOSTER. BEDFORD, EXETER, Dau. Montez a cheval:-My horse! valet! lacquay! ha! SALISBRY and WESTMORELAND. Orl. 0 brave spirit! Glo. Where is the king? Dau. Via!-les eaux et la terre Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. Orl. Rien puis? 1' air et le feu!West. Of fighting men they have full threescore Dau. Ciel! cousin Orleans. thousand. Enter Constable. Exe. There's five to one: besides, they all are fresh. Now, my lord Constable! Sal. God's arm strike with us!'t is a fearful odds. Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh. God be wi' you, princes all; I'11 to my charge: Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides, If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, Then, joyfully,-my noble lord of Bedford — And doubt them with superfluous courage: Ha! My dear lord Gloster,-and my good lord Exeter,Ram.What,will you have them weep our horses' blood? And my kind kinsman,-warriors all, adieu! How shall we then behold their natural tears? Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go Enter a Messenger. with thee! Mess. The English are embattled, you French peers. Exe. Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly to-day: Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, Do but behold yon poor and starved band For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. And your fair show shall suck away their souls, [Exit SALISBURY. Leaving them but the shales2 and husks of men. Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness; There is not work enough for all our hands; Princely in both. Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, West. O! that we now had here 1 of: in folio: which Singer retains, removing the period from the middle of the next line to its close. 2 Shells. 3 The blast of a trumpet. 4 Candlesticks were often made in the figure of a knight, the candle being set in the hand. 5 Double. SCENE IV. KING HENRY V. 423 Enter King HENRY. If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, But one ten thousand of those men in England, Before thy most assured overthrow? That do no work to-day. For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, K. Hen. What's he that wishes so? Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, My cousin Westmoreland?-No, my fair cousin: The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind If we are marked to die, we are enow Thy followers of repentance; that their souls To do our country loss; and if to live, May make a peaceful and a sweet retire The fewer men, the greater share of honour. From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. Must lie and fester. By Jove I am not covetous for gold; K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; llont. The Constable of France. It yearns' me not if men my garments wear; K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back: Such outward things dwell not in my desires: Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. But, if it be a sin to covet honour, Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus? I am the most offending soul alive. The man, that once did sell the lion's skin No,'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour, A many of our bodies shall, no doubt, As one man more, methinks, would share from me, Find native graves, upon the which, I trust, For the best hope I have. 0! do not wish one more: Shall witness live in brass of this day's work; Rather proclaim it. Westmoreland, through my host, And those that leave their valiant bones in France, That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, They shall be fam'd: for there the sun shall greet them, And crowns for convoy put into his purse: And draw their honours reeking up to heaven, We would not die in that man's company, Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, That fears his fellowship to die with us. The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. This day is call'd-the feast of Crispian: Mark, then, rebounding' valour in our English; He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, Break out into a second course of mischief, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. Killing in reflex6 of mortality. He that shall live this day, and see2 old age, Let me speak proudly:-Tell the Constable, Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, We are but warriors for the working-day; And say-to-morrow is Saint Crispian: Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. With rainy marching in the painful field; Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, There's not a piece of feather in our host, But he'11 remember with advantages (Good argument, I hope, we will not fly) What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, And time hath worn us into slovenry: Familiar in their mouths as household words,- But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,- They'11 be in fresher robes, for they will pluck Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads, This story shall the good man teach his son, And turn them out of service. If they do this, And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, As, if God please, they shall, my ransom then From this day to the ending of the world, Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; But we in it shall be remembered; Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers: They shall have none, I swear, by these my joints, For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, Which, if they have as I will leave'em them, Shall be my brother: be he ne'er so vile, Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. This day shall gentle3 his condition: Mont. I shall, king Harry: and so fare thee well. And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, K. Hen. I fear, thou wilt once more come here for a And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks ransom. That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. Enter the Duke of YORK. Enter SALISBURY. York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: The leading of the vaward'. The French are bravely in their battles set, K. Hen. Take it, brave York,-Now, soldiers, march And will with all expedience charge on us. away: K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Exeunt. West. Perish the man whose mind is backward now! S.Th F of tl. K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, Alar E. EThe F ield of Battle. cousin? Alarums: Excurions. Enter French Soldiers PISTOL, West. God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, and Boy. Without more help, might4 fight this royal battle. Pist. Yield, cur. K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous etes le gentilhomme de Which likes me better than to wish us one.- [men, bonne qualite'. You know your places: God be with you all! Pist. Quality? Callino, castore me!8 art thou a genTucket. Enter MONTJOY. tleman? What is thy name? discuss. Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king Fr. Sol. 0 seigneur Dieu! Harry, Pist. 0! signieur Dew should be a gentleman. 1 Grieves. 2 live and see, are transposed in the folio. 3 Make him gentleman. 4 folio: could. 5 abounding: in f. e. 6 relapse: in f. e. 7 Vannward. 8 The name of an old tune, to which a song was sung, printed in the "Handful of Pleasant Delites," 1584. 424 KING HENRY V. ACT IV. Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark:- SCENE V.-Another Part of the Field of Battle. 0 signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, Retreat sounded.4 Enter Dauphin, ORLEANS, BOURBON, Except; 0 signieur, thou do give to me Constable, RAMBURES, and others. Egregious ransom. Con. diable Fr. Sol. 0, prenez misericorde. ayez pitie de moi Orl. seiner!e jour est per tout est pe Pst. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys;. ot de vieall is confounded, all For I will fetch thy rim2 out at thy throat, Reproach and everlasting shame In drops of crimson blood. In drops of crimson bloo(d., Sit mocking in our plumes.-0 mechante fortune!Fr. Sol. Est ii impossible d echapper la force de ton bras? Do not run away. [A short Alarum. st. Brass, cur?. Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 3Dau. 0 perdurable shame!-let's stab ourselves. Onffer st me brass? Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi! Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys? — Cost. Stay'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys -? Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French, Let us not fly:-in!-Once more back again; What is his name. -Wha is his name. And he that will not follow Bourbon now. Boy. Escoutez: comment etes vous appelle L h g h Let him go hence and, with his cap in hand, Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 1Fr. So. Monsieur Ie Fer. Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door, Boy. He says his name is master For. Whilst by a slave no gentler than my dogPist. Master For! I'11 for him, and firk him, and His faiest dauhter is contaminate. ferret him.-Discuss the same in French unto him. ferret him Discuss the same in French unto him. on. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us friend us now! Boy. I do not know the French for fer and ferret, u i a rLet us in heaps go offer up our lives. and firk. CD Orl. We are enoughl, yet living in the field, Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. To smother up the English in our throngs, FX. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur?. Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieu.zr If any order might be thought upon. Boy. II me commande a vous dire que vous faites vous. The devil take order now I to the ton pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a cette heure de Let life be sort else shame will be too long [Exeunt. couper votre gorge.' Pist. Oui, couper le gorge, par ma foi, peasant, SCENE I-Another part of the Field. Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. Alarums. Enter King HENRY and Forces; EXETER Fr. Sol. 0! je vous supplie pour I amour de Dieu, me and others. pardonner. Je suis le gentilhomme de bonne maison: K. Hen. Well,have we done, thrice valiant countrygardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus. men; Pist. What are his words? But all Is not done; yet keep the French the field. Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gentle- Exe. The duke of York commends him to your man of a good house; and for his ransom, he will give majesty. you two hundred crowns. K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thice withinthis hour Pist. Tell him,-my fury shall abate, and I I saw him down, thrice up again, and fighting; The crowns will take. From helmet to the spur all blood he was. Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie, Boy. Encore quail est contre son jurement depardonner Loading6 the plain; and by his bloody side, aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour les ecus que vous (Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds) IV avez promis, il est content a vous donner la libertY, le The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. franchisement. Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over, Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remer- Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, ciemens; etje m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes, les mains d' un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, That bloodily did yawn upon his face; et tres distingue seigneur d' Angleterre. He cries aloud, —" Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk! Pist. Expound unto me, boy. My soul shall thine keep company to heaven: Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand Tarry, sweet soul, for mine; then fly a-breast, thanks; and he esteems himself happy that he hath As in this glorious and well-foughten field, fallen into the hands of one (as he thinks) the most We kept together in our chivalry!" brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy seigneur of England. Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up: Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.- He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, Follow me! Exit PISTOL. And with a feeble gripe, says, " Dear my lord, Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine. I did never Commend my service to my sovereign." [Exit French Soldier. So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck'know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips: -the song is true,-" the empty vessel makes the great- And so, espoused to death, with blood he seal'd *est sound." Bardolph, and Nym, had ten times more A testament of noble-ending love. valour than this roaring devil i' the old play3 that every The pretty and sweet manner of it forced one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger, and they Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd are both hanged; and so would this be, if he durst But I had not so much of man in me, steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with the But all my mother came into mine eyes, lackeys with the luggage of our camp: the French And gave me up to tears. might have a good prey of us, if they knew of it, for K. Hen. I blame you not: there is none to guard it, but boys. [Exit. For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 1 A name for a sword. 2 The caul in which the bowels are wrapped.-Cole's Dic.. 1677. 3 An allusion to the old Moralities in which the devil usually took part. 4 Alarums: in f. e. 5 Let us die instant: in f. e. 6 Larding: in f. e. SCENE VI. KING HENRY Y. 425 With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.- [Alarum. If they'11 do neither, we will come to them, But, hark! what new alarum is this same?- And make them skirr away, as swift as stones The French have reinforc'd their scattered men:- Enforced from the old Assyrian slings. Then, every soldier kill his prisoners! Besides, we'11 cut the throats of those we have; Give the word through. [Exeunt. And not a man of them that we shall take, Shall taste our mercy.-Go, and tell them so. SCENE VII.-Another Part of the Field. Enter MONTJO Alarums. Enter FLUELLEN and Gow:E. Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage!'t is expressly liege. against the law of arms:'t is as arrant a piece of Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. knavery, mark you now, as can be offered. In your K. Hen. How now! what means this, herald? knowst conscience now, is it not? thou not, Gow.'T is certain, there's not a boy left alive; and That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom? the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, have Com'st thou again for ransom? done this slaughter: besides, they have burned and Mont. No, great king: carried away all that was in the king's tent; wherefore I come to thee for charitable license, the king most worthily hath caused every soldier to That we may wander o'er this bloody field, cut his prisoner's throat. 0!'t is a gallant king. To look' our dead, and then to bury them; Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower. To sort our nobles from our common men; What call you the town's name, where Alexander the For many of our princes, woe the while! pig was born? Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; Gow. Alexander the great. So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, In blood of princes, and their wounded steeds or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magna- Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage nimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, little variations. Killing them twice. 0! give us leave, great king, Gow. I think, Alexander the great was born in To view the field in safety, and dispose Macedon: his father was called Philip of Macedon, as Of their dead bodies. I take it. K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, Flu. I think, it is in Macedon, where Alexander is I know not if the day be ours, or no; porn. I tell you, captain,-if you look in the maps of For yet a many of your horsemen peer, the world, I warrant, you shall find, in the comparisons And gallop o'er the field. between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, Mont. The day is yours. look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth: it is it!called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains, What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by? what is the name of the other river; but't is all one, lont. They call it Agincourt.'t is alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the plack knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his dis- fought a most prave pattle here in France. pleasures, and his indignations, and also being a little K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, Flu. Your majesty says very true. If your majesty look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot service in Gow. Our king is not like him in that: he never a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their killed any of his friends. Monmouth caps, which your majesty knows, to this Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the hour is an honourable padge of the service; and, I do tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek I speak but in the figures and comparisons of it: as upon Saint Tavy's day. Alexander killed his friend Clytus, being in his ales K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour: and his cups, so also Harry Monmouth, being in his For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. right wits and his good judgments, turned away the fat Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your maknight with the great pelly-doublet: he was full of jesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have that: Got pless it, and preserve it, as long as it pleases forgot his name. his grace, and his majesty too! Gow. Sir John Falstaff. K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. Flu. That is he. I'11 tell you, there is goot men Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's countryman, I porn at Monmouth. care not who know it; I will confess it to all the world:.Gow. Here comes his majesty. I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be Alarum. Enter King HENRY, with a Part of the God, so long as your majesty is an honest man. English Forces and Prisoners; WARWICK, GLOSTER, K. Hen. God keep me so!-Our heralds go with him: EXETER, and others. Bring me just notice of the numbers dead, K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France On both our parts.-Call yonder fellow hither. Until this instant.-Take a trumpet, herald; [Points to WILLIAMS. Exeunt MONTJOY and others. Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond' hill: Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. If they will fight with us, bid them come down K. Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy Or void the field; they do offend our sight. cap? 1 book: in f. e. 426 KING HENRY V. ACT IV. Wil. An't please your majesty,'t is the gage of one Will. Sir, know you this glove? that-I should fight withal, if he be alive. Flu. Know the glove? I know, the glove is a glove. K. Hen. An Englishman? Will. I know this, and thus I challenge it. Wil. An't please your majesty, a rascal that swag- [Strikes him. gered with me last night who if'a live, and ever dare Flu.;Sblood! an arrant traitor, as any's in the unito challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a versal world, or in France, or in England. box o' the ear; or, if I can see my glove in his cap, Gow. How now, sir! you villain! (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear, Will. Do you think ['11 be forsworn? if alive) I would strike it out soundly. Flu. Stand away, captain Gower: I will give treason K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it fit his payment into plows, I warrant you. this soldier keep his oath? Will. 4I am no traitor. Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please Flu. That's a lie in thy throat.-I charge you in his your majesty, in my conscience. majesty's name, apprehend him: he is a friend of the K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of duke Alengon's. great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. Enter WARWICK and GLOSTER. Flu. Though he be as goot a gentlemen as the tevil War. How now, how now! what's the matter? is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is, praised be God look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath. If for it! a most contagious treason come to light, look he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as arrant you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is a villain, and a Jack-sauce, as ever his plack shoe trod his majesty. upon Got's ground and his earth, in my conscience, la. Enter King HENRY and EXETER. K. Icen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou K. Hen. How now! what s the matter? meet'st the fellow. Flu. My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, that, Will. So I will. my liege, as I live. look your grace, has struck the glove which your maK. Hen. Who serv'st thou under? jesty is take out of the helmet of Alengon. Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege. Will. My liege. this was my glove; here is the fellow Flu. Gower is a goot captain, and is goot know- of it; and he that I gave it to in change promised to ledge, and literatured in the wars. wear it in his cap: I promised to strike him if he did. K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. been as good as my word. K. Hen. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for Flu. Your majesty hear now, saving your majesty's me, and stick it in thy cap. When Alengon and my- manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsy self were down together, I plucked this glove from his knave it is. I hope your majesty is pear me testimony, helm: if any man challenge this, he is a friend to and witness, and avouchments, that this is the glove of Alencon, and an enemy to our person; if thou encoun- Alengon, that your majesty is give me, in your center any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love. science now. Flu. Your grace does me as great honours, as can be K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier: look, here is desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain see the fellow of it. the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself'T was I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike; aggriefed at this glove, that is all; but I would fain see And thou hast given me most bitter terms. it once, and please Got of his grace, that I might see. Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer for K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower? it, if there is any martial law in the world. Flu. He is my dear friend, and please you. K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to Will. All offences, my lord, come from the heart: my tent. never came any from mine, that might offend your Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. majesty. K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, and my brother K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. Gloster, Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you Follow Fluellen closely at the heels, appeared to me but as a common man; witness the The glove, which I have given him for a favour, night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your May haply purchase him a box o' the ear: highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you, take It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should it for your own fault, and not mine: for had you been Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick: as I took you for, I had made no offence; therefore, I If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge beseech your highness, pardon me. By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word) K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with Some sudden mischief may arise of it, crowns. For I do know Fluellen valiant, And give it to this fellow.-Keep it, fellow, And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, And wear it for an honour in thy cap, And quickly will return an injury: Till I do challenge it.-Give him the crowns.Follow, and see there be no harm between them.- And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. Go you with me uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt. Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle C T K enough in his pelly.-Hold, there is twelve pence for SCENE VIII.-Before King TIENRY'S Pavilion. you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you out of Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS. prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions; Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you. Enter FLUELLEN. Will. I will none of your money. Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech Flu. It is with a goot will. I can tell you, it will you now, come apace to the king: there is more goot serve you to mend your shoes: come, wherefore should toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledge you be so pashful? your shoes is not so goot: It is a to dream of. goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. SCENE I. KING HENRY V. 427 Enter an English Herald. Here was a royal fellowship of death!K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead number'd? Where is the number of our English dead? Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French. [Herald presents another Paper. [Delivers a Paper. Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, K. Hen. What prisoners of goodsort are taken, uncle? Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; None else of name, and of all other men John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt: But five and twenty. 0 God! thy arm was here. Of other lords, and barons, knights, and'squires,. [Kneeling.2 Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. And not to us, but to thy arm alone, K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French, Ascribe we all.-[Rising.3] When, without stratagem, That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this number, But in plain shock, and even play of battle, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead [Reads.' Was ever known so great and little loss, One hundred twenty-six: added to these, On one part and on th' other?-Take it, God, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, For it is only thine!4 Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, Exe.'T is wonderful! Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights: K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village: So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, And be it death, proclaimed through our host, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; To boast of this, or take that praise from God, The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, Which is his only. And gentlemen of blood and quality. Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell The names of those their nobles that lie dead- how many is killed? Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment, Jaques Chatillon, admiral of France; That God fought for us. The master of the cross-bovs, lord Rambures; [phin; Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard Dau- K. Hen. Do we all holy rites: John duke of Alengon; Antony duke of Brabant, Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum. The brother to the duke of Burgundy; The dead with charity enclos'd in clay, And Edward duke of Bar: of lusty earls, And then to Calais; and to England then Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix, Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men. Beaumont, and Marle, Vaudemont, and Lestrale. [Exeunt. ACT V. Epnter CHORUS. (As in good time he may) from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, Chor. Vouchsafe all5 those that have not read the How many would the peaceful city quit, story, To welcome him! much more, and much more cause, That I may prompt them: and for6 such as have Did they this Harry. Now, in London place him. I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse As yet the lamentation of the French Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, Invites the king of England's stay at home: Which cannot in their huge and proper life The emperor's coming in behalf of France, Be here presented. Now, we bear the king To order peace between them; and omit Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen, All the occurrences, whatever chane'd, Heave him away upon your winged thoughts. Till Harry's back-return again to France: Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach There must we bring him; and myself have play'd Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, The interim, by remembering you.'t is past. Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea, Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance, Which, like a mighty whiffler7,'fore the king After your thoughts, straight back again to France. Seems to prepare his way. So, let him land, [Exit. And solemnly see him set on to London. So swift a pace hath thought, that even now SCENE - ance. An English Court of Guard. You may imagine him upon Blackheath; Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER. Where, that his lords desire him, to have borne Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past. Before him, through the city, he forbids it, Flu. There is occasions, and causes, why and whereBeing free from vainness and self-glorious pride, fore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, captain Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy. pragging Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, knave, Pistol, which you and yourself, and all the world, In the quick forge and workinghouse of thought, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of How London doth pour out her citizens. no merits, he is come to me, and prings me pread and The mayor, and all his brethern, in best sort, salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek. It Like to the senators of th' antique Rome, was in a place where I could not breed no contention With the plebeians swarming at their heels, with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my Go forth. and fetch their conquering Caesar in: cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, a little piece of my desires. Were now the general of our gracious empress Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. 12 3 Not in f. e. 4 So the quarto; folio: none but thine. 5 to: in f. e. 6 of: in f. e. 7 Piper, or leader of processions. 428 KING HENRY V. ACT V. Enter PISTOL. Of malady of France Flu.'T is no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey- And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. cocks.-Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy, Old I do wax, and from my weary limbs lowsy knave, Got pless you! Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd I 711 turn, Pist. Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. Trojan, To England will I steal, and there I'11 steal: To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars, Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy lowsy knave, at S I r A Alt 1 * - / "i,*,* i.? 1. bSCENE I.-T roves in Champpagne. An Apartment my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, T nC g.. I.~ 1- 3in the French KING'S Palace. look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and your Eter, at one door, King HENRY, BEDFORD, GLOSTER digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other to eat it. Lords; at another, the French KING. Queen ISABEL, Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. the Princess KATHARINE, Lords, Ladies, b'c., the Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.] Will Duke of BURGUNDY, and his Train. you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it? K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met. Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. Unto our brother France, and to our sister, Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's Health and fair time of day:-joy and good wishes will is. I will desire you to live in the mean time To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;and eat your victuals: come, there is sauce for it. And, as a branch and menmber of this royalty, [Striking him again.] You called me yesterday, moun- By whom this great assenmbly is contrived, tain-squire, but I will make you to-day a squire of low We do salute you, duke of Burgundy - degreel.-I pray you, fall to: if you can mock a leek, And, princes French, and l:eers, health to you all. you can eat a leek. Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face, Gow. Enough, captain: you have astonished him. Most worthy brother England; fairly met:Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my So are you, princes English, every one. leek, or I will peat his pate four days.-Pite, I pray Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England3, you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, coxcomb. As we are now glad to behold your eyes; Pist. Must I bite? Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of Against the French, that met them in their bent, question too, and ambiguities. The fatal balls of murdering basilisks: Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, eat, and eat I swear- Have lost their quality, and that this day Flu. Eat, I pray you. Will you have some more Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by. K. Hen. To cry amen -to that thus we appear. Pist. Quiet thy cudgel: thou dost see, I eat. Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your Great kings of France and England, that I have proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks labour'd hereafter, I pray you, mock at'em; that is all. With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, Pist. Good. To bring your most imperial majesties Flu. Ay, leeks is goot.-Hold you; there is a groat Unto this bar and royal interview, to heal your pate. Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Pist. Me a groat! Since, then, my office hath so far prevail'd, Flu. Yes; verily, and in truth, you shall take it, That face to face, and royal eye to eye, or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me, eat. If I demand before this royal view, Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. What rub, or what impediment, there is, Flu. If I owe you any thing I will pay you in cud- Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, gels: you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of Dear nurse of arts, plenty, and joyful births, me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and Should not in this best garden of the world, heal your pate. [Exit. Our fertile France, lift4 up her lovely visage? Pist. All hell shall stir for this. Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd, Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an Corrupting in its own fertility. honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached5, deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking2 Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, and galling at this gentlemen twice or thrice. You Put forth disordered twigs: her fallow leas thought, because he could not speak English in the The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, native garb, he could not therefore handle an English Do root upon, while that the coulter rusts, cudgel: you find it otherwise; and, henceforth, let a That should deracinate such savagery: Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth Fare ye well. ['Exit. The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife with me now? Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems, 1 This is the title of an old English romance. P Scoffing, jesting. 3 This and the fifty-five following lines are not in quarto. 4 put: in f. e. 5 Plaited, interwoven. SCENE I. KING HENRY V. 429 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues Losing both beauty and utility; of men are full of deceits? And as1 our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Alice. Ouy; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of Defective in their natures, grow to wildness; deceits; dat is de princess. Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, K. Hen. The princess is the better English-woman. Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: The sciences that should become our country, I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for, if But grow, like savages,-as soldiers will, thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king, That nothing do but meditate on blood,- that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy To swearing, and stern looks, diffused attire, my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but And every thing that seems unnatural. directly to say-I love you: then, if you urge me farWhich to reduce into our former favour, ther than to say-Do you in faith? I wear out my You are assembled; and my speech entreats, suit. Give me your answer; iV faith, do, and so clap That I may know the let, why gentle peace hands and a bargain. How say you, lady? Should not expel these inconveniencies, Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well. And bless us with her former qualities. K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to K. len. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace, dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the Whose want gives growth to thl imperfections one, I have neither words nor measure; and for the Which you have cited, you must buy that peace other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable With full accord to all our just demands; measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leapWhose tenours and particular effects frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour You have, enschedul'd briefly; in your hands. on my back, under the correction of bragging be it Bur. The king hath heard them; to the which, as yet, spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife: or if I There is no answer made. might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for K. Hen. Well then, the peace, her favours, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. like a jack-an-apes, never off; but, before God, Kate, Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, Oer-glanc'd the articles: pleaseth your grace nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downTo appoint some of your council presently right oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never To sit with us once more, with better heed break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of To re-survey them, we will suddenly this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sunPass, or accept2, and peremptory answer. burning, that never looks in his glass for love of K. Hen. Brother, we shall.-Go, uncle Exeter,- any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I And brother Clarence,-and you, brother Gloster,- speak to thee plain soldier: if thou canst love me for Warwick, and Huntingdon,-go with the king; this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, And take with you free power, to ratify, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take Sliall see advantage,3 for our dignity, a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy, for he perAny thing in, or out of. our demands, force must do thee right. because he hath not the gift And we'11 consign thereto.-Will you, fair sister, to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite Go with the princes, or stay here with us? tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them. they do always reason themselves out again. What! Haply a woman's voice may do some good, a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. Wi1en articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. A good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us: black beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow She is our capital demand, compris'd bald, a fair face will wither, a full eye will wax holWithin the fore-rank of our articles, low; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; Q. Isa. She hath good leave, or, rather, the sun, and not the moon, for it shines [Exeunt all but King HENRY, KATHARINE) and bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly. her Gentlewoman. If thou would have such a one, take me: and take me, K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair! take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king, and what Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, Such as will enter at a lady's ear, I pray thee. And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of IKath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot France? speak your England. K. Hen. No; it is not possible you should love the K. Hen. 0 fair Katharine! if you will love me enemy of France, Kate; but, in loving me, you should soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear love the friend of France, for I love France so well, you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do that I will not part with a village of it; I will have it you like me, Kate? all mine: and, Kate, when France is mine and I am Kath. Pardonnez mois I cannot tell vat is-like me. yours, then yours is France, and you are mine. K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. like an angel. K. Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French, Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges? which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a newAlice. Ozuy, vraiment, sauf vostre grace, ainsi dit il. married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine, and I must not shook off.-Quandfjai la possession de France, et quand blush to affirm it. vous avez la possession de noi, (let me see, what then? Kath. 0 bon Dieu! les langues deshommes sont pleines Saint Dennis be my speed!) —done vostre est France, et de tromperies. vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to con1 all: in folio. 2 pass our accept: in f. e. 3 advantageable: in f. e. 430 KING HENRY V. ACT V. quer the kingdom, as to speak so muph more French. baisant la main d'une vostre indigne serviteure: excusez I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh moi, je vous supplie, mon tres puissant seigneur. at me. K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, le Franfois que vous par- Kath. Les dames, et damoiselles, pour estre baisfes lez, est meilleur que l'Anglois leguel je parle. devant leur noces il n'est pas la costume de France. K. Hen. No,'faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking K. Hen. Madam, my interpreter, what says she? of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou France,-I cannot tell what is, baiser; in English. understand thus much English? Canst thou love me? K. Hen. To kiss. Kath. I cannot tell. Alice. Your majesty entend bettre que moi. K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in France I'11 ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me: and at to kiss before they are married, would she say? night when you come into your closet, you'11 question Alice. Ouy, vraiment. this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you K. Hen. 0, Kate! nice customs curtesy to great will, to her, dispraise those parts in me, that you love kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within with your heart: but, good Kate, mock me mercifully, the weak list of a country's fashion: we are the makers the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our If ever thou be Ist mine, Kate, (as I have a saving faith places stops the mouths of all find-faults, as I will, do within me tells me thou shalt) I get thee with scam- yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country bling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently, and yielding. soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, between Saint [Kissing her.] You have; witchcraft in your lips, Kate: Dennis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, there is more eloquence a a sugar touch of them, than half English, that shall go to Constantinople, and take in the tongues of the French council: and they should the Turk by the beard? shall we not? what sayest sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general pethou, my fair flower-de-luce? tition of monarchs. Here comes your father. Kath. I do not know dat. Enter the French KING( and QUEEN, BURGUNDY, BEDK. Hen. No; It is hereafter to know, but now to pro- FORD, GLOSTER, EXETER, WESTMORELAND, and other mise: do but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour French and English Lords. for your French part of such a boy, and for my English Bur. God save your majesty. My royal cousin, moiety take the word of a king and a bachelor. How Teach you our princess English? answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon tres K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how chere et divine deesse? perfectly I love her; and that is good English. Kath. Your majeste have fausse French enough to Bur. Is she not apt? deceive de most sage damoiselle dat is en France. K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine is not smooth: so that, having neither the voice nor honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate: by which the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me yet my blood the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the likeness. poor and untempting1 effect of my visage. Now be- Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer shrew my father's ambitio.! he was thinking of civil you for that. If you would conjure in her you must wars when he got me: therefore was I created with a make a circle; if conjure up love in her in his true stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I likeness, he must appear naked, and blind. Can you come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate blame her, then, being a maid yet rosed over with the the elder I wax, the better I shall appear: my comfort virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, more spoil upon my face: thou hast me, if thou hast my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield, as love is me better and better. And therefore tell me most blind and enforces. fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your maiden Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the see not what they do. looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say- K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to Harry of England, I am thine: which word thou shalt consent winking. no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you aloud-England is thine Ireland is thine, France is will teach her to know my meaning: for maids, well thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bartholospeak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the mew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and then best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows, they will endure handling, which before would not Come, your answer in broken music, for thy voice is abide looking on. music, and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all, K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a hot Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English: summer; and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in wilt thou have me? the latter end, and she must be blind too. Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de roi mon pere. Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate: it shall K. Hen. It is so: and you may, some of you, thank please him, Kate. love for my blindness, who cannot see many a fair Kath. Den it shall also content me. French city, for one fair French maid that stands in K. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my way. my queen. Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively: Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Mafoi, the cities turned into a maid, for they are all girdled je ne veux point que vous abbaissez vostre grandeur, en with maiden walls, that war hath not2 entered. 1 untempering: in f. e. 2 never: in f. e. SCENE I. KING HENRY Y. 431 K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife? That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Flourish. Fr. King. So please you. Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages, K. Hen. I am content, so the maiden cities you Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! talk of, may wait on her; so the maid, that stood in As man and wife, being two, are one in love the way of my wish, shall show me the way to my will. So be there'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of reason. That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England? Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, West. The king hath granted every article: Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, His daughter, first; and then in sequel, all, To make divorce of their incorporate league; According to their firm proposed natures. That English may as French, French Englishmen, Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this:- Receive each other!-God speak this Amen! Where your majesty demands,-that the king of France, All. Amen! having any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage:-on which day, name your highness in this form, and with this addition, My lord of Burgundy, we'11 take your oath. in French,- Notre tres cherfils Henry roi d'Anglelerre, And all the peers7 for surety of our leagues. heretier de France; and thus in Latin,-Preeclarissimus Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; filius' noster Henricus, rex Anglice, et heres Francice. And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be! Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied, [Sennet. Exeunt. But your request shall make me let it pass. Enter CHoRus, as Epilogue. K. Hen. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance Thus far, with rough and all unable pen) Let that one article rank with the rest; Our bending author hath pursued the story; And, thereupon, give me your daughter. In little room confining mighty men, Fr. King. Take her, fair son; and from her blood Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. raise up Small time, but in that small most greatly liv'd Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms This star of England. Fortune made his sword, Of France and England, whose very shores look pale, By which the world's bear garden he achiev'd, With envy of each other's happiness, And of it left his son imperial lord. May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction Henry the sixth1 in infant bands crown7d king Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord Of France and England, did this king succeed; In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance Whose state so many had the managing, His bleeding sword'twixt England and fair France. That they lost France and made his England bleed; All. Amen! Which oft our stage hath shown, and for their sake, K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate:-and bear me wit- In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Exit. ness all, 1 This mistake in translation, is copied from Holinshed's Chronicle. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY YI. DRAMATIS PERSONM. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. VERNON, of the White Rose, or York Faction. DUKE OF GLOSTER, Uncle to the Kinga and Pro- BASSET, of the Red Rose or Lancaster Faction. tector. DUKE OF BEDFORD, Uncle to the King, Regent of CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France. France. DUKE OF EXETER. REIGNIER, Duke of Anjou, and King of Naples. HENRY BEAUFORT, Bishop of Winchester. DUKES of BURGUNDY and ALEN~ON. BASTARD OF JOHN BEAUFORT, Earl of Somerset. ORLEANS. RICHARD PLATAGEN-T, Duke of York. Governor of Paris. Master Gunner of Orleans, EARLS OF WARWICK, SAL-TSBURY and SUFFOLK. and his Son. TALBOT, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury: General of the French Forces in Bordeaux. JOHN TALBOT, his Son. A French Sergeant. A Porter. An old ShepEDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March. herd, Father to Joan la Pucelle. Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer. SIR JOHN FASTOLFE. SIR WILLIAM LUCY. SIR MARGARET, Daughter to Reignier. WILLIAM GLANSDALE. SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE. COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE. WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower. Mayoi JOAN LA PUCELLE, commonly called Joan of Arc. of London. Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and several Attendants both on the English and French. SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France. ACT I. SCEN - n AbI. We with our stately presence glorify, SCENE I.- Westminster Abbey. |Like captives bound to a triumphant car. Dead March. The Corpse of King HENRY the Fifth What! shall we curse the planets of mishap, is discovered, lying in state; attended on by the That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Dukes of BEDFOP, GLOSTER. and EXETER: the Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Earl of WAR,'-7 the Bishop of Winchester, Conjurors and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, Heralds, &c. _ E By magic verses have contrived his end? Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to Win. He was a king, blessed of the King of kings. night! Unto the French the dreadful judgment day Comets, importing change of times and states, So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: And with them scourge the bad revolting stars. The churches prayers made him so prosperous. That have consented unto Henry's death! Glo. The church! where is it? Had not churchHenry the fifth, too famous to live long! men pray7d, England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. His thread of life had not so soon decayed: Glo. England ne'er had a king until his time. None do you like but an effeminate prince, Virtue he had deserving to command: Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. His brandished sword did blind men with his beams; Win. Gloster, whatever we like, thou art protector, His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; And lookest to command the prince, and realm. His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More dazzled and drove back his enemies, More than God, or religious churchmen may. Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh; What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered. Except it be to pray against thy foes. Exe. We mourn in black: why mourn we not inblood? Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds in Henry is dead, and never shall revive. peace. Upon a wooden coffin we attend; Let's to the altar:-Heralds, wait on us.And death's dishonourable victory Instead of gold, we'11 offer up our arms, SCENE I. FIRST PART OF 433 Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, Posterity, await for wretched years, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, Our isle be made a nourish1 of salt tears, By three-and-twenty thousand of the French And none but women left to wail the dead.- Was round encompassed and set upon. Henry the fifth! thy ghost I invocate; No leisure had he to enrank his men; Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils! He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges, A far more glorious star thy soul will make, They pitched in the ground confusedly, Than Julius Caesar, or bright Cassiope. To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. Enter a lMessenger. More than three hours the fight continued; Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all. Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: Hundreds he sent to hell and none durst stand him; Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he flew. Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. The French exclaimed, the devil was in arms; Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's All the whole army stood agaz'd on him. corse? His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns A Talbot! A Talbot! cried out amain, Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. And rushed into the bowels of the battle. Glo. Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If Henry were recall'd to life again. If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward: These news would cause him once more yield the He being in the rearward: placed behind ghost. With purpose to relieve and follow them, Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was used? Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Mess. No treachery; but want of men and money. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre: Among the soldiers this is muttered,- Enclosed were they with their enemies. That here you maintain several factions; A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, And whilst a field should be despatched and fought, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back; You are disputing of your generals. Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength, One would have lingering wars with little cost; Durst not presume to look once in the face. Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; Bed. Is Talbot slain? then, I will slay myself, A third man thinks, without expense at all For living idly here in pomp and ease, By guileful fair words peace may be obtaind. Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Awake, awake, English nobility! Unto his dastard foe-men is betrayed. Let not sloth dim your honours new-begot: 3 Mess. O0 no! he lives; but is took prisoner, Cropped are the flower-de-luces in your arms; And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford: Of England's coat one half is cut away. Most of the rest slaughtered, or took, likewise. Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral Bed. His ransom, there is none but I shall pay. These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. I 11 hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne; Bed. Me they concern; regent I am of France.- His crown shall be the ransom of my friend: Give ime my steeled coat! I 11 fight for France.- Four of their lords I'11 change for one of ours.Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Farewell, my masters; to my task will I. Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, To weep their intermissive miseries. To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: Enter another Messenger. Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take; 2 Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mis- Whose bloody deeds shall cause' all Europe quake. chance. 3 less. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd., France is revolted from the English quite, The English army is grown weak and faint; Except some petty towns of no import: The earl of Salisbury craveth supply, The Dauphin, Charles, is crowned king in Rheims; And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Since they, so few, watch such a multitude., Reignier. duke of Anjou, doth take his part; Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn; The duke of Alengon flieth to his side. Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, Exe. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.. O! whither shall we fly from this reproach? Bed. I do remember it; and here take. my leaves Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.- To go about my preparation. [Exit. Bedford, if thou be slack, I ll fight it out. Gi. I 11 to the Tower, with all the haste I can, Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? To view th' artillery and munition; An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit. Wherewith already France is over-run. Exe. To Eltham will I,. where the young king is,. Enter a third Messenger. Being ordained his special governor;: 3 Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments, And for his safety there I 11 best devise. [Exit. Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse Win. Each hath his place and function to attend:. I must inform you of a dismal fight, I am left out; for me nothing remains. Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office; Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? The king from Eltham I intend to steal,5 3 Mess. O! no; wherein lord Talbot was overthrown: And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [Exit. The circumstance I'1 tell you more at large. I Pope reads: marish, nmarsh. 2 This word is not in f. e. 3 vaward: in f. e. 4 makey: in f. e. send: in f. e. 28 434 KING HENRY VI. ACT I. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words. SCENE II.-France. Before Orleans. y unflible. For they are certain and urnfallole. Flourish. Enter CHARLES, with his Forces; ALEN9ON,:Char. Go, call her in. [Exit ~Bastardd.] Butfirst, to REIGNIER, and others. try her skill, Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: So in the earth, to this day is not known.' Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern. Late did he shine upon the English side; By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. [Retires. What towns of any moment but we have? Enter LA PUCELLE, Bastard of Orleans, and others. At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; Reig. Fair maid. is't thou wilt do these wond;rous The whiles,2 the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, feats? Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me? Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat bull- Where is the Dauphin?-Come, come from behind beeves: I know thee well, though never seen before. Either they must be dieted like mules, Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me: And have their provender tied to their mouths, In private will I talk with thee apart.Or piteous they will look like drowned mice. Stand back, my lords, and give us leave awhile. Reig. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here? Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. Talbot is taken whom we wont to fear: [They retire. Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury, Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter. And he may well in fretting spend his gall: My wit untrained in any kind of art. Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war. Heaven and our gracious Lady7 hath it pleas'd Char. Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them. To shine on my contemptible estate: Now, for the honour of the forborne3 French! Lo! whilst I waited on my tender lambs, Him I forgive my death that killeth me. And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, When he sees me go back one foot, or flee.4 [Exeunt. God's mother deigned to appear to me; Alarums; Excursions; afterwards a Retreat. And, in a vision full of majesty, Re-enter CHARLES, ALEN9ON, REIGNIER, and others. Will'd me to leave my base vocation, Char. Who ever saw the like? what men have I!- And free my country from calamity. Dogs! cowards! dastards!-I would ne'er have fled, Her aid she promis'd, and assured success: But that they left me'midst my enemies. In complete glory she reveal'd herself; Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; And, whereas I was black and swart before, He fighteth as one weary of his life: With those clear rays which she infused on me, The other lords, like lions wanting food, That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. Ask me what question thou canst possible, Alen. Froissart, a countryman of ours. records, And I will answer unpremeditated: England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, My courage try by combat. if thou dar'st, During the time Edward the third did reign. And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. More truly now may this be verified; Resolve on this; thou shalt be fortunate, For none but Samsons. and Goliasses, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Char. Thou hast astonished me with thy high terms. Lean raw-bon;d rascals! who would e'er suppose Only this proof I'11 of thy valour make: They had such courage and audacity? In single combat thou shalt buckle with me Char. Let's leave this town; for they are hair-brain'd And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; slaves, Or,8 I renounce all confidence in you.9 And hunger will enforce them be more eager: Puc. I am prepar'd. Here is my keen-edg'd sword, Of old I know them; rather with their teeth Decked with five flower-de-luces on each side; The walls they'11 tear down, than forsake the siege. The which at Touraine in Saint Katharine's church yard, Reig. I think, by some odd gimmals' or device, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. Their arms are set like clocks still to strike on; Char. Then, come o' God's name: I fear no woman. Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. Puc. And, while I live, I'11 ne'er fly from no man. By my consent, we'11 e'en let them alone. [They fight. Alen. Be it so. Char. Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon, Enter the Bastard of Orleans. And fightest with the sword of Deborah. Bast. Where's the prince Dauphin? I have news Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. for him. Char. Whoe'er helps thee,'tis thou that must help me. Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. Impatiently I burn with thy desire; Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. appall'd: Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Let me thy servant. and not sovereign, be: Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand:'T is the French Dauphin sueth thus to thee. A holy maid hither with me I bring, Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love, Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, For my profession's sacred from above: Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, When [ have chased all thy foes from hence, And drive the English forth the bounds of France. Then will I think upon a recompense. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Char. Mean time look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome; Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. What's past and what's to come, she can descry. [They talk apart.' 1 This circumstance is mentioned in other writers of the time. 2 otherwhiles: in f. e. 3 forlorn: in f.e. fly: in f.. 5 1achines, 4 Not in f. e. 7 our Lady gracious: in f. e. 8 otherwise: in f. e. 9 in you: not in f. e. 1o Not in f. e. SCENE III. KING HENRY VI. 435 Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock, Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him'fore me? Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do know: Thou art no friend to God, or to the king: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. Open the gates, or I 11 shut thee out shortly. Reig. My, lord, where are you? what devise you on? 1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector: [To him.' We'11 burst them open, if you come not quickly. Shall we give over Orleans, or no? Enter WINCHESTER, and Servants in tawney coats.3 Puc. Why, no, I say: distrustful recreants! Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey! what means Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. this. Char. What she says, I'11 confirm: we'11 fight it out. Glo. Pill d4 priest, dost thou command me be shut out? Puc. Assigned am I to be the English scourge. Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor, This night the siege assuredly I 711 raise: And not protector, of the king or realm. Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Since I have entered into these wars. Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord; Glory is like a circle in the water, Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin,5 Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, I'1 canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. If thou proceed in this thy insolence. With Henry's death the English circle ends; Win. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot: Dispersed are the glories it included. This be Damascus,6 be thou cursed Cain, Now am I like that proud insulting ship, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. Which Caesar and his fortunes bare at once. Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back. Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth Thou with an eagle art inspired, then.I'11 use to carry thee cut of this place. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Win. Do what thou dar'st; I'11 beard thee to thy face. Nor yet St. Philip's daughters were like thee. Glo. What! am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?Bright star of Venus fall'n down on the earth, Draw, men, for all this is a privileg'd place; How may I reverent worship thee enough? Blue coats' to tawney coats. Priest, beware your beard Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. [GILOSTER and his Men attack the Bishop. Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours. I mean to tug it. and to cuff you soundly. Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat, Char. Presently we'll try.-Come, let?s away about it: In spite of pope or dignities of church; No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. Here by the cheeks I'11 drag thee up and down. SCENE I Lodon. Tower Hill. Win. Gloster, thou'It answer this before the pope. Glo. Winchester goose! I cry-a rope! a rope!Enter at the Gates, the Duke of GLOSTER, with his Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?Serving-men. Thee I'11 chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.Glo. I am come to survey the Tower this day; Out, tawney coats!-out, scarlet hypocrite! Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Here GLOSTER'S Men beat out the Cardinal's M2en, and Where be these warders, that they wait not here? enter, in the hurly-burly, the Mayor of London and Open the gates!'T is Gloster that now calls. his Officers. [Servants knock. May. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, 1 Ward [Within.] Who's there, that knocks so im- Thus contumeliously should break the peace! perlously? Glo. Peace. mayor! thou knowest little of my wrongs. 1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 2 Ward. [Within.] Whoe'er he be, you may not be Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. let in. Win. Here?s Gloster too, a foe to citizens; 1 Serv. Villains, answer you so the lord protector? One that still motions war, and never peace, 1 Ward. [Within.] The Lord protect him! so we O'ercharging your free purses with large fines; answer him: That seeks to overthrow religion, We do no otherwise than we are will'd. Because he is protector of the realm; Glo. Who will'd you so? or whose will stands but And would have armour, here, out of the Tower, mine? To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. There's none protector of the realm but I.- Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but blows. Break up the gates, I'11 be your warrantize. [Here they skirmish again. Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? lilay. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife, GLOSTER;S Men rush atthe Tower Gates. Enter, to the But to make open proclamation.gates, WOODVILLE, the Lieutenant. Come, officer: as loud as thou canst cry. Wood. [Within.] What noise is this? what traitors Off. All manner of men, assembled here in arms this day, have we here? against God's peace, and the kings;, we charge and Glo. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? command you, in his highness' name, to repair to your Open the gates! here's Gloster that would enter. several dwelling-places; and, not to wear, handle, or Wood. [Within.] Have patience, noble duke; I may use. any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, not open; upon pain of death. The cardinal of Winchester forbids: Glo. Cardinal, I'11 be no breaker of the law; From him I have express commandment, But we shall meet. and break our minds at large. That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. Win. Gloster, we'11 meet to thy dear cost be sure: 1 Not in f. e. 2 Fraud. theft. s This, according to Stow, was the dress of a bishop's attendants. 4 Shorn. 5 The stews in Southwark were under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Winchester, whose palace stood near by. 6 It was'the old popular belief, that the site of Damascus was the place where Cain killed Abel. 7 This was the usual livery of servants. s A title applied to those who had contracted a malady to which frequenters of the stews are liable. 436 FIRST PART OF ACT I. Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. That walk'd about me every minute-while. May. I 11 call for clubs1 if you will not away.- And if I did but stir out of my bed, This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Glo. Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd, may'st. But we will be reveng'd sufficiently. Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head: Now, it is supper-time in Orleans: For I intend to have it off ere long. [Exeunt. Here, through this grate, I can count every one, 3May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.- And view the Frenchmen how they fortify: Good God! that2 nobles should such stomachs bear! Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions, SCENE IV.-France. Before Orleans. E I France. Befre Orleans. Where is best place to make our battery next. Enter on the Walls, the Master-Gunner and his Son. Gar. I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know sthow Orleans is besieg'd, Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. And how the English have the suburbs won. Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd Son. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. [GARGRAVE fall. Howe'er unfortunate I missed my aim. [Shot from the Town. SALISBURY and Sir THO. M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me: Sal. 0 Lord! have mercy on us, wretched sinners. Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Gar. 0 Lord! have mercy on me, woeful man. Something I must do to procure me grace. Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath cross'd The prince's espials have informed me Speak Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak: [us?How the English, in the suburbs close entrenchd, How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? Wont3 through a secret grate of iron bars One of thine eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!In yonder tower, to overpeer the city; Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand, And thence discover, how, with most advantage, That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy! They may vex us with shot, or with assault. In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ereame; To intercept this inconvenience, Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars; A piece of ordnance'gainst it I have plac'd; Whilst any trump did sound. or drum struck up, And fully even these three days have I watch'd, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch, Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail, For I can stay no longer on my post. One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace: If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word, The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.And thou shalt find me at the governors. [Exit. Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, Son. Father, I warrant you; take you no care: If Salisbury want mercy at thy hands!I 11 never trouble you, if I may spy them. Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it.Enter, in an upper Chlmber of a Tower, the Lords Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? SALISBURY and TALBOT; Sir WILLIAM GLANSDALE: Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Sir THOMAS GARGRAVE, and others. Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy! again return'd? Thou shalt not die, whiles —-- How wert thou handled, being prisoner, He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me, Or by what means got'st thou to be releasd, As who should say, " When I am dead and gone, Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top. Remember to avenge me on the French."Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner, Plantagenet, I will; and, Nero-like, Called the brave lord of Ponton de Santrailes; Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: For him I was exchang'd and ransomed. Wretched shall France'be only in my name. But with a baser man of arms by far, [An Alarum: it thunders and lightens. Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me: What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens? Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death, Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? Rather than I would be so vile' esteemed: Enter a Messenger. In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. Mess. MAy lord, my lord! the French have gathered But O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, [head: Whom with my bare fists I would execute, A holy prophetess, new risen up, If I now had him brought into my power. Is come with a great power to raise the siege. Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertained. [SALIsBURY lifts himself up and groans. Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and eontumelious taunts. Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan! In open market-place produced they me, It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd.To be a public spectacle to all: Frenchmen I'11 be a Salisbury to you, Here, said they, is the terror of the French, Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, The scare-crow that affrights our children so. Your hearts I 11 stamp out with my horse's heels, Then broke I from the officers that led me, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, Convey me Salisbury into his tent; To hurl at the beholders of my shame. And then we'11 try what dastard Frenchmen dare. My grisly countenance made others fly; [Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. None durst come near for fear of sudden death..-Te S B o o t In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;SCENE V The Same. Before one of the Gates. So great fear of my name'mongst them was spread, Alarum. Skirmishings. TALBOT pursues the Dauphin, That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel, and drives him; then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving And spurn in pieces posts of adamant. Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT. Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, andmy force? 1 The usual city cry in times of tumult. 2 these: in folio. 3 went: in folio. 4 pil'd: in folio. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 437 Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them In spite of us, or aught that we could do. A woman clad in armour chaseth them. 0! would I were to die with Salisbury. Enter LA PUCELLE. The shame hereof will make me hide my head. Here, here she comes.-I'11 have a bout with thee: [Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt TALBOT and his Forces. Devil, or devil's dam, I'11 conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee; thou art a witch1, SCENE VI.-he Same. And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. Flourish. Enter, on the Walls, PUCELLE, CHARLES, Puc. Come, come;'t is only I that must disgrace thee. REIGNIER, ALENON, and Soldiers..[They fight. Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls! Tal. Heavens, cal you suffer hell so to prevail? Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves4; My breast I'11 burst with straining of my courage, Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, Char. Divinest creature, bright Astrsea's daughter, But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. How shall I honour thee for this success? Puc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, I must go victual Orleans forthwith. That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.O'ertake me if thou canst I scorn thy strength. France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!Go, go, cheer up thy hunger2-starved men; Recover'd is the town of Orleans: Help Salisbury to make his testament: More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. This day is ours, as many more shall be. Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout [PUCELLE enters the town, with Soldiers. the town? Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires I know not where I am, nor what I do. And feast and banquet in the open streets, A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy, So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench, When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. Are from their hives and houses driven away. Char.'T is Joan, not we, by whom the day is won, They called us for our fierceness English dogs; For which I will divide my crown with her; Now, like to whelps we crying run away. And all the priests and friars in my realm [A short Alarum. Shall in procession sing her endless praise. Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was: Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: In memory of her, when she is dead, Sheep run not half so treacherous3 from the wolf, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard, Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. Transported shall be at high festivals [Alarum. Another skirmish. Before the kings and queens of France. It will not be. —Retire into your trenches: No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry, You all consented unto Salisbury's death, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.- Come in; and let us banquet royally, Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt. ACT II. Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, SCENE I.-The Same. To join with witches, and the help of hell. Enter to the Gates, a French Sergeant, and Two Sentinels. Bur. Traitors have never other company. Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant. But what Is that, Pucelle, whom they term so pure? If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, Tal. A maid, they say. Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Bed. A maid, and be so martial? Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long; [Exit Sergeant. If underneath the standard of the French, 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. Thus are poor servitors She carry armour, as she hath begun. (When others sleep upon their quiet beds) Tal. Well, letthem practice and converse with spirits; Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. God is our fortress; in whose conquering name Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. scaling Ladders; their Drums beating a dead march. Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. Tal. Lord regent: and redoubted Burgundy, Tal. Not all together: better far, I guess, By whose approach the regions of Artois, That we do make our entrance several ways, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us, That if it chance the one of us do fail, This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, The other yet may rise against their force. Having all day carous'd and banqueted. Bed. Agreed. I'11 to yon corner. Embrace we, then, this opportunity, Bur. And I to this. As fitting bost to quittance their deceit, Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery. grave.Bed. Coward of France!-how much he wrongs his Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right fame, Of English Henry, shall this night appear i It was an old popular belief, that if a witch lost blood, her power was ended. 2 hungry: in f. e. 3 Pope reads: timorous. 4 wolvss is from the second folio. 438 FIRST PART OF ACT IT. How much in duty I am bound to both. There havB at least five Frenchmen died to-night. [The English scale the Walls, crying St. George! And that hereafter ages may behold a Talbot! and all enter the Town. What ruin happened in revenge of him, Sent. [Within.] Arm,. arm! the enemy doth make Within their chiefest temple I ll erect assault! A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interred: Frenchmen leap over the Walls in their shirts. Enter, Upon the which, that every one may read, several ways, BASTARD, ALEN9ON, REIGNIER, half Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, ready1 and half unready. The treacherous manner of his mournful death, Alen. How now, my lords! what, all unready so? And what a terror he had been to France. Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we'scapld so well. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, Reig.'T was time, I trow, to wake and leave our I muse, we met not with the Dauphin's grace, beds, His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Are, Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. Nor any of his false confederates. Alen. Of all exploits, since first I followed arms, Bed.'T is thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, More venturous, or desperate than this. They did, amongst the troops of armed men, Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. Bur. Myself, as far as I could well discern, Alen. Here cometh Charles: I marvel, how he sped. For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night, Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE. Am sure I scared the Dauphin, and his trull; Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. When arm. in arm they both came swiftly running, Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, That could not live asunder, day or night. Make us partakers of a little gain, After that things are set in order here, That now our loss might be ten times so much? We'11 follow them with all the power we have. Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? Enter a Messenger. At all times will you have my power alike? Mess. All hail,, my lords! Which of this princely Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, train Or will you blame, and lay the fault on me?- Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, So much applauded through the realm of France? This sudden mischief never could have fallen. Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with Char. Duke of Alengon, this was your default, him? That, being captain of the watch to-night, Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, Did look no better to that weighty charge. With modesty admiring thy renown. Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe As that whereof I had the government, To visit her poor castle where she lies; We had not been thus shamefully surprised. That she may boast she hath beheld the man Bast. Mine was secure. Whose glory fills the world with loud report. Reig. And so was mine, my lord. Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then. I see, our wars Char. And for myself, most part of all this night, Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.I was employed in passing to and fro, You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. About relieving of the sentinels: Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men Then, how, or which way, should they first break in? Could not prevail with all their oratory, Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd.How, or which way:'t is sure, they found some place And therefore tell her, I return great thanks, But weakly guarded, where the breach was made; And in submission will attend on her.And now there rests no other shift but this,- Will not your honours bear me company? To gather our soldiers, scattered and dispers'd, Bed. No, truly, it is more than manners will;. And lay new platforms2 to endamage them. And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying, a Talbot! Are often welcomest when they are gone. a Talbot! They fly, leaving their Clothes behind. Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, Sold. I ll be so bold to take what they have left. I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. [mind. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; Come hither, captain. [Whispers.]-You perceive my For I have loaden me with many spoils, Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Orleans. Within the Town. SCENE III.-Auvergne. Court of the Castle. Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter. others. Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, And, when you have done so; bring the keys to me. Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, [Retreat sounded. I shall as famous be by this exploit, Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury; As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. And here advance it in the market-place, Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, The middle centre of this cursed town.- - And his achievements of no less account: Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, For every drop of blood was drawn from him, To give their censure of these rare reports.:Half-dressed. 2 Plots, or plans. SCENE Iv. KING HENRY VI. 439 Enter Messenger and TALBOT. I did not entertain thee as thou art. Mess. Madam, according as your ladyship desird, Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake Count. And he is welcome.-What! is this the man? The outward composition of his body. Mess. Madam, it is. What you have done hath not offended me: Count. Is this the scourge of France? No other satisfaction do I crave, Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, But only, with your patience, that we may That with his name the mothers still their babes? Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have; I see report is fabulous and false: For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. I thought I should have seen some Hercules, Count. With all my heart; and think me honoured A second Hector for his grim aspect, To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf: London. T T l adn It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp Enter the Earls of SOMERSET. SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; Should strike such terror to his enemies. RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and a Lawyer. Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, Dare no man answer in a case of truth? [silence? I'll sort some other time to visit you. Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud: Count. What means he now?-Go, ask him, whither The garden here is more convenient. he goes. Plan. Then say at once, if I maintained the truth, Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error? To know the cause of your abrupt departure. Suf. Faith, I have been a truant in the law, Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief. And never yet could frame my will to it; I go to certify her Talbot's here. And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. Re-enter Porter, with Keys. Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then, beCount. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. tween us. Tal. Prisoner! to whom? War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord; pitch, And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, Between two blades, which bears the better temper, For in my gallery thy picture hangs; Between two horses, which doth bear him best, But now the substance shall endure the like, Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, I have: perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment; That hast by tyranny these many years, But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, Wasted our country, slain our citizens, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. And sent our sons and husbands captivate. Plan. Tut, tut! here is a mannerly forbearance: Tal. Ha, ha, ha! The truth appears so naked on my side, Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn That any purblind eye may find it out. to moan. Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond, So clear, so shining, and so evident, To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. Whereon to practise your severity. Plan. Since you are tongue-tied, and so loath to Count. Why, art not thou the man? speak, Tal. I am indeed. In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts. Count. Then have I substance too. Let him, that is a true-born gentleman, Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: And stands upon the honour of his birth, You are deceived, my substance is not here; If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, For what you see, is but the smallest part From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. And least proportion of humanity. Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, But dare maintain the party of the truth, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. War. I love no colours: and, without all colour Count. This is a riddling merchant' for the nonce; Of base insinuating flattery, He will be here, and yet he is not here: I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. How can these contrarieties agree? Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset; Tal. That will I show you, lady2, presently. And say withal, I think he held the right. He winds his Horn. Drums strike up; a Peal of Ver. Stay, lords, and gentlemen; and pluck no more, Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers. Till you conclude that he, upon whose side How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, That Talbot is but shadow of himself? Shall yield the other in the right opinion. These are his substance. sinews, arms, and strength Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected: With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, Plan. And I. And in a moment makes them desolate. Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,'Count. Victorious Talbot, pardon my abuse: I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it offi Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, For I am sorry, that with reverence And fall on my side so, against your will. 1 This word was often used as a term of contempt. 2 This word is not in f. e. 440 FIRST PART OF ACT n. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed; Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it! Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, War. This blot, that they object against your house, And keep me on the side where still I am. Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, Som. Well, well, come on: who else? Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster, Law. Unless my study and my books be false, And if thou be not then created York, The argument you held was wrong in you I will not live to be accounted Warwick. In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that, Will I upon thy party wear this rose. Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. And here I prophcsy,-this brawl to-day, Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our Grown to this faction in the Temple garden, roses; Shall send, between the red rose and the white, For pale they look with fear, as witnessing Ten3 thousand souls to death and deadly night. The truth on our side. Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, Som. No, Plantagenet. That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.'T is not for fear, but anger; and thy cheeks Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, Law. And so will I. And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plan. Thanks, gentle sir: Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say, Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt. Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth, Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. SCENE V-The Same. A Room i the Towcr. Som. Well, I ll find friends to wear mybleeding-roses, Enter MORTIMER blind4, brought in a Chair by two That shall maintain what I have said is true, Keepers. Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.I scorn thee and thy faction', peevish boy. Even like a man new haled from the rack, Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, thee. Nestor-like aged in a cage of care, Suf. I l11 turn my part thereof into thy throat. Argue the end of Edward Mortimer. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole. These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent.5 War. Now by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somer- Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, set: And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, That droops his sapless branches to the ground: Third son to the third Edward, king of England. Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root? Unable to support this lump of clay, Plan, He braves2 him on the place's privilege, Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. As witting I no other comfort have.Som. By him that made me, I ll maintain my words But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? On any plot of ground in Christendom. 1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: Was not thy father: Richard earl of Cambridge, We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber, For treason executed in our late king's days? And answer was returned that he will come. And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted, [Exit Keeper.6 Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; Poor gentleman, his wrong doth equal mine. And till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, Plan. My father was attached, not attainted, Before whose glory I was great in arms, Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; This loathsome sequestration have I had; And that ['11 prove on better men than Somerset, And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, Were growing time once ripened to my will. Depriv'd of honour and inheritance: For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, But now, the arbitrator of despairs, I l11 note you in my book of memory, Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, To scourge you for this apprehension: With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd. I would his troubles likewise were expir'd, Som. Ah! thou shalt find us ready for thee still, That so he might recover what was lost. And know us by these colours for thy foes; Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and Keeper.7 For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, MIor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, Will I for ever, and my faction, wear, Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. Until it wither with me in my grave, Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck, fOr flourish to the height of my degree. And in his bosom spend my latter gasp. Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition:! tell me, when my lips do touch his cheek, And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.Som. Have with thee. Poole.-Farewell, ambitious And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, Richard. [Exit. Why didst thou say-of late thou wert despis'd? 1 fashion: in folio. Theobald changed the word. 2 bears: in f. e. 3 a: in f. e. 4 This word is not in f. e. 5 End. 6 Not in f. o 7 The words, and keeper," are not in f. e. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 441 Plan. First. lean thine aged back against mine arm Levied an army, weening to redeem, And in that ease I'11 tell thee my disease. And have install'd me in the diadem; This day, in argument upon a case, But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, Some words there grew'twixt Somerset and me; And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue, In whom the title rested, were suppressed. And did upbraid me with my father's death: Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last. Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, Mor. True; and thou seest, that I no issue have, Else with the like I had requited him. And that my fainting words do warrant death. Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, Thou art my heir: the rest, I wish thee gather; In honour of a true Plantagenet, But yet be wary in thy studious care. And for alliance' sake, declare the cause Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me. My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. But yet, methinks, my father's execution Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprisoned me, Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic: Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, Was cursed instrument of his decease. And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was: But now thy uncle is removing hence, For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd Mor. I will, if that my fading breath permit, With long continuance in a settled place. And death approach not ere my tale be done. Plan. 0, uncle! would some part of my young years Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king, Might but redeem the passage of your age. Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son. Mor. Thou dost, then, wrong me; as the slaughterer The first-begotten, and the lawful heir doth, Of Edward, king the third of that descent: Which giveth many wounds. when one will kill. During whose reign the Percies of the north, Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; Finding his usurpation most unjust, Only, give order for my funeral. Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne. And so farewell; and fair be all thy hopes, The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this, An prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war! [Dies. Was for that young king Richard thus removd, Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul! (Leaving no heir begotten of his body) In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, I was the next by birth and parentage; And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.For by my mother I derived am Well, [ will lock his counsel in my breast: From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son And what I do imagine, let that rest.To king Edward the third, whereas he Keepers, convey him hence: and I myself From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, Will see his burial better than his life.Being but fourth of that heroic line. [Exeunt Keepers, bearing out MORTIMER. But mark: as, in this haughty great attempt Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, They laboured to plant the rightful heir, Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort: I lost my liberty, and they their lives. And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Long after this, when Henry the fifth Which Somerset hath offered to my house, (Succeeding his father Bolingbroke) did reign, I doubt not but with honour to redress; Thy father, earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd And therefore haste I to the parliament, From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York, Either to be restored to my blood, Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, Or make my will th' advancer1 of my good. [Exit. Again, in pity of my hard distress, ACT III. SCEN.-Te S. Te Parlia t-H. The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, SCENE I.-The Same. The Parliament-House. That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able Flourish. Enter King HENRY, EXETER, GLOSTER, Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen: WARWICK, SOMERSET; and SUFFOLK the Bishop of No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, GLOSTER offers to put up a Bill; WINCHESTER As very infants prattle of thy pride. snatches it: and tears it. Thou art a most pernicious usurer, Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, Froward by nature, enemy to peace; With written pamphlets studiously devis'd? Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems Humphrey of Gloster, if thou canst accuse, A man of thy profession, and degree: Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, And for thy treachery, what's more manifest, Do it without invention, suddenly; In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, As I with sudden and extemporal speech As well at London bridge, as at the Tower? Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt patience, From envious malice of thy swelling heart. Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me. Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.-Lords, vouchsafe Think not, although in writing I prefer To give me hearing what I shall reply. 1 advantage: in f. e. 442 FIRST PART OF ACT II. If I were covetous, ambitious, proud, To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace. As he will have me, how am I so poor? Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. Or how haps it, I seek not to advance 1 Serv. Nay, if we be Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. And for dissension, who preserveth peace 2 Serv. Do what ye dare; we are as resolute. More than I do, except I be provoked? [Skirmish. again. No, my good lords, it is not that offends: Glo. You, of my household, leave this peevish broil, It is not that that hath incens'd the duke: And set this unaccustomed fight aside. it is, because no one should sway but he; 1 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man No one but he should be about the king; Just and upright; and, for your royal birth, And that engenders thunder in his breast. Inferior to none but to his majesty; And makes him roar these accusations forth. And ere that we will suffer such a prince, But he shall know, I am as good -So kind a father of the commonweal, Glo. As good? To be disgraced by an inkhorn3 mate, Thou bastard of my grandfather!- We, and our wives, and children, all will fight, Win. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. But one imperious in another's throne? 3 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest? Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. [Skirmish again Win. And am not I a prelate of the church? Glo. Stay, stay! Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, And, if you love me, as you say you do, And useth it to patronage his theft. Let me persuade you to forbear awhile. Win. Unreverent Gloster! K. Hen. 0, how this discord doth afflict my soul! — Glo. Thou art reverent Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. My sighs and tears, and will not once relent? Win. Rome shall remedy this. Who should be pitiful, if you be not? War. Roam thither then. Or who should study to preserve4 a peace, My lord, it were.your duty to forbear. If holy churchmen take delight in broils? Som. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. War. Yield, lord protector; and yield, Winchester; Methinks, my lord should be religious, Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, And know the office that belongs to such. To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler: You see what mischief, and what murder too, It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. Hath been enacted through your enmity; Som.'Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. Then, be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. War. State holy, or unhallowed, what of that? Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. Is not his grace protector to the king? Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop; Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue; Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest [Aside. Should ever get that privilege of me. Lest it be said, "Speak, sirrah, when you should; War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?" Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, Else would I have a fling at Winchester. As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, Why look you still so stern, and tragical? The special watchmen of our English weal, Glo. Here, Winchester; I offer thee my hand. I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, [Winchester refuses it.5 To join your hearts in love and amity. K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you O! what a scandal is it to our crown. preach. That two such noble peers as ye should jar. That malice was a great and grievous sin; Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, And will not you maintain the thing you teach, Civil dissension is a viperous worm, But prove a chief offender in the same? That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.- War. Sweet king!-the bishop hath a kindly gird. [A noise within: Down with the tawney coats! For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent: What tumult's this? What! shall a child instruct you what to do? War. An uproar, I dare warrant, Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee; Begun through malice of the bishop's men. Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give. [A noise again: Stones! Stones! [Gives his hand.6 Enter the Mayor of London, and some Citizens. Glo. Ay; but I fear me, with a hollow heart. [Aside. May. 0, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, See here, my friends, and loving countrymen; Pity the city of London, pity us! This token serveth for a flag of truce, The bishop's and the duke of Gloster's men. Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, So help me God, as I dissemble not! Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones: Win. So help me God, as I intend it not! [Aside. And banding themselves in contrary parts, K. Hen. 0, loving uncle, and kind duke of Gloster, Do pelt so fast at one another's pates, How joyful am I made by this contract!That many have their giddy brains knocked out. Away, my masters: trouble us no more, Our windows are broke down in every street But join in friendship, as your lords have done. And we for fear compell'd to. shut our shops. 1 Serv. Content: I'II to the surgeon's. Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of GLOSTER, and 2 Serv. And so will I. WINCHESTER, with bloody pates. 3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern affords. K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, [Exeunt Mayor, Citizens, Servants, T'c. 1 or perverse: in f. e. 2 Enter the Ml.ayor of London attended: in f. e. A term usually applied to pedantry. 4 prefer: in f. e 6 6 Not in f. e. 7 This word is not in f. e. SCENE l. KING HENRY YI. 443 War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign And that we find the slothful watch but weak, Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet I'11 by a sign give notice to our fiiends, We do exhibit to your majesty. That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick:-for, sweet 1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, prince, And we be lords and rulers over Rouen; And if your grace mark every circumstance, Therefore we Ill knock. [Knocks. You have great reason to do Richard right; Guard. [Within.] Qui est l? Especially for those occasions Puc. Paisans, les pauvres gens de France At Eltham-place I told your majesty. Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn. K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force: Guard. Enter; go in: the market-bell is rung. Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is, [Opening the gates. That Richard be restored to his blood. Puc. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the War. Let Richard be restor'd to his blood; ground. [PUCELLE, (c. enter the City. So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. Enter CHARLES Bastard of ORLEANS, ALENFON, and Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. Forces. K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone, Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem, But all the whole inheritance I give, And once again we'11 sleep secure in Rouen. That doth belong unto the house of York, Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants'. From whence you spring by lineal descent. Now she is there, how will she specify Plan. Thy honour'd1 servant vows obedience, Where is the best and safest passage in? And humble service, till the point of death. Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower; K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against my Which, once discern'd, shows, that her meaning is,foot; No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. And in reguerdon of that duty done, Enter LA PUCELLE on a Battlement, holding out a Torch I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. burning. Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, Puc. Behold! this is the happy wedding torch, And rise created princely duke of York. That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, Plan. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall: But burning fatal to the Talbotites. And as my duty springs, so perish they Bast. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend; That grudge one thought against your majesty. The burning torch in yonder turret stands. All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, York! A prophet to the fall of all our foes! Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York! Alen. Defer no time; delays have dangerous ends: [Aside. Enter, and cry The Dauphin! presently, Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty, And then do execution on the watch. [They enter. To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France. Alarums. Enter TALBOT, and English Soldiers. The presence of a king engenders love Tal. France thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends, If Talbot but survive: thy treachery. As it disanimates his enemies. Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, King Henry Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, goes; That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. [Exeunt to the Town. Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. Alarum: Excursions. Enter, from the Town, BEDFORD, [Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER. brought in sick in a Chair, with TALBOT, BURGUNDY, Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in France, and the English Forces. Then, enter on the Walls Not seeing what is likely to ensue. LA PUCELLE; CHARLES Bastard, ALEN9ON, REIGNIER, This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers, and others. Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love, Puc. Good morrow, gallants. Want ye corn for bread? And will at last break out into a flame: I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast, As fester'd members rot but by degrees, Before he'11 buy again at such a rate. Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away,'T was full of darnel: do you like the taste? So will this base and envious discord breed. Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan! And now I fear that fatal prophecy, I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, Which, in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth, And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. Was in the mouth of every sucking babe,- Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all, time. And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all: Bed. 0! let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason. Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish Puc. What will you do. good grey-beard? break a His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Exit. lance, And run a tilt at death within a chair? SCENE II.-France. Before Rouen. SC:ENE II.-France. Before Rouen. Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of hell'sa despite, Enter LA PUCELLE disguised, and Soldiers dressed like Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours, Countrymen, with Sacks upon their Backs. Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen And twit with cowardice a man half dead? Through which our policy must make a breach. Damsel, I I11 have a bout with you again, Take heed, be wary how you place your words; Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men Puc. Are you so hot, sir? —Yet, Pucelle, hold thy That come to gather money for their corn. If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.- [peace: If we have entrance, (as I hope we shall) [TALBOT, and the rest, consult together, I humble: in f. e. 2 Confederates. 3 all: in f. e. 444 FIRST PART OF ACT IIT. God speed the parliament! who shall be speaker? Bur. Warlike and matchless2 Talbot, Burgundy Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field? Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument. To try if that our own be ours, or no. Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, now? But unto thee, Alen9on, and the rest. I think her old familiar is asleep: Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? Now where's the Bastard's braves. and Charles his Alen. Signior, no. gleeks3? Tal. Signior, hang!-base muleteers of France! What, all a-mort4? Rouen hangs her head for grief, Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, That such a valiant company are fled. And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. Now will we take some order in the town, Puc. Away, captains! let's get us from the walls, Placing therein some expert officers, For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.- And then depart to Paris to the king; God be wi7 you, my lord: we came, but to tell you For there young Henry with his nobles lies. That we are here. Bur. What wills lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. [Exeunt LA PUCELLE,'C. from the Walls. Tal. But yet, before we go. let's not forget Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame.- But see his exequies fulfilled in Rouen: Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, A braver soldier never couched lance Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France, A gentler heart did never sway in court; Either to get the town again, or die; But kings, and mightiest potentates must die And I, as sure as Einglish Henry lives, For that Is the end of human misery. [Exeunt. And as his father here was conqueror, SCENE III.-The Same. The Plains near the City. As sure as in this late betrayed town Great Cceur-de-lion's heart was buried, Enter CHARLES, the Bastard, ALEN9ON, LA PUCELLE, So sure I swear to get the town, or die. and Forces. Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, Tal. But ere we go, regard this dying prince, Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered: The valiant duke of Bedford.-Come, my lord, Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, We will bestow you in some better place, For things that are not to be remedied. Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while, Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me: And like a peacock sweep along his tail, Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, We Ill pull his plumes, and take away his train, And will be partner of your weal, or woe. If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd. Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you. Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto, Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read, And of thy cunning had no diffidence: That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick, One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. Came to the field, and vanquished his foes. Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts, And we will make thee famous through the world. Because I ever found them as myself. Alen. We 711 set thy statue in some holy place, Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!- And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint: Then, be it so:-heavens keep old Bedford safe!- Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good. And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, Puc. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise. But gather we our forces out of hand By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words, And set upon our boasting enemy. We will entice the duke of Burgundy [Exeunt BURGUNDY, TALBOT, and Forces, leaving To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. BEDFORD, and others. Char. Ay. marry, sweeting, if we could do that, Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir JOHN FASTOLFE, and France were no place for Henry's warriors; a Captain. Nor should that nation boast it so with us, Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such But be extirped from our provinces. haste? Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd from France, Fast. Whither away? to save myself by flight: And not have title of an earldom here. We are like to have the overthrow again. Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will work, Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? To bring this matter to the wished end. Fast. Ay, [Drums heard afar off. All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. [Exit. Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive Cap. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! [Exit. Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the Town, LA An English March. Enter, and pass over, TALBOT and PUCELLE, ALEN9ON, CHARLES, 3C. and exeunt, flying. his Forces. Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when Heaven please, There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. And all the troops of English after him. What is the trust or strength of foolish man? A French March. Enter the Duke of BURGUNDY and They, that of late were daring with their scoffs, Forces. Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. Now, in the rearward comes the duke and his: [Dies, and is carried off in his Chair. Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. Alarum. Enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and others. Summon a parley; we will talk with him. Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again! [Trumpets sound a parley. This is double honour, Burgundy; Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. Yet1 heavens have glory for this victory. Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? 1 Dyce suggests, let, as the reading. 2 martial: in f. e. 3 Scoffs. 4 Dispirited. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 445 Puc. The princely Charles of France. thy countryman. And doth deserve a coronet of gold. Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers, hence. And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt. Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy S I-Pri A n words. words.?' * SCENE IV.-Paris. A Room in the Palace. Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France, Enter King HENRY, GLOSTER, and other Lords, VEnStay; let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. NON, BASSET, TIc. To them TALBOT, and some of his Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. Officers. Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, Tal. My gracious prince, and honourable peers, And see her' cities and her' towns defac'd Hearing of your arrival in this realm, By wasting ruin of the cruel foe. I have a while given truce unto my wars, As looks the mother on her lovely3 babe, To do my duty to my sovereign: When death doth close his tender dying eyes, In sign whereof, this arm-that hath reclaim'd See, see, the pining malady of France: To your obedience fifty fortresses, Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast. Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,0! turn thy edged sword another way; Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet; Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help. And with submissive loyalty of heart, One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom, Ascribes the glory of his conquest got, Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore: First to his God, and next unto your grace. Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears, K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, And wash away thy country's stained spots. That hath so long been resident in France? Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words, Glo. Yes. if it please your majesty, my liege. Or nature makes me suddenly relent. K. Hen. Welcome. brave captain, and victorious lord. Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, When I was young, (as yet I am not old) Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. I do remember how my father said, Whom join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation A stouter champion never handled sword. That will not trust thee but for profit's sake? Long since we were resolved of that5 truth, When Talbot hath set footing once in France, Your faithful service, and your toil in war; And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, Yet never have you tasted our reward, Who then but English Henry will be lord, Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks, And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive? Because till now we never saw your face: Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof, Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts, Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe, We here create you earl of Shrewsbury, And was he not in England prisoner? And in our coronation take your place. [and Nobles. But, when they heard he was thine enemy, [Flourish. Exeunt King HENRY, GLOSTERTALBOT, They set him free, without his ransom paid, Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends. Disgracing of these colours, that I wear See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen, In honour of my noble lord of York, And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st? Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord. Bas. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms. The envious barking of your saucy tongue Bur. I am vanquished: these haughty words of hers Against my lord, the duke of Somerset. Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. And made me almost yield upon my knees.- Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as York. Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen! Ver. Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that. And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace: [Striking him. My forces and my power of men are yours.- Bas. Villain, thou know'st, the law of arms is such, So, farewell, Talbot; I'11 no longer trust thee. That, whoso draws a sword,'t is present death. Puc. Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn again! Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. [Aside.4 But I'11 unto his majesty. and crave Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes I may have liberty to venge this wrong, us fresh. When thou shalt see, I'11 meet thee to thy cost. Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. Ver. Well. miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you; Alen. Pucelle hath bravely played her part in this, And after meet you sooner than you would. [Exeunt. ACT IV. Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,SCENE I.-The Same. A Room of State. G Now governor of Paris tae o o [Governor kneels. Enter King HENRY, GLOSTER) EXETER, YORK, SUF- That you elect no other kino but him, FOLK, SOMERSET, WINCHESTER, WARWICK) TALBOT, Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends, The Governor of Paris, and others. And none your foes, but such as shall pretend' Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. Malicious practices against his state. Win. God save king Henry, of that name the sixth! This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! [Sound Trumpets.6 [Exeunt Gov. and his Train. 1 2the: inf. e. 3 lowly: inf. e. 4Notinf. e. your: in fe. 6 Notinf. e. 7 Intend. 446 FIRST PART OF ACT I. Enter Sir JOHN FASTOLFE. T.al. Content, my liege? Yes, but that I'm preFast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais vented, To haste unto your coronation, I should have begged I might have been employed. A letter was deliver'd to my hands, K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto him Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy. [Gives it.' straight. Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee:! Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason; I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next, And what offence it is to flout his friends. To tear the garter from thy craven's leg; Tal. I go, my lord; in heart desiring still, [Plucking it off.You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit. Which I have done, because unworthily Enter VERON and BASSET. Thou wast installed in that high degree.- Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest. Bas. And me, my lord; grant me the combat too! This dastard, at the battle of Patay, York. This is my servant: hear him, noble prince. When but in all I was six thousand strong, Som. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him. And that the French were almost ten to one, K. Hen. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to Before we met, or that a stroke was given, speak.Like to a trusty squire, did run away: Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim? In which assault we lost twelve hundred men And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom? Myself, and divers gentlemen beside, er. With him, my lord; for he hath done me Were there surpris'd, and taken prisoners. wrong. Then, judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; Bas. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong. Or whether that such cowards ought to wear K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both comThis ornament of knighthood, yea, or no? plain? Glo. To say the truth, his fact was infamous, First let me know, and then I'11 answer you. And ill beseeming any common man, Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. This fellow, here, with envious carping tongue Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, Upbraided me about the rose I wear; Knights of the garter were of noble birth, Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage Did represent my masters blushing cheeks, Such as were grown to credit by the wars; When stubbornly he did repugn the truth, Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, About a certain question in the law, But always resolute in worst2 extremes. Argued betwixt the duke of York and him; He, then, that is not furnished in this sort, With other vile and ignominious terms: Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, In confutation of which rude reproach, Profaning this most honourable order; And in defence of my lord's worthiness, And should (if I were worthy to be judge) I crave the benefit of law of arms. Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain Ver. And that is my petition, royal lord: That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit, K. lien. Stain to thy countrymen! thou hear'st thy To set a gloss upon his bold intent, doom: Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him, Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight. And he first took exceptions at this badge, Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death.- Pronouncing, that the paleness of this flower [Exit FASTOLFE. Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. And, now. my lord protector, view the letter York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out, Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chana'd Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. his style? K. Hen. Good Lord! what madness rules in brainNo more but, plain and bluntly,-" To the king!" sick men: Hath he forgot he is his sovereign? When, for so slight and frivolous a cause, Or doth this churlish superscription Such factious emulations still4 arise.Portend3 some alteration in good will? Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, What Is here? [Reads.] " I have upon especial cause — Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.' Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck, York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, Together with the pitiful complaints And then your highness shall command a peace.' Of such as your oppression feeds upon, — Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; " Forsaken your pernicious faction. Betwixt ourselves let us decide it, then. "And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. France." Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 0, monstrous treachery! Can this be so? Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. That in alliance, amity, and oaths, Glo. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife, There should be found such false dissembling guile? And perish ye, with your audacious prate! K. Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd, Glo. He doth, my lord: and is become thy foe. With this immodest, clamorous outrage K. Hen. Is that the worst this letter doth contain? To trouble and disturb the king and us? Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. And you, my lords, methinks, you do not well, K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot, there, shall talk To bear with their perverse objections; with him, Much less to take occasion from their mouths And give him chastisement for this abuse.- To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves: How say you, my lord? are you not content? Let me persuade you take a better course. 1Not in f. e. 2 most: in f. e. 3 pretend: in f. e. 4 shall: in f. e. _ ~ ~ -— c _____________________ SCENE III. KING HENRY YI. 447 Exe. It grieves his highness: good my lords, be SCENE I F ce. Before Bourdeaux. SCENE II.-France. Before Bourdeaux. -friends. K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be combatants. Enter TALBOT, with his Forces. Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour, Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter: Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause.- Summon their general unto the wall. And you, my lords, remember where we are; Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, the In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation. General of the French Forces, and others. If they perceive dissension inour looks, English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, And that within ourselves we disagree, Servant in arms to Harry king of England: How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd And thus he would.-Open your city gates, To wilful disobedience, and rebel? Be humble to us, call my sovereign yours, Beside, what infamy will there arise, And do him homage as obedient subjects, When foreign princes shall be certified, And I'11 withdraw me and my bloody power; That for a toy, a thing of no regard, But, if you frown upon this profferd peace, King Henry's peers, and chief nobility, You tempt the fury of my three attendants Destroyed themselves, and lost the realm of France? Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire; O! think upon the conquest of my father, Who, in a moment, even with the earth My tender years; and let us not forego Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, That for a trifle, that was bought with blood. If you forsake the offer of their love. Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, I see no reason, if I wear this rose, Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge, [Putting on a red Rose. The period of thy tyranny approacheth. That any one should therefore be suspicious On us thou canst not enter but by death; I more incline to Somerset than York: For, I protest, we are well fortified, Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both. And strong enough to issue out and fight: As well they may upbraid me with my crown, If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd. Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee. But your discretions better can persuade, On either hand thee there are squadrons pitched Than I am able to instruct or teach: To wall thee from the liberty of flight, And therefore, as we hither came in peace, And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, So let us still continue peace and love.- But death doth front thee with apparent spoil, Cousin of York, we institute your grace And pale destruction meets thee in the face. To be our regent in these parts of France: Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament, And, good my lord of Somerset unite To rive their dangerous artillery Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, Lo! there thou standst, a breathing valiant man, Go cheerfully together, and digest Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit: Your angry choler on your enemies. This is the latest glory of thy praise, Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest, That I, thy enemy,'due thee withal; After some respite, will return to Calais; For ere the glass, that now begins to run, From thence to England; where I hope ere long Finish the process of his sandy hour, To be presented by your victories These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, With Charles, Alengon, and that traitorous rout. Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead. [Flourish. Exeunt King HENRY, GLO., SOM., [Drum afar off. WIN., SUF., and BASSET. Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, War. My lord of Yorlk I promise you, the king Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; Prettily, methought, did play the orator. And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. York. And so he did; but yet I like it not, Exeunt General, 8c., from the Walls. In that he wears the badge of Somerset. Tal. He fables not; I hear the enemy.War. Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him not; Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 0, negligent and heedless discipline! York. And, if I wist, he did.-But let it rest; How are we parked, and bounded in a pale! Other affairs must now be managed. A little herd of England's timorous deer, [Exeunt YORK, WARWICK, and VERNON. Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice; If we be English deer, be then in blood; For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, Not rascal-like2 to fall down with a pinch, I fear, we should have seen deciphered there But rather moody mad, and desperate stags, More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel, Than yet can be imagind or supposed. And make the cowards stand aloof at bay: But howsoe'r, no simple man that sees Sell every man his life as dear as mine This jarring discord of nobility. And they shall find dear deer of us. my friends.This shouldering of each other in the court, God, and Saint George, Talbot, and England's right, This factious bandying of their favourites, Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! [Exeunt. But that it doth presage some ill event. )T is much, when sceptres are in children's hands,ENE Plains Gascony But more, when envy breeds unkind division: Enter YORK, with Forces; to him, a Messenger.. There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit. York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again, That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? Mess. They are return'd, my lord; and give it out, 1 Endue. 2 Like lean, poor deer. 448 FIRST PART OF ACT IV. That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power. Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY. To fight with Talbot. As he march'd along, Som. How now, sir William! whither were you sent? By your espials were discovered Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, Talbot; Which joined with him and made their march for Who, ringed about with bold adversity, Bourdeaux. Cries out for noble York and Somerset, York. A plague upon that villain Somerset To beat assailing death from his weak legions: That thus delays my promised supply And whiles the honourable captain there Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege! Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs. Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid, And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, And I am lowted1 by a traitor villain You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, And cannot help the noble chevalier. Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. God comfort him in this necessity! Let not your private discord keep away If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. The levied succours that should lend him aid. Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY. While he. renowned noble gentleman, Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength, Yields up his life unto a world of odds. Never so needful on the earth of France, Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot. Alen9on, Leignier, compass him about, Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, And Talbot perisheth by your default. [aid. And hemmed about with grim destruction. Som. York set him on, York should have sent him To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York! Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims Else, farewell Talbot, France, and Englands honour. Swearing that you withhold his levied host, York. 0 God! that Somerset-who in proud heart Collected for this expedition. [horse. Doth stop my cornets-were in Talbot's place! Som. York lies: he might have sent and had the So should we save a valiant gentleman, I owe him little duty, and less love, By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. Mad ire, and wrathful fury, make me weep, Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France, That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. Hath now entrapped the noble-minded Talbot! Lucy. 0, send some succour to the distressed lord! Never to England shall he bear his life, York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word: But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife. We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get; Sorm. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen All'long of this vile traitor Somerset. straight: Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul! Within six hours they will be at his aid. And on his son, young John; whom two hours since Lucy. Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en, or slain, I met in travel toward his warlike father. For fly he could not, if he would have fled, This seven years did not Talbot see his son. And fly would Talbot never, though he might. Anid now they meet where both their lives are done. Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu! York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have. Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. To bid his young son welcome to his grave? [Exeunt. Away! vexation almost stops my breath, That sundered friends greet in the hour of death.- SCENE V-The English Camp near Bourdeaux. Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can, Enter TALBOT and JOHN his Son. But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.- 7al. 0 young John Talbot! I did send for thee, Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, To tutor thee in stratagems of war, FLong all of Somerset, and his delay. That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, [Exit YORK; with his Forces. When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, But,-O, malignant and ill-boding stars! Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss Now thou art come unto a feast of death, The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, A terrible and unavoided2 danger: That ever-living man of memory, Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, Henry the fifth. Whiles they each other cross, And I1ll direct thee how thou shalt escape Lives, honours, lands and all, hurry to loss. By sudden flight. Come, dally not; begone. [Exit. John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son? SCENE I.-Other Plains of Gascony. And shall I fly? O! if you love my mother, SCENE IV-Other Plins of GsDishonour not her honourable name Enter SOMERSET with hs Army; an Officer of To make a bastard, and a slave of me: TALBOT'S with him. The world will say he is not Talbot's blood, Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now. That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. This expedition was by York, and Talbot, Tal. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain. Too rashly plotted: all our general force John. He that flies so will ne'er return again. Might with a sally of the very town Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot John. Then let me stay; and father, do you fly: Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour Your loss is great, so your regard should be; By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure. My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. York set him on to fight, and die in shame, Upon my death the French can little boast, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me Flight cannot stain the honour you have won, Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. But. mine it will, that no exploit have done: 1 Retarded. 2 Not to be avoided. _ _ _ _ _ - - - I~~~~~~~~~~~:-~ - 1-:- --:;_: _- - _:' ~ ~ ~ - ~ -:-: - _: _ ~:` ______ — ~ —~~~. ___~-=;=-= — — = —;L=- ~.~~~-I _ _ __ ] _ _ _ _ _ -. _ _ _ - _ _ _ -- "-'~'' _ _ _ _ __~L —-==~ —~ —~I~ —--------- -- — ~-~, —~ —- ------— =~, 7~5 \ - - L - i ~ iJ I jliji, ___:~ —~ ~lI -::c - -- /-h Z B.fGU DY, —-=~ —3= —= — 1~ - PU(FTI B D I ji hT I BUIZGUDY, PCELLEBASTAD, i;T. ETC r-I ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TnyVI atL.AT V SCENE vIr. KING HENRY VI. 449 You fled for'vantage every one will swear, By me they nothing gain, and if I stay, But if I fly', they'11 say it was for fear.'T is but the shortening of my life one day: There is no hope that ever I will stay, In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, If the first hour I shrink, and run away. My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame. Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, All these, and more we hazard by thy stay; Rather than life preserved with infamy. All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away. Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me John. Ay, rather than I'11 shame my mother's womb. smart; Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart. John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. On that advantage, bought with such a shame, Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame) John. No part of him but will be shamed in me. Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. The coward horse that bears me fall and die! John. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it? And like me to the peasant boys of France, Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance! stain. Surely, by all the glory you have won, John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. An if I fly I am not Talbot's son: t' death be so apparent, then both fly. Then, talk no more of flight, it is no boot, Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die? If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. My age was never tainted with such shame. Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? Thou Icarus. Thy life to me is sweet: No more can I be sever'd from your side, If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side, Than can yourself yourself in twain divide: And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt. Stay. go, do what you will, the like do I; C V - r Prt of te For live I will not, if my father die. Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, Alarums: Excursions. Enter TALBOT wounded, sup. Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. ported by a Soldier2. Come, side by side together live and die, Tal. Where is my other life?-mine own is gone: And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. [Exeunt. 0, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?SCENE YI.-A Field of Battle. Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, SCENE VI.A Feld of BttleYoung Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee.Alarum: Excursions, wherein TALBOT'S Son is hemmed When he perceived me shrink, and on my knee, about? and TALBOT rescues him. His bloody sword he brandished over me, Tal. Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight! And like a hungry lion did commence The regent hath with Talbot broke his word Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience; And left us to the rage of France's sword. But when my angry guardant stood alone, Where is John Talbot?-pause, and take thy breath; Tendering my ruin, and assail'd of none, I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death. Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart, John. 0; twice my father! twice am I thy son: Suddenly made him from my side to start The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done; Into the clustering battle of the French: Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, And in that sea of blood my boy did drench To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date. His overmounting spirit; and there died Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. struck fire, Enter Soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT. It warmed thy fathers heart with proud desire Sold. 0, my dear lord! lo, where your son is borne! Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden ae, Tal. Thou antick, death, which laugh'st us here to Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, scorn, Beat down Alenpon, Orleans, Burgundy, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee. Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood Two Talbots, winged through the lither3 sky, From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood In thy despite shall'scape mortality.Of thy first fight. I soon encountered, 0! thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death, And. interchanging blows, I quickly shed Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath: Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace, Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no: Bespoke him thus: " Contaminated; base, Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, Poor boy! he smiles, methinks; as who should say, Mean and right poor; for that pure blood of mine, Had death been French, then death had died to-day. Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:"- Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms. Here purposing the Bastard to destroy, My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy fathers care, Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, [Dies Now thou art sealld the son of chivalry? Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers, leaving the two bodies. Fly to revenge my death, when I am dead; Enter CHARLES, ALEN0ON, BURGUNDY, Bastard, The help of one stands me in little stead. LA PUCELLE, and Forces. 0! too much folly is it, well I wot, Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, To hazard all our lives in one small boat. We should have found a bloody day of this. If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging To-morrow I shall die with mickle age: wood,4 1 bow: in f. e. 2 servant: in f. e. 3 Yielding. 4 MIad. 29 450 FIRST PART OF ACT V. Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood! Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Sheffield, Puc. Once I encounter'd him. and thus I said The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge; " Thou maiden youth be vanquish'd by a maid:" Knight of the noble order of St. George, But with a proud, majestical high scorn, Worthy Saint Michael, and the golden fleece He answered thus: " Young Talbot was not born Great mareshal to Henry the sixth To be the pillage of a giglot wench." Of all his wars within the realms of France? So, rushing in the bowels of the French Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed! He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight. Writes not so tedious a style as this,See, where he lies inhersed in the arms Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles, Of the still bleeding' nurser of his harms. Stinking, and fly-blown; lies here at our feet. Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, Lucy. Is Talbot slain? the Frenchman's only Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. scourge, Char. 0, no! forbear; for that which we have fled Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? During the life, let us not wrong it dead. O! were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd, Enter Sir WILLIAM LUCY, attended; a French Herald That I in rage might shoot them at your faces. preceding. O! that I could but call these dead to life, Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, It were enough to fright the realm of France. To know who hath2 the glory of the day. Were but his picture left among you here, Char. On what submissive message art thou sent? It would amaze the proudest of you all. Lucy. Submission, Dauphin! t is a mere French Give me their bodies that I bear them forth6, word; And give them burial as beseems their worth. We English warriors wot not what it means. Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. And to survey the bodies of the dead. For God's sake, let him have rem; keep them here, Char. For prisoners ask'd thou? hell our prison is. They would but stink, and putrefy the air. But tell me briefly3 whom thou seekest now4. Char. Go, take their bodies hence. Lucy. But where's the great Alcides of the field, Lucy. I'11 bear them hence: Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury? But from their very ashes shall be rear'd Created. for his rare success in arms A ph-enix that shall make all France afeard. Great earl of Washford5, Waterford, and Valence; Char. So we be rid of them, do what thou wilt. Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield And now to Paris. in this conquering vein: Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. [Exaunt. ACT V. Tends to God's glory and my country's weal. SCENE I.-London. A Room in the Palace. Enter a Legate and two mbassadors, with WINCHESEnter King HENRY, GLOSTER, and EXETER. TER as a Cardinal. K. Hlen. Have you perus'd the letters from the pope, Exe. What! is my lord of Winchester installd, The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac? And call'd into a Cardinal's degree? Glo. I have, my lord; and their intent is this:- Then, I perceive that will be verified, They humbly sue unto your excellence Henry the fifth did sometime prophesy,To have a godly peace concluded of'If once he come to be a cardinal, Between the realms of England and of France. He 11 make his cap co-equal with the crown." K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their motion? K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several suits Glo. Well, my good lord; and as the only means Have been consider'd and debated on. To stop effusion of much7 Christian blood, Your purpose is both good and reasonable; And establish quietness on every side. And, therefore, are we certainly resolved, K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought, To draw conditions of a friendly peace; It was both impious and unnatural, Which, by my lord of Winchester. we mean That such immanity and bloody strife Shall be transported presently to France. Should reign among professors of one faith. Glo. And for the proffer of my lord, your master, Glo. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect I have informed his highness so at large, And surer bilnd this knot of amity, As-liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, The earl of Armagnac, near kin8 to Charles, Her beauty, and the value of her dower,A man of great authority in France He doth intend she shall be England's queen. Proffers his only daughter to your grace K. Hen. In argument and proof of which contract, In marriage; with a large and sumptuous dowry. Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.-[Gives it.9 K. Hen. Marriage, uncle? alas! my years are young, And so, my lord protector, see them guarded, And fitter is my study and my books, And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd, Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. Commit them to the fortune of the sea. Yet, call th' ambassadors; and, as you please, [Exeunt King HENRY and Train.; GLOSTER, So let them have their answers every one: EXETER, and Ambassadors. I shall be well content with any choice, Win. Stay, my lord legate: you shall first receive 1 most bloody: in f. e., 2 hath obtained: in f. e. s 4 These two words are not in f. e. 5 The old name of WTexford. 6 that I may bear them hence: in f. e. 7 our: in f. e. 8 knit: in f e. 9 Not in f. e. SCENE III. KING HENRY VI. 451 The sum of money, which I promised Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? Should be delivered to his holiness Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all, For clothing me in these grave ornaments. Before that England give the French the foil. Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. [Exit.' [They depart. Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow See! they forsake me. Now the time is come, Or be inferior to the proudest peer. That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest, Humphrey, of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive, And let her head fall into England's lap. That, neither in birth, or for authority, My ancient incantations are too weak, I The bishop will be overborne by thee: And hell too strong for me to buckle with. I 11 either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee, Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exit.2 Alarums. Enter French and English,fighting; LA Pu- F.rance. Pan in Ano. CELLE and YORK fight hand to hand. LA PUCELLE SCENE II.-France. Plains in Anjou.is taken. The French fly. Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENSON, LA PUCELLE, York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast: and Forces, marching. Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping And try if they can gain your liberty.spirits. A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!'T is said the stout Parisians do revolt See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, And turn again unto the warlike French. As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be. And keep not back your powers in dalliance. York. O! Charles the Dauphin is a proper man: Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; No shape but his can please your dainty eye. Else ruin combat with their palaces! Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee! Enter a Scout. And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd Scout. Success unto our valiant general, By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds! And happiness to his accomplices! York. Fell, banning hag! enchantress, hold thy Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee, tongue. speak. Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while. Scout. The English army, that divided was York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one stake. [Exeunt. And means to give you battle presently. Alarums. Enter SUFFOLK, leading in Lady MARGARET. Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. But we will presently provide for them. [Gazes on her. Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there: 0, fairest beauty! do not fear, nor fly, Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. For I will touch thee but with reverent hands: Puc. Of all base passions fear is most accurs'd.- I kiss these fingers [Kissing her hand] for eternal peace, Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; And lay them gently on thy tender side. Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. Char. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate! Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, [Exeunt. The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. e Before Angier s. ~Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. SCENE III.-The Same. Before Angiers. SCENE -The Same. Be not offended, nature's miracle Alarums: Excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE. Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me: Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.- So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts3; IKeeping them prisoners underneath her wings. And ye, choice spirits, that admonish me Yet, if this servile usage once offend, And give me signs of future accidents: [Thunder. Go and be free again, as Suffolk7s friend. You speedy helpers, that are substitutes [She turns away as going. Under the lordly monarch of the north,4 0, stay!-I have no power to let her go5; Appear, and aid me in this enterprise! My hand would free her, but my heart says-no. Enter Fiends. As plays the sun upon the glassy stream, This speedy and quick appearance argues proof Twinkling another counterfeited beam, Of your accustom'd diligence to me. So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. Now, ye familiar spirits, that are call'd Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak: Out of the powerful regions under earth, I'11 call for pen and ink, and write my mind. Help me this once, that France may get the field. Fie, De la Poole! disable not thyself; [They walk, and speak not. Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner?6 O! hold me not with silence over-long. Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such, I'11 lop a member off, and give it you, Confounds the tongue, and mocks the sense of touch.7 In earnest of a farther benefit, Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so, So you do condescend to help me now.-.What ransom must I pay before I pass? [They hang their heads. For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner. No hope to have redress?-My body shall Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit, Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. Before thou make a trial of her love? [Aside. [They shake their heads. iMar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice, pay? 1 Not in f. e. 2 Exeunt: in f. e. 3 Amulets. 4 Zimimar. one of the four principal devils invoked by witches. The others were Amaimon, Gorson, and Goap, kings of the East, South, and West, all with devil marquisses, dukes, prelates, knights, presidents, and earls, under them.-Douce. 5 pass: in f. e 6 These two words are from the second folio. 7 makes the senses rough: in f. e. 452 FIRST PART OF ACT V. Suf. She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd; And this her easy-held imprisonment She is a woman, therefore to be won. [Aside. Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no? Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks'? Suf. Fond man! remember that thou hast a wife; Suf. Fair Margaret knows, Then, how can Margaret be thy paramour? [Aside. That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. SiMar. I were best to leave him, for he will not hear. Reig. Upon thy princely warrant I descend Suf. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card. To give thee answer of thy just demand. Mar. He talks at random: sure, the man is mad. [Exit, from the Walls. Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. Suf. And here I will expect thy coming down. Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me. Trumpets sounded. Enter EREIGNIER, below. Suf. I'11 win this lady Margaret. For whom? Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories: Why, for my king: tush! that's a wooden thing. Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. Mar. He talks of wood: it is some carpenter. Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, [Aside. Fit to be made companion with a king: And peace established between these realms. What answer makes your grace unto my suit? But there remains a scruple in that, too; Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth, For though her father be the king of Naples, To be the princely bride of such a lord, Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, Upon condition I may quietly And our nobility will scorn the match. Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, Mar. Hear ye, captain? Are you not at leisure? Free from oppression or the stroke of war, Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much: [Aside. My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.- Suf. That is her ransom, I deliver her; Madam, I have a secret to reveal. And those two counties, I will undertake, Mar. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight, Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside. Reig. And I again, in Henry's royal name, Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. As deputy unto that gracious king, Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescued by the French, Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause- Because this is in traffic of a king: Mar. Tush! women have been captivate ere now. And yet. methinks I could be well content [Aside. To be mine own attorney in this case. Suf. Lady, pray tell me', wherefore talk you so? I'11 over, then, to England with this news, Mar. I cry you mercy, It is but quid for quo. And make this marriage to be solemniz'd. Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not then ween' So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? In golden palaces, as it becomes. Mar. A queen in bondage is more vile to me3 Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace Than is a slave in base servility, The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. For princes should be free. Mar. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and Suf. And so shall you, prayers If happy England's royal king be true4. Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me? Suf. Farewell, sweet madam! But hark you, MarSuf. I'11 undertake to make thee Henry's queen; garet; To put a golden sceptre in thy hand, No princely commendations to my king? And set a precious crown upon thy head, Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, If thou wilt condescend to be my- A virgin, and his servant, say to him. Mar. What? Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed. Suf. His love. But, madam, I must trouble you again,Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. No loving token to his majesty? Suf. No, gentle madam I unworthy am Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart, To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, Never yet taint with love, I send the king. And have no portion in the choice myself. Su. And this withal. [Kisses her. How say you, madam; are you so content? Mar. That for thyself: I will not so presume, Mar. An if my father please, I give consent. To send such peevish* tokens to a king. Sef. Then, call our captains, and our colours forth! [Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET. And, madam, at your father's castle walls Suf. 0 wert thou for myself!-But, Suffolk, stay; We'11 crave a parley, to confer with him. Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth: [Troops come forward. There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. A Parley sounded. Enter REIGaIER. on the Walls. Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise: Suf. See, Reignier, see thy daughter prisoner. Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, Reig. To whom? Mid6 natural graces that extinguish art: Suf. To me. Repeat their semblance often on the seas, Reig. Suffolk, what remedy? That when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, I am a soldier, and unapt to weep, Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. [Exit. Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord: Consent, and for thy honour give consentSCENE IV.-Camp of the Duke of YORK, in Anjou. Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king, Enter Y x, WVARWIC)K and others. Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto, York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn. 1 The words, pray tell me," are not in f. e. 2 not suppose: in f. e. 3 To be a queen in bondage is more vile: in f. e. 4 free: in f. e. 5 Foolish. 6 mad: in f. e. SCENE IV. KING HENRY VI. 453 Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded and a Shepherd. War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought! Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart out- Is all your strict preciseness come to this? right. York. She and the Dauphin have been juggling: Have I sought every country far and near. I did imagine what would be her refuge. And, now it is my chance to find thee out, War. Well, go to: we will have no bastards live; Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? Especially, since Charles must father it. Ah, Joan! sweet daughter JoanI 11 die with thee. Puc. You are deceived; my child is none of his; Puc. Decrepit miser'! base ignoble wretch! It was Alengon, that enjoyed my love. I am descended of a gentler blood: York. Alenion, that notorious Machiavel! Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. Shep. Out, out!-My lords, an please, you, t' is not so; Puc. O! give me leave; I have deluded you. I did beget her, all the parish knows:'T was neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd, Her mother liveth yet, can testify, But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. War. A married man: that Is most intolerable. War. Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage? York. Why, here Is a girl! I think she knows not York. This argues what her kind of life hath been well, Wicked and vile, and so her death concludes. There were so many, whom she may accuse. Shep. Fie, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle2! War. It's sign she hath been liberal and free. God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh, York. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.And for thy sake have I shed many a tear: Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee: Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan. Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. Puc. Peasant, avaunt!-You have suborned this Puc. Then lead me hence:-with whom I leave my man, curse. Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. May never glorious sun reflect his beams Shep.'T is true, 1 gave a noble to the priest, Upon the country where you make abode; The morn that I was wedded to her mother.- But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.- Environ you, till mischief, and despair Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves! Of thy nativity! I would, the milk [Exit, guarded. Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast, York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes, Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake; Thou foul accursed minister of hell! Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, Enter Cardinal BEAUFORT, attended. I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee. Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? With letters of commission from the king. O! burn her, burn her: hanging is too good. [Exit. For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, York. Take her away; for she hath lived too long, Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils, To fill the world with vicious qualities. Have earnestly implordl a general peace Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con- Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; demn'd;And here at hand the Dauphin, and his train, Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, Approacheth to confer about some matter. But issued from the progeny of kings: York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above After the slaughter of so many peers. By inspiration of celestial grace So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, To work exceeding miracles on earth. That in this quarrel have been overthrown, I never had to do with wicked spirits: And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, But you,-that are polluted with your lusts, Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, Have we not lost most part of all the towns, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,- By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, Because you want the grace that others have Our great progenitors had conquered?You judge it straight a thing impossible 0, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief To compass wonders. but by help of devils. The utter loss of all the realm of France. No; misconceived Joan of Arc hath been War. Be patient, York! if we conclude a peace, A virgin from her tender infancy, It shall be with such strict and severe covenants, Chaste and immaculate in very thought; As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd, Enter CHARLES, attended: ALEN9ON Bastard, Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. REIGNIER, and others. York. Ay, ay.-Away with her to execution! Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed, War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, That peaceful truce shall be proclaimed in France, Spare for no fagots, let there be enow: We come to be informed by yourselves Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, What the conditions of that league must be. That so her torture may be shortened. York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? The hollow passage of my prison'd" voice, Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, By sight of these our baleful enemies. That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.- Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:I am with child, ye bloody homicides: That, in regard King Henry gives consent, Murder not, then, the fruit within my womb Of mere compassion, and of lenity, Although ye hale me to a violent death. To ease your country of distressful war, York. Now, heaven forefend! the holy maid with And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, child? You shall become true liegeman to his crown. 1 Miserable person. a Often put in the mouths of uneducated persons, for obstinate, by writers of the time. 3 poison'd: in f. e. 454 FIRST PART OF ACT V. And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear I So full replete with choice of all delights, To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, But with as humble lowliness of mind, Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him, She is content to be at your command; And still enjoy thy regal dignity. Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, Alen. Must he be then as shadow of himself? To love and honour Henry as her lord. Adorn his temples with a coronet, K. HIen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume. And yet, in substance and authority, Therefore, my lord protector, give consent, Retain but privilege of a private man? That Margaret may be England's royal queen. This proffer is absurd and reasonless. Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. Char.'T is known, already that I am possessed You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd With more than half the Gallian territories, Unto another lady of esteem; And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king: How shall we, then, dispense with that contract, Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, And not deface your honour with reproach? Detract so much from that prerogative, Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths: As to be called but viceroy of the whole? Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd No, lord ambassador; I ll rather keep To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists That which I have, than, coveting for more By reason of his adversary's odds. Be cast from possibility of all. A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, York. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means And therefore may be broke without offence. Used intercession to obtain a league, Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret, more than that And now the matter grows to compromise, Her father is no better than an earl, Stand'st thou aloof upon comparisons? Although in glorious titles he excel? Either accept the title thou usurp'st, Stf. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king, Of benefit proceeding from our king, The king of Naples and Jerusalem; And not of any challenge of desert, And of such great authority in France, Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. As his alliance will confirm our peace, Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. To cavil in the course of this contract: Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do, If once it be neglected, ten to one, Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. We shall not find like opportunity. Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower, Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy Where Reignier sooner will receive, than give. [Aside to CHARLES..Suf. A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king, To save your subjects from such massacre That he should be so abject, base, and poor, And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. By our proceeding in hostility; Henry is able to enrich his queen, And, therefore take this compact of a truce. And not to seek a queen to make him rich. Although you break it when your pleasure serves. So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, War. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. stand? Marriage is a matter of more worth, Char. It shall; only reserv'd, you claim no interest Than to be dealt in by attorneyship: In any of our towns of garrison. Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty Must be companion of his nuptial bed; As thou art knight, never to disobey, And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, The most of all these reasons bindeth us, Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.- In our opinions she should be preferr'd. [CHARLES, and his Nobles, give tokens of fealty. For what is wedlock forced but a hell, So; now dismiss your army when ye please: An age of discord and continual strife? Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, For here we interchange1 a solemn peace. [Exeunt. And is a pattern of celestial peace. SCENE V.- London. A Room in the Palace.1 Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? Enter King HENRY, in conference with SUFFOL;: Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, GLOSTER and EXETER following. Approves her fit for none but for a king: K. Hen. Your wondrous rare description, noble earl, Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit, Of beauteous Margaret hath astonished me: (More than in women commonly is seen) Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Will answer our hope in issue of a king; Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; For Henry, son unto a conqueror, And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Is likely to beget more conquerors, Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide If with a lady of so high resolve, So am I driven by breath of her renown, As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love. Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me, Where [ may have fruition of her love. That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. Suf. Tush! my good lord, this superficial tale K. Hen. Whether it be through force of your report, Is but a preface of her worthy praise: My noble lord of Suffolk, or for that The chief perfections of that lovely dame, My tender youth was never yet attaint (Had I sufficient skill to utter them) With any passion of inflaming love, Would make a volume of enticing lines, I cannot tell; but this I am assurd, Able to ravish any dull conceit. I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, And, which is more, she is not so divine, Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, 1 entertain: in f. e. SCENE V. KING HENRY YI. 455 As I am sick with working of my thoughts. Not what you are, I know it will excuse Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France; This sudden execution of my will. Agree to any covenants, and procure And so conduct me, where from company That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit. To cross the seas to England. and be crown'd Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. King Henry's faithful and anointed queen. [Exeunt GLOSTER and EXETER. For your expenses and sufficient charge, Suf. Thus suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes, Among the people gather up a tenth. As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, Be gone, I say; for till you do return, With hope to find the like event in love, I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.- But prosper better than the Trojan did. And you, good uncle, banish all offence Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king; If you do censure me by what you were, But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. [Exit. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. DRAMATIS PERSON1E. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. A Sea-captain, Master and Master's Mate. HUMPHREY, DUKE OF GLOSTER, his Uncle. Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with SUFFOLK. VAUX. CARDINAL BEAUFORT, Bishop of Winchester. HUME and SOUTHWELL, Priests. RICHARD PLANTAGENET. Duke of York. BOLINGBROKE, a Conjurer. A Spirit raised by him, EDWARD and RICHARD, his Sons. THOMAS HORNER, an Armourer. PETER, his DUKE OF SOMERSET, Man. DUKE OF SUFFOLK,, of the King's Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of St. Albans. DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, Party. SIMPCOX, all Impostor. Two Murderers. LORD CLIFFORD, and his Son. JACK CADE. EARL OF SALISBURY, of the Yok Faction. GEORGE, JOHN, DICK, SMITH, the Weaver, EARL OF WARWICKIC MICHAEL, &c., Cade's Followers. LORD SCALES, Governor of the Tower. LORD ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish Gentleman. SAY. SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD, and his Bro- MARGARET, Queen to King Henry. ther. SIR JOHN STANLEY. ELEANOR, DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. WALTER WHITMORE. MARGERY JOURDAIN, a Witch. Wife to SIMPCOX. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Herald; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers; Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. SCENE, in various Parts of England. ACT I. Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gracious SCENE I.-London. A Room of State in the Palace. ng of England and y gracious lord, Flourish of Trumpets: then Hautboys. Enter, on one The mutual conference that my mind hath had side, King HENRY, Duke of GLOSTER, SALISBURY, By day, by night, waking, and in my dreams, WARWICK and Cardinal BEAUFORT; on the other, In courtly company, or at my beads, Queen MARGARET, led in by SUFFOLK; YORK, So- With you mine alderlievest' sovereign, MERSET, BUCKINGHAM, and others following. Makes me the bolder to salute my king Suf. As by your high imperial majesty With ruder terms, such as my wit affords I had in charge at my depart for France, And over-joy of heart doth minister. As procurator to your excellence, K. Hen. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech, To marry princess Margaret for your grace; Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, So, in the famous ancient city Tours, Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys: In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, Such is the fulness of my hearths content. The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and Alenpon Lords, with one cheerful vbice welcome my love. Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops, All. Long live queen Margaret, England's happiness! I have performed my task, and was espous'd: Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish. And humbly now upon my bended knee, Suf. My lord protector, so it please your grace, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Here are the articles of contracted peace, Deliver up my title in the queen Between our sovereign, and the French king Charles To your most gracious hands, that are the substance For eighteen months. concluded by consent. Of that great shadow I did represent; Glo. [Reads.] "Imprimis: It is agreed between the The happiest gift that ever marquess gave French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, marThe fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. quess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry, king of EngK. Hen. Suffolk, arise.-Welcome, queen Margaret: land-that the said Henry shall espouse the lady MarI can express no kinder sign of love, garet, daughter unto Reignier king of Naples, Sicilia, Than this kind kiss.-O Lord! that lends me life, and Jerusalem, and crown her queen of England ere Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness; the thirtieth of May next ensuing.-Item,-That the For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine, shall be reA world of earthly blessings to my soul, leased and delivered to the king her father."-[PausIf sympathy of love unite our thoughts. ing.2] A compound Saxon word, found in Chaucer, my all dearest. 2 Not in f. e. SCENE II. KING HENRY VI. 457 K. Hen. Uncle how now? Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord; And are the cities that I got with wounds, Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? And dimmed mine eyes, that I can read no farther. Mort Dieu! K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. York. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate Car. [Reads.'] " Item: It is farther agreed between That dims the honour of this warlike isle! them,-that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be France should have torn and rent my very heart, released and delivered over to the king her father; Before I would have yielded to this league. and she sent over of the king of England's own proper I never read but England's kings have had cost and charges, without having any dowry." Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives; K. Ken. They please us well.-Lord marquess, kneel And our king Henry gives away his own, thee down: To match with her that brings no vantages. We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before, And girt thee with the sword.-Cousin of York That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth, We here discharge your grace from being regent For costs and charges in transporting her! I, the parts of France, till term of eighteen months She should have stayed in France, and starv'd in France, Be full expired.-Thanks, uncle Winchester, BeforeGloster, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot. Salisbury, and Warwick; It was the pleasure of my lord the king. We thank you all for this great favour done, Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind: In entertainment to my princely queen.'T is not my speeches that you do mislike, Come, let us in; and with all speed provide But't is my presence that doth trouble ye. To see her coronation be perform'd. Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face [Exeunt King, Queen, and SUFFOLK. I see thy fury. If I longer stay, Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, We shall begin our ancient bickerings.To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. I prophesied, France will be lost ere long. [Exit. What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? IT is known to you he is mine enemy; Did he so often lodge in open field, Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat, And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. To conquer France, his true inheritance? Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, And heir apparent to the English crown: To keep by policy what Henry got? Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, There's reason he should be displeased at it. Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy? Look to it, lords: let not his smoothing words Or hath mine uncle Beaufort, and myself, Bewitch your hearts; be wise, and circumspect. With all the learned council of the realm What though the common people favour him, Studied so long, sat in the council-house Calling him " Humphrey the good Duke of Gloster;" Early and late, debating to and fro Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voiceHow France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe? a Jesu maintain your royal excellence!" And hath his highness in his infancy With-" God preserve the good duke Humphrey!" Been2 crowned in Paris, in despite of foes? I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, And shall these labours, and these honours die? He will be found a dangerous protector. Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, Buck. Why should he, then, protect our sovereign, Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die? He being of age to govern of himself?O peers of England! shameful is this league: Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, Fatal this marriage; cancelling your fame And all together, with the duke of Suffolk, Blotting your names from books of memory, We'11 quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. Razing the characters of your renown, Car. This weighty business will not brook delay; Defacing monuments of conquered France, I'11 to the duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. Undoing all, as all had never been. Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's Car. Nephew, what means this passionate discourse? pride, This peroration with such circumstance? And greatness of his place be grief to us, For France,'t is ours; and we will keep it still. Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal. Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; His insolence is more intolerable But now it is impossible we should. Than all the princes in the land beside: Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, If Gloster be displaced, he'11 be protector. Hath given the duchies of Anjou, and Maine, Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector, Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style Despite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. [Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET. Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all, Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. These counties were the keys of Normandy.- While these do labour for their own preferment, But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? Behoves it us to labour for the realm. War. For grief. that they are past recovery; I never saw but Humphrey, duke of Gloster, For, were there hope to conquer them again, Did bear him like a noble gentleman. My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; More like a soldier, than a man o' the church, Not in f.e. e This word is not in the folio,-is added by the MS. emendator, folio, 1632. 458 SECOND PART OF ACT T. As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, Unlike the ruler of a common-weal.- With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd, Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, And in my standard hear the arms of York, Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping, To grapple with the house of Lancaster; Have won the greatest favour of the commons, And, force perforce, I'il make him yield the crown, Excepting none but good duke Humphrey:- Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, [Exit. In bringing them to civil discipline* In binging tm to c d ne SCENE II.-The Same. A Room in the Duke of Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, GLOSTER'S House. When thou wert regent for our sovereign, Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd of the people.-Enter GLOSTER aed the Duchess. Join we together, for the public good, Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripened corn, In what we can to bridle and suppress Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal, Why doth the great; duke Humphrey knit his brows, With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; As frowning at the favours of the world? And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds, Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, While they do tend to profit of the land. Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, What seest thou there? king Henry's diadem, And common profit of his country. Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? York. And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. If so gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look unto the Until thy head be circled with the same. main. Put forth thy hand; reach at the glorious gold.War. Unto the main? O father! Maine is lost; What, is't too short? I'11 lengthen it with mine; That Maine, which by main force did Warwick win And having both together heav'd it up, And would have kept so long as breath did last. We'11 both together lift our heads to heaven, Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, And never more abase our sight so low, Which I will win from France, or else be slain. As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. [Exeunt WARwICK and SALISBURY. Glo. 0 Nell! sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy And may that thought, when I imagine ill Stands on a tickle point now they are gone. Against my king and nephew: virtuous Henry, Suffolk concluded on the articles, Be my last breathing in this mortal world. The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleasd, My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. Duch. What dreamed my lord? tell me, and I 11 I cannot blame them all: what is It to them? requite it'T is thine they give away, and not their own. With sweet rehearsal of my mornings dream. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, Glo. Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in court, And purchase friends, and give to courtezans Was broke in twain: by whom, I have forgot, Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone; But, as I think,'t was by the cardinal; While as the silly owner of the goods And on the pieces of the broken wand Weeps over them, and wrings his helpless' hands Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset, And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, And William de la Poole, first duke of Suffolk. While all is shar'd, and all is borne away, This was my dream: what it doth bode God knows. Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own: Duch. Tut! this was nothing but an argument, So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, That e that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. Shall lose his head for his presumption. Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland, But list to me, my Humphrey! my sweet duke: Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood, Methought, I sat in seat of majesty, As did the fatal brand Althea burned In the cathedral church of Westminster, Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.2 And in that chair where kings and queens were crowned; Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French! Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me, Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, And on my head did set the diadem. Even as I have of fertile England's soil. Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright. A day will come when York shall claim his own; Presumptuous dame! ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts, Art thou not second woman in the realm, And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey, And the protector's wife, beloved of him? And when I spy advantage, claim the crown, Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, For that's the golden mark I seek to hit. Above the reach or compass of thy thought? Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, To tumble down thy husband, and thyself, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown. Away from ne, and let me hear no more. Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: Duch. What, what, my lord! are you so choleric Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep, With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? To pry into the secrets of the state, Next time I'11 keep my dreams unto myself Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, And not be check'd. With his new bride, and England's dear-bought queen, Glo. Nay, be not angry; I am pleas'd again. 1 hapless: in f. e. 2 Meleager, prince of Calydon, died in great torments, when his mother, Althea, threw into the flames the firebrand upon the preservation of which his life depended.-Knight. SCENE II. KING IIENRY VI. 459 Enter a Messenger. 2 Pet. Come back, fool! this is the duke of Suffolk, Mess. My lord protector,'t is his highness) pleasure, and not my lord protector. You do prepare to ride unto St. Albans, Suf. How now, fellow! wouldst any thing with me? Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. 1 Pet. I pray my lord, pardon me: I took ye for my Glo. I go.-Come, Nell; thou wilt ride with us? lord protector. Duch. Yes, my good lord, I 11 follow presently. Q. Mar. " To my lord protector!" are your suppli[Exeunt GLOSTER and Messenger. cations to his lordship? Let me see them. What is Follow I must; I cannot go before, thine? While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks, house, and lands, and wife, and all, from me. And smooth my way upon their headless necks: Suf. Thy wife too! that is some wrong indeed.And, being a woman, I will not be slack What's yours?-What's here? [Reads.] " Against the To play my part in fortune's pageant.- duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford." Where are you there? Sir John!1 nay, fear not, man, -How now. sir knave? We are alone; here's none but thou, and I. 2 Pet. Alas! sir, I am. but a poor petitioner of our Enter HITME. whole township. Hume. Jesus preserve your royal majesty! Peter. [Presenting his petition.] Against my master, Duch. What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace. Thomas Horner, for saying, that the duke of York was Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, rightful heir to the crown. Your grace's title shall be multiplied. Q. 11ar. What say'st thou? Did the duke of York Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet say, he was rightful heir to the crown? conferr'd Peter. That my master was? No, forsooth: my With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch master said, that he was; and that the king was an And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer, usurper. And will they undertake to do me good? Suf. Who is there? [Enter Servants.]-Take this Hume. This they have promised,-to show your fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground, [highness presently.-We Ill hear more of your matter before the That shall make answer to such questions, king. [Exeunt Servants iwith PETER. As by your grace shall be propounded him. Q. I1ar. And as for you, that love to be protected Duch. It is enough: I 11l think upon the questions. Under the wings of our protector's grace, When from St. Albans we do make return, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [ Tears the Petition. We'll see these things effected to the full. Away, base cullions!-Suffolk, let them go. Here, Hume, take this reward: make merry, man, All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, [Exit Duchess. Is this the fashion in the court of England? Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' Is this the government of Britain's isle, gold, And this the royalty of Albion's king? Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume! What! shall king Henry be a pupil still, Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: Under the surly Gloster's governance? The business asketh silent secrecy. Am I a queen in title and in style, Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: And must be made a subject to a duke? Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours Yet have I gold flies from another coast: Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love, I dare not say, from the rich cardinal, And stolst away the ladies' hearts of France, And from the great and new made duke of Suffolk; I thought king Henry had resembled thee, Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain, In courage, courtship, and proportion; They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, But all his mind is bent to holiness, Have hired me to undermine the duchess, To number Ave- Marias on his beads: And buz these conjurations in her brain. His champions are the prophets and apostles; They say, a crafty knave does need no broker; His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ; Yet am I Suffolk's, and the cardinal's broker. His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints. To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. I would, the college of the cardinals Well, so it stands: and thus, I fear, at last, Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, And set the triple crown upon his head: And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall. That were a state fit for his holiness. Sort2 how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in the Palace. Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. Enter PETER, and others, with Petitions. Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we 1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close: my lord pro- Beaufort, tector will come this way by and by, and then we may The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham, deliver our supplications in sequel'. And grumbling York: and not the least of these, 2 Pet. Marry, the lord protect him, for he Is a good But can do more in England than the king. man. Jesu bless him! Suf. And he of these that can do most of all, Enter SUFFOLK and Queen MARGARET. Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: 1 Pet. Here'a comes, methinks, and the queen with Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. him. I'll be the first, sure. Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so much, 1 Addressed " SirJohn" as a priest. 2 Happen. 3 in the quill: in f. e. 460 SECOND PART OF ACT II. As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife: I cry you mercy, madam: was it you? She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, Duch. Was't I? yea, I it was, proud French-woman: More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife. Could I come near your beauty with my nails, Strangers in court do take her for the queen: I'd set my ten commandments in your face. She bears a duke's revenues on her back, K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet:'t was against her will. And in her heart she scorns our poverty. Duch. Against her will. Good king, look to't in time: Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her? She'11 hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby. Contemptuous base-born callat' as she is, Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She vaunted'mongst her minions t' other day, She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. [Aside. The very train of her worst wearing gown [Exit Duchess. Was better worth than all my father's lands, Buck. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: Suf. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her; She's tickled now; her fume can need no spurs, And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds, She'11 gallop fast4 enough to her destruction. That she will light to listen to their lays, [Exit BUCKINGHAM. And never mount to trouble you again. Re-enter GLOSTER. So, let her rest; and, madam, list to me, Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown For I am bold to counsel you in this. With walking once about the quadrangle, Although we fancy not the cardinal. I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. Yet must we join with him, and with the lords, As for your spiteful false objections, Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. Prove them, and I lie open to the law; As for the duke of York, this late complaint But God in mercy so deal with my soul, Will make but little for his benefit: As I in duty love my king and country. So, one by one: we will weed all the realm 2 But to the matter that we have in hand.And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man Enter King H1iENIu, YoRK, and SOMERSET; Duke and To be your regent in the realm of France. Duchess of GLOSTER, Cardinal BEAUFORT, BUCKING- Suf. Before we make election, give me leave HAM, SALISBURY, and WARWICK. To show some reason, of no little force K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which That York is most unmeet of any man. Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me. York. I'1 tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet. York. If York have ill demean'd himself in France, First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride: Then let him be denay'd3 the regentship. Next, if I be appointed for the place, Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, My lord of Somerset will keep me there, Let York be regent: I will yield to him. Without discharge, money, or furniture, War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no, Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands. Dispute not that York is the worthier. Last time I danc'd attendance on his will, Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. Till Paris was besieged, famished, and lost. War. A cardinal's not my better in the field. War. That can I witness: and a fouler fact Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. Did never traitor in the land commit. IVar. Warwick may live to be the best of all. Suf. Peace, headstrong Warwick! Sal. Peace, son!-and show some reasonBuckingham, War. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? Why Somerset should be preferred in this. Enter Servants of SUFFOLK, bringing in HORNER and Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. PETER. Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason: To give his censure. These are no women's matters. Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself! Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your grace York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? To be protector of his excellence? K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? tell me, what Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm, are these? And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man Suf. Resign it, then, and leave thine insolence. That doth accuse his master of high treason. Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou?) His words were these:-that Richard, duke of York, The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck: Was rightful heir unto the English crown, The Dauphin hath prevailed beyond the seas, And that your majesty was an usurper. And all the peers and nobles of the realm K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words? Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the. clergy's nor thought any such matter. God is my witness, I. bags am falsely accused by the villain. Are lank and lean with thy extortions. Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [Holding up his Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire, hands.] he did speak them to me in the garret one Have cost a mass of public treasury. night, as we were scouring my lord of York's armour. Buck. Thy cruelty, in execution York. Base dung-hill villain, and mechanical., Upon offenders hath exceeded law, I'11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.And left thee to the mercy of the law. I do beseech your royal majesty, Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France, Let him have all the rigour of the law. If they were known, as the suspect is great, Hor. Alas! my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. words. My accuser is my prentice; and when I did [Exit GLOSTER. The Queen drops her Fan. correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow Give me my fan: what, minion! can you not? upon his knees he would be even with me. I have [Giving the Duchess a box on the ear. good witness of this: therefore, I beseech your majesty, A common abusive epithet applied to women. 2 we'11 weed them all at last: in f e. 3 Denied. ~ far: in f. e. Pope also res as fast. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 461 do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusa- Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; tion. But him outlive, and die a violent death. K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? [As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer. Glo. This doom, my gracious lord, if I may judge. Boling. What fates await the duke of Suffolk? Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. Because in York this breeds suspicion; Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset? And let these have a day appointed them Spir. Let him shun castles: For single combat in convenient place, Safer shall he be on the sandy plains For he hath witness of his servant's malice. Than where castles mounted stand. This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake: Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. Foul3 fiend, avoid! Pet. Alas! my lord, I cannot fight: for God's sake, [Thunder and lightning.. Spirit descends. pity my case! the spite of this man prevaileth against Enter YonK and BUCKINGHAM, hastily, with their Guards. me. O, Lord have mercy upon me! I shall never be York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash. able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart! Beldame, I think, we watched you at an inch.Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd. What! madam, are you there? the king and commonK. Hen. Away with them to prison; and the day weal Of combat shall be the last of the next month.- Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: Come, Somerset, we ll see thee sent away. [Exeunt. My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. SCENE IV.-The Same. The Duke of GLOSTER S Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Garden. EtGerMJarden. HMorwInjurious duke, that threat st where is no cause. Enter MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME) SOUTHWELL, and Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you BOLINGBROKE. this? [Showing her the Papers. Hume. Come, my masters: the duchess, I tell you, Away with them! let them be clapped up close, expects performance of your promises. And kept asunder.-You, madam, shall with us: Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore provided. Stafford, take her to thee.- [Exit Duchess from above. Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? We'11 see your trinkets here are all forth-coming; Hume. Ay; what else? fear you not her courage. All.-Away! [Exeunt Guards, with SOUTH., BOLING., &c. Boling. I have heard her reported to be a woman of York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watched her an invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient; master A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! [well: IHume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil7s writ. below; and so, I pray you, go in God's name, and leave What have we here? [Reads. us. [Exit HUME.] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, " The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; and grovel on the earth:-John Southwell, read you, But him outlive and die a violent death." and let us to our work. Why this is just Enter Duchess above. 1Aio te, Eaccida, Romanos vincere posse. Duch. Well said, my masters, and welcome all. To Well, to the rest: this geer: the sooner the better. " Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk?Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know theirtimes, By water shall he die, and take his end."Deep night, dark night, and silence' of the night,' What shall betide the duke of Somerset?The time of night when Troy was set on fire; Let him shun castles; The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl, Safer shall he be on the sandy plains, And spirits walk, and ghosts break ope2 their graves, Than where castles mounted stand." That time best fits the work we have in hand. Come. come, my lords; Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise. These oracles are hardly attain'd, We will make fast within a hallowed verge. And hardly understood. [Here they perform the Ceremonies belonging, and The king is now in progress towards Saint Albans; make the Circle: BOLINGBROKE, rCeads, Conjuro, With him the husband of this lovely lady: te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them; the Spirit riseth. A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. Spir. Adsum. Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, MI. Jourd. Asmath To be the post in hope of his reward. By the eternal God, whose name and power York. At your pleasure, my good lord.-Who;s Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; within there, ho! For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence. Enter a Servant. Spir. Ask what thou wilt.-That I had said and done! Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, Boling. First of the king: what shall of him become? To sup with me to-morrow night.-Away! [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Saint Albans. T saw not better sport these seven years' day; SCE~NE I.-Sainl~t Al'bans. Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high, Enter King HENRY, QZ.een MARGARET, GLOSTER, Car- And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. dinal, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers, hollaing. K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,4 And what a pitch she flew above the rest. 1 silent: in f. e. 2 up: in f. e. 3 false: in f. e. 4 Birds of the brook. 462 SECOND PART OF ACT It. To see how God in all his creatures works! Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Yea man and birds are fain of climbing high. Enter the Mayor of St. Albancs, and his Brethren; and Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, SIMPCOX, borne between two persons in a Chair; his My lord protector's hawks do tower so well: Wife and the Multitude following. They know their master loves to be aloft, Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. To present your highness with the man. Glo. My lord,'t is but a base ignoble mind, K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. Though by his sight his sin be multiplied. Car. I thought as much: he'd be above the clouds. Glo. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the king: Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal; how think you by that? His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, K. lien. The treasury of everlasting joy! That we for thee may glorify the Lord. Car. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts What! hast thou been long blind, and now restored? Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart: Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. That smoothest it so with king and commonweal! Suf. What woman is this? Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown so Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. peremptory? Glo. Hadst thou been his mother, thou could'sthave Tantene animis cclestibus ire? better told. Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; K. Hen. Where wert thou born? And with such holiness you well can do it.l Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. Suf. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes K. IHen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been great So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. to thee: Glo. As who, my lord? Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, Suf. Why, as you, my lord; But still remember what the Lord hath done. An It like your lordly lord-protectorship. Q. Mar. Tell me, good. fellow, cam'st thou here by Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. chance Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace, Sinmp. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd Good queen; and whet not on these furious peers, A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep, For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. By good Saint Alban; who said,-' Sander, come; Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee." Against this proud protector with my sword. Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Glo.'Faith, holy uncle, would It were come to that! Myself have heard a voice to call him so. [Aside to the Cardinal. Car. What! art thou lame? Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. [Aside. Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me! Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter; Suf. How cam'st thou so? In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside. Simp. A fall off of a tree. Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar'st, Wife. A plum-tree, master. This evening on the east side of the grove. [Aside. Glo. How long hast thou been blind? K. Hen. How now, my lords! Simp. 0! born so, master. Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, Glo. What! and wouldst climb a tree? Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. We had had more sport.-Come with thy two-hand Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. sword. [Aside to GLO. Glo.'Mass, thou lov;dst plums well, that wouldst Glo. True, uncle. venture so. [sons, Car. Are you advis'd, the east side of the grove. Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damGlo. Cardinal, I am with you.- [Aside. And made me climb with danger of my life. K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster! Glo. A subtle knave; but yet it shall not serve.Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.- Let me see thine eyes:-wink now;-now open them.Now, by God's mother, priest, I' 11 shave your crown In my opinion yet thou seest not well. For this, or all my fence shall fail. [Aside. Simp. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and Car. Medice teipsum: Saint Alban. Protector, see to It well, protect yourself. [Aside. Glo. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, Simp. Red, master; red as blood. lords. Glo. Why, that's well said. What colour is my How irksome is this music to my heart! gown of? When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? Simp. Black. forsooth; coal-black as jet. [of? I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. K. Ken. Why then, thou know'st what colour jet is Enter one, crying, "aA Miracle p! Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. Glo. What means this noise? Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day a many. Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. One. A miracle! a miracle! Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what Is my name? Suf. Come to the king: tell him what miracle. Simp. Alas! master, I know not. One. Forsooth. a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Glo. What's his name? [Pointing to one.3 Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight; Simp. I know not. A man that ne'er saw in his life before. Glo. Nor his? K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd, that to believing souls Simp. No, indeed, master. 1 With such holiness can you do it: in f. e. 2 In the folio, this and the two preceding speeches are given to Gloster. Theobald made the correction. 3 Not in f. e. it SCENE II. KING IENRY VI. 463 Glo. What Is thine own name? Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby. Simp. Sander Simpcox, an if it please you, master. Q. Mlar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest; Glo. Then, Sander, sit thou there, the lyingest knave And look thyself be faultless. thou wert best. In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, Thou might'st as well have known all our names, as thus How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal; To name the several colours we do wear. And, for my wife. I know not how it stands. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly Sorry I am to hear what I have heard; To nominate them all, it is impossible.- Noble she is, but if she have forgot My lords. Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; Honour, and virtue, and conversed with such And would ye not think his cunning to be great, As, like to pitch, defile nobility, That could restore this cripple to his legs?1 I banish her, my bed, and company, Simp. 0, master, that you could! And give her, as a prey to law, and shame, Glo. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not bea- That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name. dies in your town, and things called whips? K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us here: May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. To-morrow, toward London; back again, Glo. Then send for one presently. To look into this business thoroughly, May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. And call these foul offenders to their answers; [Exit an Attendant. And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save [Flourish. Exeunt. yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and CENE.London. The Due of Garden. SCENE IT.-London. The Duke of YeORI's Garden. run awvay. Simp. Alas! master, I am not able to stand alone: Enter YORK) SALISBURY, and WARWICK. You go about to torture me in vain. York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and Warwick, Re-enter Attendant, and a Beadle with a whip. Our simple supper ended, give me leave, Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. In this close walk, to satisfy myself Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. In craving your opinion of my title, Bead. I will, my lord.-Come on, sirrah; off with Which is infallible, to England's crown. your doublet quickly. Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at the full. Simp. Alas! master, what shall I do? I am not able War. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good, to stand. The Nevils are thy subjects to command. [After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps York. Then thus:over the stool, and runs away; and the People Edward the third, my lords, had seven sons: follow and cry, "' A Miracle!" The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales; K. Hen. 0 God! seest thou this, and bearest so long? The second, William of Hatfield; and the third, Q. lMar. It made me laugh to see the villain run. Lionel, duke of Clarence next to whom, Glo. Follow the knave; and take this drab away. Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster; Wife. Alas! sir, we did it for pure need. The fifth was Edmond Langley, duke of York; Glo. Let them be whipp'd through every market town, The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloster; Till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. William of Windsor was the seventh, and last. [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, gc. Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father, Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. And left behind him Richard, his only son; Suf. True, made the lame to leap, and fly away. Who, after Edward the third's death, reigned as king, Glo. But you have done more miracles than I; Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, Enter BUCKINGHAM. Crown'd by the name of Henry the fourth, K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? Seized on the realm; depos'd the rightful king; Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came, A sort2 of naughty persons, lewdly bent And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, Under the countenance and confederacy Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, War. Father, the duke hath told the very truth: The ringleader and head of all this rout, Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. [right; Have practic'd dangerously against your state, York. Which now they hold by force, and not by Dealing with witches, and with conjurers, For Richard, the first son's heir being dead, Whom we have apprehended in the fact: The issue of the next son should have reign'd. Raising up wicked spirits from under ground Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. Demanding of king Henry's life and death York. The third son, duke of Clarence, from whose And other of your highness' privy council, line As more at large your grace shall understand. I claim the crown, had issue-Philippe, a daughter, [Giving a paper.3 Who married Edmond Mortimer, earl of March; Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means Edmond had issue-Roger, earl of March: Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. Roger had issue-Edmond, Anne, and Eleanor. This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; Sal. This Edmond, in the reign of Bolingbroke'T is like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; Glo. Ambitious churchman leave t' afflict my heart. And but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; Who kept him in captivity, till he died. And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, But to the rest. Or to the meanest groom. [ones; York. His eldest sister, Anne, K. Hen. 0 God! what mischiefs work the wicked My mother, being heir unto the crown, 1 This speech is printed as prose in the folio. 2 Company. z Not in f. e. 464 SECOND PART OF ACT n. Married Richard. earl of Cambridge; who was Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground.To Edmond Langley, Edward the third's fifth son, son. I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. To Roger, earl of March; who was the son K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey, duke of Gloster. Ere thou Of Edmond Mortimer; who married Philippe, Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself [go, Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence: Protector be; and God shall be my hope, So, if the issue of the elder son My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet. Succeed before the younger, I am king. And go in peace, Humphrey; no less beloved, War. What plain proceeding is more plain than this? Than when thou wert protector to thy king. Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years The fourth son; York claims it from the third. Should be protected like a child by peers.2 Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign: God and king Henry govern England's helm.3 It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee, Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.- Glos. My staff?-here, noble Henry, is my staff; Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; To think I fain would keep it makes me laugh.4 And, in this private plot' be we the first, As willingly do I the same resign, That shall salute our rightful sovereign As e'er thy father Henry made it mine: With honour of his birthright to the crown. And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it, Both. Long live our sovereign Richard England's As others would ambitiously receive it. king! Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone, York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king, May honourable peace attend thy throne. [Exit. Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be stain'd Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; queen; And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself, But with advice, and silent secrecy. That bears so shrewd a maim: two pulls at once,Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence. This staff of honour raught5-there let it stand, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays; Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her proudest6 days. That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey. York. Lords, let him go.-Please it your majesty,'T is that they seek; and they, in seeking that, This is the day appointed for the combat; Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. And ready are the appellant and defendant, Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at The armourer and his man to enter lists, full. So please your highness to behold the fight. War. My heart assures me, that the earl of Warwick Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord: for purposely, therefore, Shall one day make the duke of York a king. Left I the court to see this quarrel tried. York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, K. Hen. 0' God's name, see the lists and all things Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick Here let them end it, and God defend the right! [fit: The greatest man in England, but the king. [Exeunt. York. I never saw a fellow worse bestead, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, SCENE III.-The Same. A Hall of Justice. he servant of this armorer my lords. The servant of this armourer, my lords. Trumpets sounded. Enter King HENRY, Queen MAR- Enter, one side, HONER, and his Neighbours drinkGARET, GLOSTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY; ing to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters the Dzuchess of GLOSTER, MARGERY JOURDAIN, SOUTH- bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; a WELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROIE, eunder guard. ldrum before him: at the other side, PETER, with a K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, Glos- drum and a similar staff; accompanied by Prentices ter's wife. drinking to him. In sight of God and us, your guilt is great: 1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in Receive the sentence of the law, for sin a cup of sack. And fear not, neighbour, you shall do Such as by God's book is adjudg'd to death.- well enough. You four, from hence to prison back again; 2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of [To JOURD., 3'c. charneco.' From thence, unto the place of execution: 3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer, The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.- Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I'11 pledge you all; You, madam, for you are more nobly born, and a fig for Peter! Despoiled of your honour in your life, 1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not Shall, after three days' open penance done, afraid. Live in your country here, in banishment, 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man. fight for credit of the prentices. Duch. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my Peter. I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I death. pray you, for, I think, I have taken my last draught in Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee: this world.-Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my I cannot justify whom the law condemns- apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:-and [Exeunt the Duchess, and the other Prisoners, guarded. here, Tom, take all the money that I have.-O Lord, Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief, bless me! I pray God, for I am never able to deal Ah, Humphrey! this dishonour in thine age with my master, he hath learnt so much fence already. 1 Spot. 2 The words " by peers," are not in f. e. 3 realm: in folio; Johnson made the change. 4 This line is not in f. e. 5 Taken away. 6 youngest: in f. e. 7 A wine made at a place of that name near Lisbon. SCENE IV. KING HENRY VI. 465 Sal. Come, leave your drinking both, and fall to Methinks, I should not thus be led along, blows.- Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, Sirrah, what's thy name? And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice Peter. Peter, forsooth. To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet groans. Sal. Peter! what more? The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet; Peter. Thump. And when I start the envious people laugh, Sal. Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. And bid me be advised how I tread. Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon Ah, Humphrey! can I bear this shameful yoke? my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself Trow'st thou, that e'er I 11 look upon the world, an honest man: and touching the duke of York, I will Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the No; dark shall be my light, and night my day: king, nor the queen. And therefore, Peter, have at To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell. thee with a downright blow.' Sometime I'11 say I am duke Humphrey's wife, York. Despatch: this knave'stongue begins to double. And he a prince, and ruler of the land; Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants. Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, [Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes down his As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, llMaster. Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock, Her. Hold, Peter, hold, I confess, I confess treason. To every idle rascal follower. [Dies. But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame: York. Take away his weapon.-Fellow, thank God, Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death and the good wine in thy masters way. Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will; Peter. 0 God! have I overcome mine enemies in For Suffolk,-he that can do all in all this presence? 0 Peter! thou hast prevailed in right. With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all,K. Hen. Go, and take hence that traitor from our And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, sight; Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings; For by his death we do perceive his guilt: And, fly thou how thou canst, they'11 tangle thee. And God in justice hath reveal'd to us But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd, The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.- Glo. Ah, Nell! forbear; thou aimest all awry: Come, fellow; follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt. I must offend before I be attainted; SCENE IV.The Same. A Street. And had I twenty times so many foes, SCENE IV.-The Same. A Street. And each of them had twenty times their power, Enter GLOSTER and Servants, in mourning Cloaks. All these could not procure me any scathe, Glo. Thus, sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud; So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. And after summer evermore succeeds Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away, So, cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.- But I in danger for the breach of law. Sirs, what's o'clock? Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell; Serv. Ten, my lord. I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience: Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess Enter a Herald. Uneath2 may she endure the flinty streets, Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's parliaTo tread them with her tender-feeling feet. ment, holden at Bury the first of this next month. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before? The abject people, gazing on thy face This is close dealing.-Well, I will be there. With envious3 looks, laughing at thy shame, [Exit Herald. That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels, My Nell, I take my leave:-and, master sheriff, When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. But, soft! I think, she comes; and I 11 prepare Sher. An't please your grace, here my commission My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. And Sir John Stanley is appointed now [stays; Enter the Duchess of GLOSTER, in a white sheet, with To take her with him to the Isle of Man. verses written upon her back, her feet bare, and a taper Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here? burning in her hand; Sir JOHN STANLEY, a Sheriff, Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please your and Officers. grace. Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from the Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray sheriff. You use her well. The world may laugh again; Glo. No, stir not for your lives: let her pass by. And I may live to do you kindness, if Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? You do it her: and so, sir John, farewell. Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze: Duch. What! gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell? See, how the giddy multitude do point, Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee. [Exeunt GLOSTER and Servants. Ah, Gloster! hide thee from their hateful looks; Duch. Art thou gone so? All comfort go with thee, And in thy closet pent up rue my shame, For none abides with me: my joy is death; And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell: forget this grief. Because I wish'd this world's eternity.Duch. Ah, Gloster! teach me to forget myself; Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence; For, whilst I think I am thy married wife I care not whither, for I beg no favour, And thou a prince, protector of this land, Only convey me where thou art commanded. 1Some mod. eds. add: "as Bevis, of Southampton, fell upon Ascapart," from the old play of the " First Part of the Contention," on which the present drama was founded. 2 Scarcely, not easily. 3 Malicious. 466 SECOND PART OF ACT III. Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; Duch. Ay, ay, farewell: thy office is discharged.There to be used according to your state. Come, Stanley, shall we go? Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And shall I; then, be us'd reproachfully? And go we to attire you for our journey. Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's lady: Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: According to that state you shall be used. No it will hang upon my richest robes, Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, And show itself, attire me how I can. Although thou hast been conduct of my shame! Go, lead the way I long to see my prison. Sher. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. [Exeunt. ACT III. And such high vaunts of his nobility, SCENE 1. —The Abbey at Bury. Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess, A Sennet.l Enter to the Parliament, King HENRY, By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Queen MARGARET, Cardinal BEAUFORT, SUFFOLK Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, YORK), BUCKINGHAM, and others. And in his simple show he harbours treason. K. Hen. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come: The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb:'T is not his wont to be the hindmost man. No no. my sovereign; Gloster is a man Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. Q. Mar. Can you not see, or will you not observe Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? Devise strange deaths for small offences done? With what a majesty he bears himself; York. And did he not, in his protectorship, How insolent of late he is become Levy great sums of money through the realm How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? We know the time since he was mild and affable; By means whereof the towns each day revolted. And if we did but glance a far-off look, Buck. Tut! these are petty faults to faults unknown, Immediately he was upon his knee, Which time will bring to light in smooth duke HumThat all the court admired him for submission: phrey. But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, K. Hen. My lords, at once: the care you have of us, When every one will give the time of day, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot; He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye, Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience? And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent Disdaining duty that to us belongs. From meaning treason to our royal person, Small curs are not regarded when they grin, As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove. But great men tremble when the lion roars:The duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given, And Humphrey is no little man in England. To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. First note, that he is near you in descent Q. 3Mar. Ah! what's more dangerous than this fond And should you fall, he is the next will mount. affiance? Me seemeth, then, it is no policy, Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd, Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears, For he's disposed as the hateful raven. And his advantage following your decease, Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, That he should come about your royal person, For he Is inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf, Or be admitted to your highness" council. Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit? By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all And, when he please to make commotion, Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.'T is to be fear'd, they all will follow him. Enter SOMERSET. Now't is the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted: Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign! Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden, K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What's the news And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. from France? The reverend care I bear unto my lord Som. That all your interest in those territories Made me collect these dangers in the duke. Is utterly bereft you: all is lost. If it be fond,2 call it a woman's fear: K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset; but God's will Which fear if better reasons can supplant, be done. I will subscribe and say, I wrong'd the dule. York. Cold news for me; for I had hope of France, My lords of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York [Aside. Reprove my allegations if you can, As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Or else conclude my words effectual. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And caterpillars eat my leaves away; And had I first been put to speak my mind, But I will remedy this gear4 ere long, I think, I should have told your grace's tale. Or sell my title for a glorious grave. The duchess by his subornation, Eter GLOSTER. Upon my life, began her devilish practices: Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king! Or if he were not privy to those faults, Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. Yet. by reputing of his high descent Suf. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too soon, As next the king he was successive heir, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art. 1 Sounding of trumpets. 2 Foolish. 3 Folio: are-wolves. 4 Affair. l. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 467 I do arrest thee of high treason here. Causeless have laid disgraces on my head. Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet. thou shalt not see me blush: And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up Nor change my countenance for this arrest: My liefest3 liege to be mine enemy.A. heart unspotted is not easily daunted. Ay, all of you have laid your heads together: The purest spring is not so free from mud, Myself had notice of your conventicles. As I am clear from treason to my sovereign. And all to make away my guiltless life. Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? I shall not want false witness to condemn me, York. IT is thought, my lord, that you took bribes of Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; France. The ancient proverb will be well effected,And, being protector, stay'd the soldier's pay; A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. By means whereof his highness hath lost France. Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable. Glo. Is it but thought so? What are they that If those that care to keep your royal person think it? From treason's secret knife, and traitor's rage, I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. And the offender granted scope of speech, So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,'T will make them cool in zeal unto your grace. Ay, night by night, in studying good for England. Stf. Hath he not.twit our sovereign lady, here, That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, As if she had suborned some to swear Be brought against me at my trial day. False allegations to o'erthrow his state? No: many a pound of mine own proper store, Q. 1lar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. Because I would not tax the needy commons Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant: I lose; indeed. Have I disbursed to the garrisons, Beshrew the winners, for they played me false; And never ask'd for restitution. And well such losers may have leave to speak. Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me God! day.York. In your protectorship you did devise Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner. Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. That England was defam'd by tyranny. Glo. Ah! thus king Henry throws away his crutch, Glo. Why,'t is well known that. whiles I was Before his legs be firm to bear his body: protector, Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, Pity was all the fault that was in me; And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. For I should melt at an offenders tears, Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! And lowly words were ransom for their fault: For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. Unless it were a bloody murderer, [Exeunt Attendants with GLOSTER. Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers, K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best, I never gave them condign punishment. Do or undo, as if ourself were here. [Rising.' Murder, indeed: that bloody sin, I tortur'd Q. Mar. What! will your highness leave the parAbove the felon, or what trespass else. liament? Stf. My lord, these faults are easily, quickly an- K. Hen. Ay, Margaret, my heart is drowned with swer'd; grief, But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. My body round engirt with misery, I do arrest you in his highness' name; For what Is more miserable than discontent? And here commit you to my lord cardinal Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see To keep, until your farther time of trial. The map of honour, truth, and loyalty; K. Hen. My lord of Gloster,'t is my special hope, And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come, That you will clear yourself from all suspect2: That e'er I proved thee false, or fear'd thy faith. My conscience tells me you are innocent. What lowering star now envies thy estate, Glo. Ah, gracious lord! these days are dangerous: That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand; Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong: Foul subornation is predominant, And as the butcher takes away the calf, And equity exil'd your highness7 land. And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, I know, their complot is to have my life; Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house; And if my death might make this island happy, Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence: And prove the period of their tyranny, And as the dan runs lowing up and down, I would expend it with all willingness; Looking the way her harmless young one went, But mine is made the prologue to their play, And can do nought but wail her darling's loss; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. With sad unhelpful tears and with dimm'd eyes Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, Look after him, and cannot do him good, And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; So mighty are his vowed enemies. Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue His fortunes I will weep; and'twixt each groan, The envious load that lies upon his heart; Say-" Who Is a traitor? Gloster he is none."7 [Exit. And dogged York, that reaches at the moon Q. 1Ma1r. Fair lords, cold snow melts with the sun's Whose overweening arm I have plucked back, hot beams. By false accuse doth level at my life.- Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Too full of foolish pity; and Gloster's show 1 From the second folio. 2 suspense: in f. e. 3 Dearest. 4 Not in f. e. 468 SECOND PART OF ACT III. Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile Witness the fortune he hath had in France. With sorrow snares relenting passengers; Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy, Or as the snake, rolld in a flowering bank Had been the regent there instead of me, With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child, He never would have stayed in France so long. That for the beauty thinks it excellent. York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done. Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, I rather would have lost my life betimes, (And yet herein I judge mine own wit good) Than bring a burden of dishonour home, This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, By staying there so long till all were lost. To rid us from the fear we have of him. Show me one scar characterld on thy skin: Car. That he should die is worthy policy, Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win. But yet we want ai colour for his death: Q. 11ar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging'T is meet he be condemn'd by course of law. fire, Suf. But, in my mind that were no policy: If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with.The king will labour still to save his life; No more, good York;-sweet Somerset, be still:The commons haply rise to save his life: Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, As yet we have but trivial argument, Might happily have proved far worse than his. More than mistrust that shows him worthy death. York. What. worse than nought? nay, then a York. So that, by this, you would not have him die. shame take all. Suf. Ah! York, no man alive so fain as I. So And, in the number thee, that wishest shame. York. T is York that hath most reason for his Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. death.- The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms. But, my lord cardinal, and you, lord Suffolk, And temper clay with blood of Englishmen: Say, as you think, and speak it from your souls, To Ireland will you lead a band of men, Wer It not all one an empty eagle were set Collected choicely, from each county some, To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, And try your hap against the Irishmen? As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector? York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. Q. MIar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. Suf. Why our authority is his consent, Suf. Madam,; t is true: and wer't not madness, And what we do establish, he confirms: then, Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. To make the fox surveyor of the fold? York. I am content. Provide me soldiers, lords, Who, being accus'd a crafty murderer, Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. His guilt should be but idly posted over Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will see performed. Because his purpose is not executed? But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. No; let him die. in that he is a fox, Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him, By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, That henceforth, he shall trouble us no more: Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood, And so break off; the day is almost spent. As Humphrey's proved by reasons to my liege. Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. And do not stand on quillets how to slay him: York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days, Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty At Bristol I expect my soldiers, Sleeping, or waking, It is no matter how, For there I I11 ship them all for Ireland. So he be dead: for that is good deceit Suf. I'11 see it truly done, my lord of York. Which mates' him first, that first intends deceit. [Exeunt all but YORn. Q. 1acr. Thrice noble Suffolk, resolutely spoke. York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done, And change misdoubt to resolution: For things are often spoke, and seldom meant; Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,- Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying. Seeing the deed is meritorious, Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man, And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,- And find no harbour in a royal heart. Say but the word, and I will be his priest. Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk, thought, Ere you can take due order for a priest. And not a thought but thinks on dignity. Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, And I 11 provide his executioner: Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. I tender so the safety of my liege. Well, nobles, well; It is politicly done, Szf. Here is my hand; the deed is worthy doing. To send me packing with an host of men: Q. l3ar. And so say I. I fear me you but warm the starved snake, York. And I: and now we three have spoke it, Who, cherished in your breasts, will sting your heartsIt skills2 not greatly who impugns our doom.'T was men I lack'd, and you will give them me: Enter a Messenger. I take it kindly yet, be well assur'd, Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. To signify that rebels there are up, Whiles I in Ireland march4 a mighty band, And put the Englishmen unto the sword. I will stir up in England some black storm, Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime. Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell; Before the wound do grow incurable; And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage For, being green, there is great hope of help. Until the golden circuit on my head, Car. A breach that craves a quick expedients stop. Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, What counsel give you in this weighty cause? Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.5 York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither. And for a minister of my intent,'T is meet that lucky ruler be employ'd; I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman,'Destroys, confounds. 2 MPatters. 3 Expeditious. 4 Nourish. 5 Sudden gust of wind. SCENE H. KING HENRY VI. 469 John Cade of Ashford Q. Mar. How fares my lord?-Help, lords! the To make commotion, as full well he can, king is dead. Under the title of John Mortimer. Som. Rear up his body: wring him by the nose. In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade Q. Mar. Run, go; help; help!-0, Henry, ope thine Oppose himself against a troop of kernes; eyes! And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts Suf. He doth revive again.-Madam, be patient. Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine: K. Hen. 0 heavenly God! And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord? Him caper upright, like a wild Morisco'; Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comShaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. fort! Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne, K. Hen. What! doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me? Hath he conversed with the enemy, Came he right now to sing a raven's note, And undiscovered come to me again, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers, And given me notice of their villainies. And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, This devil here shall be my substitute; By crying comfort from a hollow breast, For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, Can chase away the first-conceived sound? In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble: Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words. By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say: How they affect the house and claim of York. Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting. Say, he be taken, rackd, and tortured, Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! I know, no pain they can inflict upon him Upon thine eye-balls murderous tyranny Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms. Sits in grim majesty to fright the world. Say, that he thrive, as't is great like he will, Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding.Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, Yet do not go away:-come, basilisk, And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd; And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, For in the shade of death I shall find joy, And Henry put apart, then next for me. [Exit. In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. SCENE II.-Bury. A Room in the Palace. Q. Allar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus? Although the duke was enemy to him, Enter certain Mu:rderers, running over the Stage.2 et he, most Christian-like, laments his death: 1 lMur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know, And for myself, foe as he was to me, We have despatched the duke as he commanded. Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, 2 Mur. 0 that it were to do!-What have we done? Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life Didst ever hear a man so penitent? I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, 1 pMur. Here comes my lord. Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, Enter SUFFOLK. And all to have the noble duke alive. Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatched this thing? What know I how the world may deem of me? 1 Mlur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. For it is known, we were but hollow friends; Suf. Why, that'swell said. Go, get you to my house; It may be judg'd, I made the duke away: I will reward you for this venturous deed. So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, The king and all the peers are here at hand. And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well, This get I by his death. Ah me, unhappy, According as I gave directions? To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy! 1 11Mur.'T is, my good lord. K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man! Suf. Away! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. Q. Mar. Be woe for me. more wretched than he is. Sound Trumpets. Enter King HENRY, Queen MAR- What! dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? GARET, Cardinal BEAUFORT, SOMERSET, Lords and I am no loathsome leper! look on me. others. What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? K, Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight: Be poisonons too, and kill thy forlorn queen. Say, we intend to try his grace to-day, Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? If he be guilty, as It is published. Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy: Suf. I'11 call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. Erect his statue, then3, and worship it, K. Hen. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all, And make my image but an alehouse sign. Proceed no straiter'gainst our uncle Gloster Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea, Than from true evidence, of good esteem And twice by awkward wind from England's bank He be approved in practice culpable. Drove back again unto my native clime? Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, What boded this, but well-forewarning wind That faultless may condemn a noble man! Did seem to say,-Seek not a scorpion's nest, Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion! Nor set no footing on this unkind shore. K. Hen. I thank thee, Meg; these words content What did I then, but curs'd tl' ungentle4 gusts, me much.- And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves; Re-enter SUFFOLK. And bade them blow towards England's blessed shore, How now! why look st thou pale? why tremblest thou? Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock. Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk? Yet ZEolus would not be a murderer, Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead. But left that hateful office unto thee: Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend! The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me, Car. God's secret judgment!-I did dream to-night, Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore, The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness: [The King swoons. The splitting rocks cower d in the sinking sands, 1 I1orris-dancer. 2 Murderers, hastily: in f. e. 3 Not in folios. 4 the gentle: in f. e. 470 SECOND PART OF ACT III. And would not dash me with their ragged sides Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow? Might in thy palace perish Margaret. TWar. See, how the blood is settled in his face. As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, When from the shore the tempest beat us back, Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, I stood upon the hatches in the storm; Being all descended to the labouring heart; And when the dusky sky began to rob Who in the conflict that it holds with death, My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, Attracts the same for aidance'gainst the enemy: I took a costly jewel from my neck,- Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,- To blush and beautify the cheek again. And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv'd it, But see, his face is black, and full of blood; And so I wish'd thy body might my heart: His eye-balls farther out than when he liv'd, And even with this I lost fair England's view Staring full ghastly like a strangled maln: And bade mine eyes be packing with my heart His hair uprearld, his nostrils stretched with struggling; And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, His ands abroad displayed, as one that grasp'd, For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. And tugged for life, and was by strength subdued. How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue Look on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; (The agent of the foul inconstancy) His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, To sit and witch' mee as Ascanius did, Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged. When he to madding Dido would unfold It cannot be but he was murdered here; His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy? The least of all these signs were probable. Am I not witch'd like her, or thou not false like him? Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to Ah me! I can no more. Die, Margaret, death? For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection, Noise within. Enter WARWICK and SALISBURY. The And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. Commons press to the door. War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's }War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, foes, That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep: By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. "T is like, you would not feast him like a friend, The commons, like an angry hive of bees And It is well seen he found an enemy. That want their leader, scatter up and down, Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen And care not who they sting in his revenge. As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny, War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh, Until they hear the order of his death. And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, K. Ien. That he is dead, good Warwick,'t is too true; But will suspect It was he that made the slaughter? But how he died, God knows, not Henry. Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse But may imagine how the bird was dead, And comment then upon his sudden death. Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? War. That I shall do, my liege.-Stay, Salisbury, Even so suspicious is this tragedy. With the rude multitude, till I return. Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where's your [WARWICK goes into an inner Room, and knife? SALIxsURY retires. Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons? K. Hen. 0 thou that judgest all things, stay my Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men; thoughts! But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul, That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart, Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life. That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.If my suspect be false, forgive me, God, Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, For judgment only doth belong to thee. That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips [Exeunt Cardinal, SOM., and others. With twenty thousand kisses, and to rain2 War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare Upon his face an ocean of salt tears him? To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling; Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, But all in vain are these mean obsequies, Though Suffolk dares him twenty thousand times. And to survey his dead and earthy image, War. Madam, be still, with reverence may I say; What were it but to make my sorrow greater? For every word you speak in his behalf The Doors of an inner Chamber are thrown open, and Is slander to your royal dignity. GLOSTER is discovered dead in his Bed; WARwICK Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour, and others standing by it. If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, War. Come hither, gracious sovereign; view this Thy mother took into her blameful bed body. Some stern untutored churl, and noble stock K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made; Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art, For with his soul fled all my worldly solace And never of the Nevils' noble race. And, seeing him, I see my life in death. War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, War. As surely as my soul intends to live And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, With that dread King, that took our state upon him Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, I do believe that violent hands were laid I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, watch: in folio. 2 drain: in f. e. SCENE II. KING HENRY VI. 471 And say, it was thy mother that thou meant'st; K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, That thou thyself wast born in bastardy: I thank them for their tender loving care, And, after all this fearful homaae done And had I not been'cited so by them, Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men. For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy Stf. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood, Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means: If fiom this presence thou dar'st go with me. And therefore, by his majesty I swear, War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. Whose far unworthy deputy I am, Unworthy though thou art, I'11 cope with thee, He shall not breathe infection in this air And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Exit SAL. [Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK. Q. Mar. 0 Henry! let me plead for gentle Suffolk. K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk. untainted? No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him, Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just; Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, within. Had I but said, I would have kept my word, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A noise But, when I swear, it is irrevocable.Q. liar. What noise is this? If after three days' space thou here beast found Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their Weapons On any ground that I am ruler of, drawn. The world shall not be ransom for thy life.K. Hen. Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weap- Come, Warwick, come; good Warwick, go with me, ons drawn I have great matters to impart to thee. Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?- [Exeunt K. HENRY, WARWICK, Lords, ~'c. Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you! Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury, Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. Be playfellows to keep you company. Noise of a Crowd within. Re-enter SALIssURY. There's two of you the devil make a third, Sal. Sirs, stand apart; [Speaking to those within. And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! the king shall know your mind.- Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. Unless lord Suffolk straight be done to death, Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted Or banished fair England's territories, wretch! They will by violence tear him from your palace, Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy? And torture him with grievous lingering death. Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died; them? They say, in him they fear your highness' death; Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,2 And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, I would invent as bitter-searching terms, Free from a stubborn opposite intent, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, As being thought to contradict your liking, Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, Makes them thus forward in his banishment. With full as many signs of deadly hate, They say, in care of your most royal person, As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave. That, if your highness should intend to sleep, My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; And charge, that no man should disturb your rest, Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; In pain of your dislike, or pain of death, My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract: Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict, Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, And even now my burdened heart would break, That slily glided towards your majesty, Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! It were but necessary you were wak'd; Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber, Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees! The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal: Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks! And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, Their softest touch, as sharp3 as lizard's stings! That they will guard you, whe'r you will or no, Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss, From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is; And boding screech-owls make the concert full! With whose envenomed and fatal stin, All the foul terrors in dark-seated hellYour loving uncle, twenty times his worth, Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk: thou torment'st They say, is shamefully bereft of life. thyself; Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, my And these dread curses, like the sun gainst glass, lord of Salisbury! Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, Suf.'T is like the commons, rude unpolished hinds, And turn the force of them upon thyself. Could send such message to their sovereign; Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, To show how quaint an orator you are: Well could I curse away a winter's night, But all the honour Salisbury hath won, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Is; that he was the lord ambassador, Where biting cold would never let grass grow, Sent from a sort' of tinkers to the king. And think it but a minute spent in sport. Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, or Q. Mar. O! let me entreat thee, cease. Give me we will all break in! thy hand, 1 Conpany. 2 " They do affyrme that this herbe cometh of the seed of some convicted dead men, and also without the death of some lyvinge thinge, it cannot be drawen out of the earth to man's use. Therefore, they did tye some dogge or other lyvinge beaste unto the roote thereof with a corde. and digged the earth in compasse round about, and in the meantyme stopped their own eares for feare of the terrible shriek and cry of this ll'Mandrack. In which cry it doth not only die itselfe, but the feare thereof killeth the dogge or beast which pulleth it out of the earth."-Bulleine's "Bulwarce of Defence against Sickness: folio, 1579; quoted by Reed. 3 smart: in f. e. 472 SECOND PART OF ACT III. That I may dew it with my mournful tears; So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, Or I' should breathe it so into thy body, To wash away my woeful monuments. And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 0! could this kiss be printed in thy hand, To die by thee, were but to die in jest; That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, From thee to die, were torture more than death. Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee. 0! let me stay, befal what may befal. So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; Q. Jlar. Away! though parting be a fretful corro-'T is but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, sive, As one that surfeits, thinking on a want. It is applied to a deathful wound. I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee; Adventure to be banished myself; For wheresoe'r thou art in this world's globe, And banished I am, if but from thee. I'11 have an Iris that shall find thee out. Go; speak not to me: even now be gone.- Suf. I go. 0! go not yet.-Even thus two friends condemn'd Q. Mirar. And take my heart with thee. Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Suf. A jewel, locked into the woeful'st casket Loather a hundred times to part than die. That ever did contain a thing of worth. Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we: Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, This way fall I to death. Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. Q. 3Mar. This way for me.'T is not the land I care for, wert thou thence: [Exeunt, severally. A wilderness is populous enough, A Swilderness is populous enough, SCENE III.-London. Cardinal BEAUFORT'S BedSo Suffolk had thy heavenly company; For where thou art, there is the world itself,ch r. With every several pleasure in the world, Enter King HENR, SA ISBURY, WARWICK, and others. And where thou art not, desolation. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him. I can no more.-Live thou to joy thy life; K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy Myself to' joy in nought, but that thou liv'st.king. Enter VAUX. Car. If thou be'st death, I 11 give thee England's Q. Blar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I treasure, pr'ythee? Enough to purchase such another island, Vaux. To signify unto his majesty, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death; K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, Where death's approach is seen so terrible! That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. Sometime he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost Died he not in his bed? where should he die? WIere by his side; sometime he calls the king Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?And whispers to his pillow, as to him,0! torture me no more, I will confess.The secrets of his overcharged soul: Alive again? then show me where he is: And I am sent to tell his majesty,I'11 give a thousand pound to look upon him.That even now he cries aloud for him. He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.Q. AlJar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. Comb down his hair: look! look! it stands upright, [Exit VAUX. Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.Ah me! what is this world? what news are these? Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. I Omitting Suffolk's exile. my soul's treasure? K. Hen 0, thou eternal mover of the heavens, Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! And with the southern clouds contend in tears? 0! beat away the busy meddling fiend, Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows. That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, Now, get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is coming: And from his bosom purge this black despair. If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin. Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live; Sal. Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably. And in thy sight to die, what were it else, K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if't God's good pleasure be. But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Here could I breathe my soul into the air, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.-Car. dies.2 As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe He dies, and makes no sign.-O God, forgive him! Dying with mother's dug between its lips; War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth: And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. no: in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 473 ACT IV. Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule, SCENE I.- Kent. The Sea-shore netar Dover. And thought thee happy when I shook my head? Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat, a Cap- How often hast thou waited at my cup, tain, a Master, a lMaster's-Mate, WALTER WHIT- Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, MORE, and others; with them SUFFOLK, disguised; When I have feasted with queen Margaret? and other Gentlemen, prisoners. Remember it, and let it make thee crest-falln; Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride. Is crept into the bosom of the sea, How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades And duly waited for my coming forth. That drag the tragic melancholy night; This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. Clip' dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the foul-tongu'd Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. slave?4 Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize; Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. For whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou. Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long boat's side Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.- Strike off his head. Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. And, thou that art his mate, make boot of this;- Cap. Yes, Poole.' The other, [Pointing to SUFFOLK,] Walter Whitmore, Stf. Poole? is thy share. Cap. Poole, Sir Poole, lord? 1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know. Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt IMast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. head. Now, will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, M1ate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. For swallowing the treasure of the realm: Cap. What! think you much to pay two thousand Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground; crowns. And thou, that smilst at good duke Humphrey's death, And bear the name and port of gentlemen?- Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, Cut both the villains' throats!-for die you shall: Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again: Can2 lives of those which we have lost in fight, And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, Be counterpoised with such a petty sum? For daring to affy a mighty lord 1 Gent. I'11 give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. Unto the daughter of a worthless king, 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. TVI/it. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, By devilish policy art thou grown great, And, therefore, to revenge it shalt thou die; [To SUF. And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd And so should these; if I might have my will. With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. Cap. Be not so rash: take ransom; let him live. By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France: Stlf. Look on my George: I am a gentleman. The false revolting Normans thorough thee Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts, How now! why start'st thou? what, doth death affright? And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, A cunning man did calculate my birth, Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, And told me that by water I should die: As hating thee, are rising up in arms: Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded; And now the house of York-thrust from the crown, Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded. By shameful murder of a guiltless king, Whit. Gaultier, or Walter, which it is, I care not And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny, — Never yet did base dishonour blur our name, Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours But with our sword we wip'd away the blot: Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine, Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, Under the which is writ-Invitis nubibus. Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, The commons, here in Kent, are up in arms; And I proclaimed a coward through the world! And to conclude, reproach. and beggary, [Lays hold on SUFFOLK. Are crept into the palace of our king, Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, And all by thee.-Away!-Convey him hence. The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. Sutf. O, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Whit. The duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags! Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke: Small things make base men proud: this villain, here; Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I?' Being captain of a pinnace. threatens more Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.7 Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood, Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. The honourable blood of Lancaster, It is impossible, that I should die Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup? Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me: 1 Emzbrace. 2 The: in f. e. 3 This line, not in the folio, is from the old play of the " Contention." 4 the forlorn swain: in f. e. & These words and the following Poole, are from the " Contention." 6 The device of Edward III., " the rays of the sun dispersing themselves out of a cloud."-Camden. 7 Bargulus, Illyrius latro.-Ciceronis Officia, Lib. III., c. ii. 471 SECOND PART OF ACT V. I go of message from the queen to France; Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniI charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. quity's throat cut like a calf. Cap. Walter!- John. And Smith, the weaver. Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. Geo; Argo, their thread of life is spun. Setf. Pene gelidus timor occupat artus:-it is thee I John. Come, come; let Is fall in with them. fear. [thee. Drum. Enter CADE, DICK the Butcher, SMITH the Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave Weaver, and others in great number2. What! are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him; speak him father,fair. Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade3 of herrings. Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, [Aside. Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Cade. - For our enemies shall fall before us, inFar be it we should honour such as these spired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes. With humble suit: no, rather let my head -Command silence. [Noise.4 Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, Dick. Silence! Save to the God of heaven, and to my kin g; Cade. My father was a Mortimer,And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, Dick. He was an honest man and a good bricklayer. Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom. [Aside. True nobility is exempt from fear: Cade. My mother a Plantagenet,More can I bear, than you dare execute. Dick. I knew her well; she was a midwife. [Aside. Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies,Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold That this my death may never be forgot.- many laces. [Aside. Great men oft die by vile bezonians1: Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with her A Roman sworder and banditto slave furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. [Aside. Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and Pompey the great, and Suffolk dies by pirates. there was he born under a hedge; for his father had [Exit Sur., with WHIT., and others. never a house, but the cage. [Aside. Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, Cade. Valiant I am. It is our pleasure one of them depart: Smith.'A must needs, for beggary is valiant. [Aside. Therefore, come you with us, and let him go. Cade. I am able to endure much. [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. Dick. No question of that, for I have seen him Re-enter WHITMORE, with SUFFOLK' body. whipped three market days together. [Aside. Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. Until the queen, his mistrsess, bury it. [Exit. Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of 1 Gent. 0, barbarous and bloody spectacle! proof. His body will I bear unto the king: Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep. [Aside. So will the queen, that living held him dear. Cade. Be brave then; for your captain is brave, and [Exit, with the Body. vows reformation. There shall be in England seven SCENE hI.-B khethalf-penny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped SCENE i I.-Blackheath. SCrENE -BadOHN. 0pot shall have ten hoops' and I will make it felony, to Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HTOLLAND. drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And, lath: they have been up these two days. when I am king, (as king I will be)John. They have the more need to sleep now then. All. God save your majesty! Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade, the clothier, means to Cade. I thank you, good people: —there shall be no dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new money; all shall eat and drink en my score; and I nap upon it. will apparel them all in one livery, that they may John. So he had need, for It is threadbare. Well, I agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. say, it was never merry world in England, since gen- Dick. The first thing we do, let Is kill all the lawyers. tiemen came up. Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentGeo. 0 miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in able thing, that the skin of an innocent lamb should handicrafts-men. be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. o'er slhould undo a man? Some say, the bee stings; Geo. Nay more; the king's council are no good work- but I say,'t is the bee's wax, for I did but seal once to men. a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How John. True; and yet it is said,-labour in thy voca- now! who Is there? tion: which is as much as to say,-let the magistrates Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. be labouring men; and therefore should we be magis- Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and trates. read, and cast accompt. Geo. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of Cade. 0 monstrous! a brave mind, than a hard hand. Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. John. I see them! I see them! There's Bests son, Cade. Here s a villain the tanner of Wingham. Smith. H' as a book in his pocket, with red letters in't. Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make Cade. Nay then, he is a conjurer. dog's leather of. Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write courtJohn. And Dick, the butcher. hand. 1 A term of contempt. 2 with infinite numbers: in folio. 3 Latin, cadus, a cask. 4 Not in f. e. Im!i~~l Taa\i~,ij i:'; i - ____;11 _______ __________________________________________'a'/A' 1Waii1 11 Ill'i irii; rii~~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~w11 U (I CLLFIO1(D,-~-"~_`'~~;`` JACK AIJE, tIC-~ —~ henry I Par II Aat IVCane SCE.NE IV. KING HENRY VI. 475 Cade. I am sorry for It: the man is a proper man, to span-counter for French crowns. I am content he of mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not shall reign; but I 1ll be protector over him. die.-Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what Dick. And, furthermore, we'l have the lord Say's is thy name? head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. Clerk. Emmanuel. Cade. And good reason; for thereby is England Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters.- maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my puis-'T will go hard with you. sauce holds it up. Fellow kings. I tell you that that Cade. Let me alone.-Dost thou use to write thy lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it name, or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, plain-dealing man? and therefore he is a traitor. Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought Staf. 0, gross and miserable ignorance! up that I can write my name. Cade. Nay, answer, if you can: the Frenchmen are All. He hath confessed: away with him! he Is a our enemies: go to, then, I ask but this; can he that villain, and a traitor. speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good counCade. Away with him, I say! hang him with his sellor, or no? pen and ink-horn about his neck. All. No, no: and therefore we'll have his head. [Exeunt some with the Clerk. W. Staff. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, Enter MICHAEL. Assail them with the army of the king. Mich. Where:s our general? Staf. Herald, away; and, throughout every town, Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; Mich. Fly, fly, fly! sir Humphrey Stafford and his That those which fly before the battle ends, brother are hard by, with the king's forces. May, even in their wives' and childreins sight, Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'11 fell thee down. Be hanged up for example at their doors.He shall be encountered with a man as good as him- All you, that be the king's friends follow me. self: he is but a knight, is'a?, [Exeunt the two STAFFORDS and Forces. Mich. No. Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow me.Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight Now show yourselves men; t is for liberty. presently. [Kneels.] - Rise up sir John Mortimer. We will not leave one lord, one gentleman: [Rises.]' Now have at him. Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon, Enter Sir HUMPHREY STAFFORD, and WILLIAM his For they are thrifty honest men. and such Brother, with Drum and Forces. As would (but that they dare not) take our parts. Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us. Marked for the gallows, lay your weapons down: Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most Home to your cottages, forsake this groom. out of order. Come: march! forward! [Exeunt. The king is merciful, if you revolt. W. Staff. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, SCENE III.-Another Part of Blackheath. If you go forward: therefore yield, or die. Alarums. The two Parties enter, and fight, and both the Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass2 not; STAFFORDS are slain. It is to you, good people that I speak, t i ^o y o e t I Cade. Where s Dick, the butcher of Ashford? O'er whom in time to come I hope to reign;Dck Here sir For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 7. r, ir ForI am righ er unt* the c.Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, Staf. Villain! thy father was a plasterer: 1, StAnf. Viysllai thyfatherwas art plasterer;and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in Ce.And thou thsl a s gea n art. thine own slaughter-house: therefore, thus will I reCdeW. tAnd.~ Adam was a gardnr ward thee -The Lent shall be as long again as it is; W. Staff. And what of that? Cade. Marry, this:-Edmund Mortimer earl of and thou shalt have a licenses to kill for a hundred March, years, lacking one. Dick. I desire no more. Married the duke of Clarence's daughter, did he not? Ceckd. desre no more yStaf*,. ~~~~' A sCade. And, to speak the truth, thou deservest no less. Cade. By her he had two children at one birth.n W. Sta~ff. That's false. STAFFORD'S armour,-] and the bodies shall be dragged W. Staff. That's false. ae d Cade. Ay. there's the question; but, I say,'t is true. wil h es heels l do come to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us. The elder of them being put to nurse The elderfthem n pu tonre Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good break open Was by a be-ggar-woman stol'n away;. ) Wa b.a., begarwoa s' w ay the jails, and let out the prisoners. And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, I Became a bricklayer whe n he came to aCeCade. Fear not that I warrant thee. Come; let Is march towards London. [Exeunt. His son am I: deny it, if you can. Dick. Nay. It is too true: therefore, he shall be king. i * 7 ^- / r ac- e L i) n i 71 SCENE IV.-London. A Room in the Palace. Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it: there- Enter King HENRY, reading a Supplication; the Duke of fore, deny it not. BUCKINGHAM, and Lord SAY with him: at a distance, Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words, Queen MARGARET mourning over SUFFOLK'S Head. That speaks he knows not what? Q. Mar. Oft have I heard that grief softens the All. Ay, marry, will we; therefore, get ye gone. mind, [Aside.5 W. Staff. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught And makes it fearful and degenerate; you this. Think, therefore, on revenge, and cease to weep. Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside.]- But who can cease to weep, and look on this? Go to, sirrah: tell the king from me, that for his Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; father's sake, Henry the fifth, in whose time boys went But where Is the body that I should embrace? 1 Not in f. e. 2 Care. 3 Butchers were only allowed to kill in Lent, by special license. 4 5 Not in f. e. 476 SECOND PART OF ACT IV. Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebels' 1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they supplication? have won the bridge, killing all those that withstand K. Hen. I'11 send some holy bishop to entreat; them. The lord mayor craves aid of your honour from For God forbid, so many simple souls the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels, Should perish by the sword! And I myself, Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall command, Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, But I am troubled here with them myself: Will parley with Jack Cade their general.- The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. But stay, I'11 read it over once again. But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, Q. Alar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely And hither I will send you Matthew Gough. face [Aside.' Fight for your king, your country, and your lives; Rul'd like a wandering planet over me, And so farewell: rebellion never thrives.3 [Exeunt. And could it not enforce them to relent,S That were unworthy to behold the same? SCENE VI.-The Same. Cannon Street. K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have Enter JACK CAIE, and his Followers. He strikes his thy head. Staff on London-stone. Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, K. Hten. How now, madam! sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command, Lamenting still, and mourning Suffolk's death? that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now, Thou wouldest not have mourned so much for me. henceforward, it shall be treason for any that calls me Q. Mlar. No, my love: I should not mourn, but die other than lord Mortimer. for thee. Enter a Soldier, running. Enter a Messenger. Sold. Jack Cade! Jack Cade! K. Hen. How now! what news? why com'st thou Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him. in such haste? Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'11 never call you Mess. The rebels are in Southwark: fly, my lord! Jack Cade more: I think, he hath a very fair warning. Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, Dick. My lord, there Is an army gathered together Descended from the duke of Clarence' house, in Smithfield. And calls your grace usurper openly, Cade. Come. then, let's go fight with them. But, And vows to crown himself in Westminster. first, go and set London-bridge on fire; and, if you His army is a ragged multitude can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away. Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless: [Exeunt. Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death Hath given them heart and courage to proceed. All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,Alarum. Enter, on one side, CAD and his Company; They call false caterpillars, and intend their death. on the other, the Citizens, and the King's Forces, K. Hen. 0 graceless men! they know not what headed by MATTHEW GOUGH. They fight; the Citithey do. zens are routed, and MATTHEW GouGH is slain. Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenilworth 2 Cade. So, sirs.-Now go some and pull down the Until a power be rais'd to put them down. Savoy; others to the inns of court: down with them Q. Mar. Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, all. These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased. Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee,) Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that Therefore away with us to Kenilworth. word. Say. So might your grace's person be in danger. Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come out The sight of me is odious in their eyes; of your mouth. And therefore in this city will I stay, John. Mass,'t will be sore law, then; for he was And live alone as secret as I may. thrust in the mouth with a spear, and't is not whole Enter another Messenger. yet. [Aside. 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge: the Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his Fly and forsake their houses. [citizens breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside. The rascal people, thirsting after prey, Cade. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. Away. Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear, burn all the records of the realm: my mouth shall be To spoil the city, and your royal court. the parliament of England. Buck. Then linger not, my lord: away, take horse. John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, K. Hen. Come, Margaret: God, our hope, will sue- unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. cour us. Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd. common. K. Hen. Farewell, my lord: [To Lord SAY.] trust Enter a Messenger. not the Kentish rebels. Mless. My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the lord Say, Buck. Trust no body, for fear you be betray'd. which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, one and twenty fifteens4' and one shilling to the pound, And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. the last subsidy. Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the Lord SAY. SCENE AT.-The Same. The Tower. Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times.Enter Lord SCALES, and others, walking on the Walls. Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! Then enter certain Citizens, below. now art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction regal. Scales. How now! is Jack Cade slain? What canst thou answer to my majesty, for giving up 1 Not in f. e. 2 Folio: Killingworth; the old pronunciation of the name. 3 Farewell, for I must hence again: in f. e. 4 A tax of one-fifteenth. SCENE VIII. KING HENRY YI. 477 of Normandy unto monsieur Basimecu, the dauphin of Cade. Nay, he nods at us; as who should say, I 11i be France? Be it known unto thee by these presents, even with you. I'11 see if his head will stand steadier even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him. besom that must sweep the court clean of such filth as Say. Tell me, wherein have I offended most? thou art. Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the Have I affected wealth, or honour; speak? youth of the realm in erecting a grammar-school: and Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold? whereas, before, our fore-fathers had no other books Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death? to be used; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding, dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. to thy face, that thou hast men about thee, that usually 0, let me live. talk of a noun, and a verb, and such abominable words Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words; but as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast I'11 bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for pleading so appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before well for his life.-Away with him! he has a familiar them about matters they were not able to answer: under his tongue: he speaks not o: God's name. Go, moreover, thou hast put them in prison; and because take him away, I say, and strike off his head presently they could not read, thou hast hanged them: when, and then break into his son-in-law's house, sir James indeed, only for that cause they have been most worthy Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them both to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not? upon two poles hither. Say. What of that? All. It shall be done. Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse Say. Ah, counitrymen! if when you make your wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in their prayers, hose and doublets. God shall be so obdurate as yourselves, Dick. And work in their shirt too; as myself, for How would it fare with your departed souls? example, that am a butcher. And therefore yet relent, and save my life. Say. You men of Kent,- Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye. Dick. What say you of Kent? [Exeunt some with Lord SAY. Say. Nothing but this: It is bonna terra, mala gens. The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head Cade. Away with him! away with him! he speaks on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute: there shall Latin. not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me her Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you maidenhead, ere they have it. Men shall hold of me will. in capite; and we charge and command, that their Kent. in the commentaries Caesar writ, wives be as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell. Is termed the civil'st place of all this isle: Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and Sweet is the country, because full of riches; take up commodities upon our bills2? The people liberal, valiant, active worthy, Cade. Marry, presently. Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. All. 0 brave! I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy; Re-enter Rebels, with the Heads of Lord SAY and his Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. Son-in-law. Justice with favour have I always done; Cade. But is not this braver?-Let them kiss one Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. another, for they loved well, when they were alive. When have I aught exacted at your hands, [Jowl them together.3] Now part them again, lest they Kent, to maintain the king, the realm, and you? consult about the giving up of some more towns in Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until Because my book preferred me to the king: night for with these borne before us, instead of maces, And, seeing ignorance is the curse of God, will we ride through the streets; and at every corner Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, have them kiss.-Away! [Exeunt. Unless you be possessed with devilish spirits, SCENE V -Southwark You cannot but forbear to murder me. This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings Alarum. Enter CADE, and all his Rabblement. For your behoof.- Cade. Up Fish-street! down Saint Magnus' corner! Cade. Tut! when struck'st thou one blow in the kill and knock down! throw them into Thames!-[A field? Parley sounded, then a Retreat.] What noise is this I Say. Great men have reaching hands: oft have I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley, struck when I command them kill? Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. Enter BUCKINcGHAM, and Old CLIFFORD, with Forces. Geo. 0 monstrous coward! what, to come behind Buck. Ay, here they be that dare, and will disturb folks? thee: Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king good. Unto the commons whom thou hast misled; Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and that will make And here pronounce free pardon to them all,'em red again. That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. Say. Long sitting, to determine poor men s causes, Clif. What say ye, countrymen? will ye repent? Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. And yield to mercy, whilst It is offer'd you, Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, and the Or let a rebel5 lead you to your deaths? help2 of hatchet. Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man? Fling up his cap, and say-God save his majesty! Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. Who hateth him, and honours not his father, 1 Farmer reads: "pap of hatchet,. a colloquial phrase of the time. 2 Weapons, resembling pikes. 3 Not in f. e. 4 relent: in f. e. 6 rabble: in f. e. 478 SECOND PART OF ACT IV. Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake, Or is he but retird to make him strong? Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. Enter, below, a number of CADE'S Followers, with Halters All. God save the king! God save the king! about their Necks. Cade. What! Buckingham, and Clifford) are ye so Clif. He Is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield, brave?-And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, will you needs be hanged with your pardons about Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death. your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke through K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, London Gates, that you should leave me at the White To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!Hart in Southwark? I thought ye would never have Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives, given out these arms, till you had recovered your And show'd how well you love your prince and country: ancient freedom; but you are all recreants, and das- Continue still in this so good a mind, tards, and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. And Henry, though he be infortunate, Let them break your backs with burdens, take your Assure yourselves, will never be unkind: houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daugh- And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all, ters before your faces. For me,-I will make shift for I do dismiss you to your several countries. one; and so God's curse plight upon you all! All. God save the king! God save the king! All. We'11 follow Cade: we'11 follow Cade. Enter a Messenger. Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the fifth, Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised, That thus you do exclaim, you'11 go with him? The duke of York is newly come from Ireland, Will lie conduct you through the heart of France, And with a puissant, and united1 power And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? Of Gallowglasses,2 and stout Irish3 kernes, Alas, he hath nohome, no place to fly to; Is marching hitherward in proud array; Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil, And still proclaimeth. as he comes along, Unless by robbing of your friends, and us. His arms4 are only to remove from thee Wer It not a shame, that whilst you live at jar, The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, K. Hen. Thus stands my state,'twixt Cade and York Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you? distressd, Methinks, already, in this civil broil, Like to a ship, that, having scap'd a tempest, I see them lording it in London streets, Is straightway calm'd, and boarded with a pirate. Crying -Villageois! unto all they meet. But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd, Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry, And now is York in arms to second him.Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. I pray thee, Buckingham, then go and meet him, To France, to France! and get what you have lost: And ask him, what's the reason of these arms? Spare England, for it is your native coast. Tell him, I 11 send duke Edmund to the tower;Henry hath money, you are strong and manly: And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, God on our side, doubt not of victory. Until his army be dismissed from him. All. A Clifford! a Clifford! we ll follow the king; Sonm. My lord, and Clifford.,I 11 yield myself to prison willingly, Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro, Or unto death to do my country good. as this multitude? the name of Henry the fifth hales K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms, them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language. me desolate. I see them lay their heads together, to Buck. I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal, surprise me: my sword, make way for me, for here is As all things shall redound unto your good. no staying.-In despite of the devils and hell, have K. Hen. Come, wife, let Is in, and learn to govern through the very midst of you; and heavens and better; honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me, For yet may England curse my wretched reign. [Exeunt. but only my followers' base and ignominious treasons, SCENE X.-Kent. IDEN's Garden. makes me betake me to my heels. [Exit. Buck. What! is he fled? go some, and follow him e And he, that brings his head unto the king, Cade. Fie on ambition! fie on myself: that have a Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. sword, and yet am ready to famish! These five days [Exeunt some of them. have I hid me in these woods, and durst not peep out, Follow me, soldiers: we 11 devise a mean for all the country is laid for me; but now am I so To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a SCENE TX.-Kenilworth Castle. thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, o'er a brick-wall have I climbed into this garden, to see if I Sound trumpets. Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is and SOMERSET, on the Terrace of the Castle. not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne, And, I think, this word sallet was born to do me And could command no more content than I? good: for, many a time, but for a sallet,5 my brain-pan No sooner was I crept out of my cradle, had been cleft with a brown bill; and, many a time, But I was made a king, at nine months old: when I have been dry and bravely marching, it hath Was never subject long'd to be a king, served me instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and now As I do long and wish to be a subject. the word sallet must serve me to feed on. Enter BucKINGHAuM and CLIFFORD. Enter IDEN, with Servants. Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty! Iden. Lord! who would live turmoiled in the court, K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor, Cade, And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? surpris'd? This small inheritance, my father left me, a mighty: in f. e. 2 Tall, able-bodied men, armed (says Banaby Rich's Ireland, 1610), with " a scull, a shirt of mail. and a Gallowglas axe"-the kerne was a common foot soldier. 3 This word is not in f. e. 4 Dyce reads: aims. 5 This word also means a helmet. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 479 Contenteth me, and Is worth a monarchy. Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion I seek not to wax great by others' waning', that ever I heard.-Steel. if thou turn the edge, or cut Or gather wealth I care not with what envy: not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere Sufficeth that I have maintains my state, thou sleep in thy sheath) I beseech Jove on my knees, And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. thou mayest be turned to hobnails. [They fight. CADE Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me falls.] 0! I am slain. Famine, and no other, hath for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, A villain! thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I'd crowns of the king by carrying my head to him; but defy them all. Wither, garden: and be henceforth a I'11 make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my burying-place to all that do dwell in this house, besword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. cause the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoever thou be, Idea. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous I know thee not; why then should I betray thee? traitor? Is't not enough, to break into my garden Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, And like a thief to come to rob my grounds And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead: Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner, Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point, But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms? But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, Cade. Brave thee? ay, by the best blood that ever To emblaze the honour that thy master got. was broached) and beard thee too. Look on me well: Cade. Iden, farewell: and be proud of thy victory. I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and thy fine men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never a door nail, I pray God I may never eat grass more. feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour. Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said. while England stands, [Dies. That Alexander Iden, squire of Kent,Iden. How much thou wrong7st me, heaven be my Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. judge. Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine; Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee! See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. And as I thrust thy body with my sword, Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. Thy hand is but a finger to my fist; Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon: Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; And there cut off thy most ungracious head; And if mine arm be heaved in the air, Which I will bear in triumph to the king, Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. As for words, whose greatness answers words, [Exit, dragging out the Body. Let this my sword report what speech forbears. ACT V. Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn. SCENE I.-The Same. The Fields between Dartford Shouldst raise so great a power without his leave and Blackheath. Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. The King's Camp on one side: on the other, enter YonR York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. attended~ with Drum and Colours; his Irish Forces [Aside. at some distance. 0! I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint, York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his I am so angry at these abject terms right, And now, like Ajax Telamonius. And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head: On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. Ring bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright I am far better born than is the king, To entertain great England's lawful king. More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts; Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear? But I must make fair weather yet a while, Let them obey, that know not how to rule; Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong.This hand was made to handle nought but gold: 0 Buckingham, I pr'ythee pardon me, I cannot give due action to my words That I have given no answer all this while: Except a sword, or sceptre, balance it. My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul, The cause why I have brought this army hither, On which I'11 toss the flower-de-luce of France. Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, Enter BUCKINGHAM. Seditious to his grace, and to the state. Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part; The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. But if thy arms be to no other end, Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee The king hath yielded unto thy demand: well. The duke of Somerset is in the Tower. York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? greeting. Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege. Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves: To know the reason of these arms in peace; Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, Or why, thou-being a subject as I am,- You shall have pay, and every thing you wish. 1 f. e.: warning; the correction was made by Pope. 480 SECOND PART OF ACT V. And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry Of capital treason Igainst the king and crown. Command my eldest son,-nay, all my sons, Obey, audacious traitor: kneel for grace. As pledges of my fealty and love; York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of I'll send them all, as willing as I live: these 2 Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have If they can brook I bow a knee to man? Is his to use, so Somerset may die. Sirrah. call in my sons to be my bail: Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: [Exit an Attendant. We twain will go into his highness' tent. I know, ere they will have me go to ward, Enter King HENRY attended. They I11 pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, to us, To say, if that the bastard boys of York That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm? Shall be the surety for their traitor father. York. In all submission and humility, York. 0 blood-bespotted Neapolitan, York doth present himself unto your highness. Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge, K. lien. Then what intend these forces thou dost The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, bring? Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence; That for my surety will refuse the boys. And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade, Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET, with Who since I heard to be discomfited. Forces, at one side; at the other, with Forces also2 Enter IDEN, with CADE'S Head. old CLIFFORD and his Son. Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition, See where they come: I'11 warrant they'11 make it May pass into the presence of a king good. Lo! I present your grace a traitor's head, Q. _Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. The head of Cade whom I in combat slew. Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king! K. Hen. The head of Cade?-Great God, how just [Kneels. art thou!- York. I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with 0! let me view his visage being dead, thee? That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? We are thy sovereign, Clifford; kneel again; Iden. I was, an It like your majesty. For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. K. Hen. How art thou call'd, and what is thy de- Clif. This is my king, York: I do not mistake; gree? But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do.Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name; To bedlam with him! is the man grown mad? A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious Buck. So please it you, my lord,'t were not amiss, humour He were created knight for his good service. Makes him oppose himself against his king. K. Hen. Iden, kneel down: [He kneels.] rise up a Clif. He is a traitor: let him to the Tower, knight. And chop away that factious pate of his. We give thee for reward a thousand marks; Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey; And will, that thou henceforth attend on us. His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, [Rising.' York. Will you not, sons? And never live but true unto his liege. Edco. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. K. Hen. See. Buckingham! Somerset comes with Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. the queen: Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here! Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so; Enter Queen MARGARET and SOMERSET. I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, head, That with the very shaking of their chains But boldly stand, and front him to his face. They may astonish these fell-looking curs: York. How now! is Somerset at liberty? Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts, Drums. Enter WARWICK and SALISBURY, with Forces. And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. Clif. Are these thy bears? we'11 bait thy bears to Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?- death, False king, why hast thou broken faith with me, And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. King did I call thee? no, thou art not king; Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, Run back and bite because he was withheld; Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. Who, having4 suffered with the bear's fell paw, That head of thine doth not become a crown; Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, And such a piece of service will you do, And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. That gold must round engirt these brows of mine; Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, Whose smile and frowni, like to Achilles' spear, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape! Is able with the change to kill and cure. York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly alton. Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourAnd with the same to act controlling laws. selves'. Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. bow?Somf. 0 monstrous traitor!-I arrest thee, York, Old Salisbury,-shame to thy silver hair, 1 Not in f. e. 2 they: in folio. Theobald made the correction. 3 fell-lurldng: in f. e. 4 being: in f. e. SCENE II. KING HENRY VI. 481 Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, But match to match I have encountered him, And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 0! where is faith? 0! where is loyalty? Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. If it be banish'd from the frosty head Enter CLIFFORD. Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?- War. Of one or both of us the time is come. Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, York. Hold, Warwick! seek thee out some other And shame thine honourable age with blood? chae, Why art thou old, and want'st experience? For I myself must hunt this deer to death. Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? War. Then, nobly, York; It is for a crown thou For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me, As [ intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, [fight'st.That bows unto the grave with mickle age. It grieves my soul to leave thee unassaild. Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself [Exit WARWICK. The title of this most renowned duke; Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou And in my conscience do repute his grace pause? The rightful heir to England's royal seat. York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? But that thou art so fast mine enemy. Sal. I have. Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem, K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such But that It is shown ignobly, and in treason. an oath? York. So let it help me now against thy sword, Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a sin As I in justice and true right express it. But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. Clif. My soul and body on the action both!Who can be bound by any solemn vow York. A dreadful lay!-address thee instantly. To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, Clif. La fin couronne les auvres. To force a spotless virgin5s chastity, [They fig'ht and CLIFFORD falls and dies. To reave the orphan of his patrimony, York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art To wring the widow from her custom'd right, still. And have no other reason for this wrong, Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! [Exit. But that he was bound by a solemn oath? Enter young CLIFFORD. Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. Y. Clif. Shame and confusion! all is on the rout: K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast Where it should guard. 0 war! thou son of hell, I am resolved for death, or- dignity. Whom angry heavens do make their minister, Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again, Hot coals of vengeance!-Let no soldier fly: To keep thee from the tempest of the field. He that is truly dedicate to war, Clif. I am resolved to bear a. greater storm, Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself, Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, And that I 11 write upon thy burgonet, The name of valour.-O! let the vile world end, Might I but know thee by thy household badge. [Seeing his Father's body. War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest And the premised flames of the last day The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, Knit earth and heaven together! This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, (As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, Particularities and petty sounds That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm) To cease!-Wast thou ordainMd, dear father, Even to affright thee with the view thereof. To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve Clif. And from thy burgonet I'11 rend thy bear, The silver livery of advised age, And tread it underfoot with all contempt And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. To die in ruffian battle?-Even at this sight, Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, My heart is turned to stone: and while't is mine, To quell the rebels, and their'complices. It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; Rich. Fie! charity! for shame! speak not in spite, No more will I their babes: tears virginal For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. Shall be to me even as the dew to fire; Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that Is more than thou canst And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, tell. Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. Rich. If not in heaven, you 11 surely sup in hell. Henceforth I will not have to do with pity: [Exeunt severally. Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it, SCENE II.- Saint Albans. As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK. In cruelty will I seek out my fame. War. Clifford of Cumberland!'tis Warwick calls: Come, thou new ruin of old Cliffords house: And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, [Taking up the Body. Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, As did XEneas old Anchises bear, And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! But then, _Eneas bare a living load, Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Nothing so heavy as those woes of mine. [Exit. Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET and SOMERSET,fighting: Enter YORK. SOMERSET is slain. How now, my noble lord! what, all a-foot? Rich. So, lie thou there;and: in folio. 31 482 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT V. For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, That winter lion, who in rage forgets The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset Agedcontusions and all bruise3 of time, Hath made the wizard famous in his death. And. like a gallant in the bloom- of youth, Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still: Repairs him with occasion? this happy day Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, Alarums: Excursions, Enter King HENRY, Queen If Salisbury be lost. MARGARET, and others, flying. Rich. My noble father, Q. Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow: for shame, Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, away! Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off, K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good Marga- Persuaded him from any farther act: ret, stay. But still, where danger was, still there I met him; Q. Mar. What are you made of? you 11 nor fight, And like rich hangings in a homely house, nor fly: So was his will in his old feeble body. Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, But, noble as he is, look where he comes. To give the enemy way; and to secure us By what we can, which can no more but fly. nter SLISURY. [Alarum afar off. Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to If you be tawen, we then should see the bottom day; Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape, By the mass, so did we all.-I thank you, Richard: (As well we may, if not through your neglect) God knows how long it is I have to live We shall to London get; where you are lov'd, And it hath pleased him, that three times to-day And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, You have defended me from imminent death.May readily be stopp'd. Well, lords, we have not got that which we have: Enter young CLIFFORD. IT is not enough our foes are this time fled, Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set, Being opposites of such repairing nature. I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; York. I know our safety is to follow them; But fly you must: uncurable discomfit For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, Reigns in the hearts of all our present friends.1 To call a present court of parliament: Away, for your relief; and we will live Let us pursue him. ere the writs go forth.To see their day, and them our fortune give. What says lord Warwick? shall we after them? Away, my lord, away! Exeunt. War. After them? nay, before them, if we can. SpICENE T1.-Fieds nea Sai Ab anNow, by my hand, lords,'t was a glorious day: SCENE III.-Fields near Saint Albans. I I Zn SCENE Retret. Flrsh; tenea nt Saint Albans' battle won by famous York, Alarum: Retreat. Flourish; then enter YoaRK RICHARD Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.PLANTAGENET, WARWICK, and Soldiers, with Drum Sound, drums and trumpets!-and to London all; and Colours. And more such days as these to us befall! York. Old' Salisbury, who can report of him? [Exeunt. 1 parts: in f. e.; altered by Steevens, to party. 2 Of: in f. e. 3brush: in f. e. 4 brow: in f. e. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. DRAMATIS PERSONLE. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. SIR JOHN MORTIMER, ) Uncles to the Duke of EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his Son. SIR HUGH MORTIMER, j York. LEWIS XI., King of France. HENRY, Earl of Richmond, a Youth. DUKE OF SOMERSET, 1 LORD RIVERS, Brother to Lady Grey. SIR WILDUKE OF EXETER, 1 LIAM STANLEY. SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY. SIR EARL OF OXFORD, on King Henry's JOHN SOMERVILLE. Tutor to Rutland. Mayor EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND, side. of York. Lieutenant of the Tower. A NobleEARL OF WESTMORELAND, man. Two Keepers. A Huntsman. A Son LORD CLIFFORD. that has killed his Father. A Father that has RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Duke of York. killed his Son. EDWARD, Earl of March, afterwards King } Edward IV., 1 QUEEN. MARGARET. EDMUND, Earl of Rutland, LADY GREY afterwards Queen to Edward IV. Sons. a GEORGE, afterwards Duke of Clarence, | I BONA, Sister to the French Queen. RICHARD, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, J DUKE OF NORFOLK, Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry MARQUESS OF MONTAGUE, and King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, EARL OF WARWICK, of the Duke of &c. EARL OF PEMBROKE, York's party. LORD HASTINGS, LORD STAFFORD, SCENE, during part of the Third Act, in France; during the rest of the Play in England. ACT I. Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! SCENE I-.-London. The Parliament-House. Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head. Drums. Some Soldiers of YoR-xs party break in. Then, War. And so do I.-Victorious prince of York, enter the Duke of YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NOR- Before I see thee seated in that throneb FOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and others, with white Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, Roses in their Hats. I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. War. I wonder how the king escaped our hands. This is the palace of the fearful king, York. While we pursued the horsemen of the north, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; He slily stole away, and left his men: For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs'. Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, York. Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, For hither we have broken in by force. Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Norf. We'11 all assist you: he, that flies, shall die. Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all abreast, York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk.-Stay by me, my Charged our main battle's front, and, breaking in, lords:Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. Edw. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham, War. And, when the king comes, offer him no Is either slain, or wounded dangerously:1 violence, I cleft his beaver with a downright blow; Unless he seek to thrust you out by force. [They retire. That this is true, father, behold his blood. York. The queen this day here holds her parlia[Showing his bloody Sword. ment, Mont. And, brother, here's the earl of Wiltshire's But little thinks we shall be of her council. blood. [To YORK, showing his. By words or blows here let us win our right. Whom I encounter'd as the battles joined. Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, [Throwing down the Duke of SOMERSET'S Head. Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king, York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.- And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice But, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset? Hath made us by-words to our enemies. l Dangerous: in f. e. 484 THIRD PART OF ACT I. York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute, War. Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless I mean to take possession of my right. threats. War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, York. Will you, we show our title to the crown? The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.1 K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? I "11 plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.- Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York; Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March. [WARWICK leads YORK to the Throne, who seats himself. I am the son of Henry the fifth, [Flourish. Enter King HENRY, CLIFFORD, NORTHUM- Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop, BERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and others, with And seized upon their towns and provinces. red Roses in their Hats. WFar. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I: Even in the chair of state! belike, he means, When I was crowned, I was but nine months old. Backed by the power of Warwick, that false peer, Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, To aspire unto the crown, and reign as kiung.- you lose. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father;- Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. And thine, lord Clifford: you have vow'd revenge Edw. Sweet father, do so: set it on your head. On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. Mont. Good brother, [To YORK,] as thou lov'st and North. If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! honourst arms) Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. [fly. West. What! shall we suffer this? let Is pluck him Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will down: York. Sons, peace! My heart for anger burns: I cannot brook it. K. Hen. Peace thou, and give king Henry leave to K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. speak. Clif. Patience is for poltroons, such as he: War. Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; -He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. And be you silent and attentive too, My gracious lord, here in the parliament For he that interrupts him shall not live. Let us assail the family of York. K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. throne, K. Hen. Ah! know you not, the city favours them, Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat? And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Exe. But when the duke is slain, -they I11 quickly fly. Ay, and their colours-often borne in France, K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's And now in England, to our hearths great sorrow,heart, Shall be my winding sheet.-Why faint you, lords? To make a shambles of the parliament-house! My title Is good, and better far than his. Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, War. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. Shall be the war that Henry means to use. K. Hen. Henry the fourth by conquest got the [They advance to the Duke. crown. Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne, York.'T was by rebellion against his king. And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet: K. Hen. I know not what to say: my title I's I am thy sovereign. weak.- [Aside.3 York. I am thine. Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? Exe. For shame! come down: he made thee duke York. What then? of York. K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king; York.'T was my inheritance, as the earldom2 was. For Richard, in the view of many lords, Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. Resigned the crown to Henry the fourth, War. Exeter, thou arta traitor to the crown Whose heir my father was, and I am his. In following this usurping Henry. York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, Clif. Whom should he follow, but his natural king? And made him to resign his crown perforce. War. True, Clifford; that is Richard, duke of York. WVar. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my Think you,'t were prejudicial to his crown? throne? Exe. No: for he could not so resign his crown, York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself. But that the next heir should succeed and reign. War. Be duke of Lancaster: let him be king. K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter? West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster; Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget, Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. That we are those which chas'd you from the field, K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him. And slew your fathers, and with colours spread North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Marched through the city to the palace gates. Think not, that Henry shall be so deposed. North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; War. Depos'd he shall be in despite of all. And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. North. Thou art deceiv'd:'t is not thy southern West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, power, Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Than drops of'blood were in my father's veins. Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Clif. Urge it no more; lest that instead of words Can set the duke up in despite of me. I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, As shall revenge his death before I stir. Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: 1 An allusion to the falcon. 2 The'" True Tragedy of Richard, Duke of York," the old play on which this drama was founded, has kingdom. 3 Not in f. e. SCENE II. KING HENRY VI. -485 May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, I And never seen thee never borne thee son, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father! K. Hen. 0 Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? York. Henry of Lancaster, resign my' crown.- Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I, What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? Or felt that pain which I did for him once, War. Do right unto this princely duke of York, Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood, Or I will fill the house with armed men, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, And, o'er the chair of state, where now he sits Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir, Write up his title with usurping blood. And disinherited thine only son. [He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves. Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me. K. Hen. My lord of Warwick; hear me but one word. If you be king, why should not I succeed! Let me for this my life-time reign as king. K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret;-pardon me, sweet York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs, son: And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforced me. K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. forced? Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! War. What good is this to England, and himself? Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me. West. Base, fearful, and despairing lenry! And given unto the house of York such head, Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us! As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. T' entail him and his heirs unto the crown, North. Nor I. What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. And creep into it far before thy time? TIVest. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais; In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas; Trorth. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, he duke is made protector of the realm; And die in bands for this unmanly deed! And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome, The trembling lamb, environed with wolves. Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd! Had I been there, which am a silly woman, [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes, WESTMORELAND. Before I would have granted to that act: Har. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, K. Hen. Ah, Exeter! Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, WTar. Why should you sigh, my lord? Until that act of parliament be repeal'd, K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son, Whereby my son is disinherited. Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, But be it as it may, I here entail Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; [To YORK. And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace, Conditionally, that here thou take an oath And utter ruin of the house of York. To cease this civil war, and whilst I live, Thus do I leave thee.-Come, son, let Is away: To honour me as thy king and sovereign: Our army is ready; come, we I11 after them. And neither by treason, nor hostility, K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. To seek to put me down and reign thyself. Q. li1ar. Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. gone. [Coming from the Throne. K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? lVWar. Long live king Henry!-Plantagenet, em- Q. Mlar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. brace him. Prince. When I return with victory from the field, K. lien. And long live thou, and these thy forward I ml see your grace; till then. I'll follow her. sons! Q. Mar. Come, son; away! we may not linger thus. York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcilld. [Exeunt Queen MARGARET, and the Prince. Exe. Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them foes! K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me. and to her son, [Sennet. The Lords come forward. Hath made her-break out into terms of rage. York. Farewell, my gracious lord: I'11 to my castle. Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, War. And I'11 keep London with my soldiers. Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Norf. And I to Norfolk with my followers. Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Jiont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came. Tire2 on the flesh of me, and of my son! [Exeunt YORx, and his Sons, WARWICK, NORFOLK. The loss of those three lords torments my heart: MONTAGUE, Soldiers, and Attendants. I'11 write unto them, and entreat them fair.K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. Come. cousin; you shall be the messenger. Enter Queen MARGARET and the Prince of WALES. Exe. And [I I hope, shall reconcile them all. [Exeunt. Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her an er SCENE II.-A Pboom in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield. I,ll steal away. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE. K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. [ Going. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. Edw. No; I can better play the orator. K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes? Enter YORK. Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid, York. Why, how now, sons, and brother! at a strife? 1 thy: in f. e. 2 Prey. 486 THIRD PART OF ACT I. What is your quarrel? how began it first? Edw. I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, Edw. iNo quarrel, but a slight contention. And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. York. About what? York. Five men to twenty!-though the odds be great, Rich. About that which concerns your grace, and us; I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. The crown of England, father, which is yours. Many a battle have I won in France, York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead. When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. Why should I not now have the like success? Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: [Alarum. Exeunt. By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end.SCENE II.-Plan York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. Alarums: Excursions. Enter RUTLAND; and his Tutor. Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: Rut. Ah! whither shall I fly to'scape their hands? I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes. Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be forsworn. Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers. York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. Clif. Chaplain, away: thy priesthood saves thy life. Rich. I 11 prove the contrary, if you'l hear me speak. As for the brat of this accursed duke, York. Thou canst not. son: it is impossible. Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Rich. An;oaathinsof nojmoment, being not took Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. Before a true and lawful magistrate, Clif. Soldiers, away with him. That hath authority over him that swears: Tut. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child, Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Lest thou be hated both of God and man. Then, seeing It was he that made you to depose, [Exit,forced off by Soldiers. Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear, Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think, That makes him close his eyes?-I ll open them. How sweot a thing it is to wear a crown Rut. So looks the pent up-lion o'er the wretch Within whose circuit is Elysium, That trembles under his devouring paws: And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed Ah, gentle Clifford! kill me with thy sword, Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. And not with such a cruel threatening look. York. Richard, enough: I will be king, or die.- Sweet Clifford! hear me speak before I die: Brother, thou shalt to London presently, I am too mean a subject for thy wrath; And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.- Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. Thou, Richard, shalt to the duke of Norfolk, Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy: my father's And tell him privily of our intent.- blood You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham Hath stopped the passage where thy words should enter. With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: Rut. Then let my fathers blood open'it again: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.- Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine, While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, Were not revenge sufficient for me. But that I seek occasion how to rise, No: if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves. And yet the king not privy to my drift, And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. Enter a Messenger. The sight of any of the house of York But, stay.-What news? Why com'st thou in such post? Is as a fury to torment my soul; Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and lords, And till I root out their accursed line, Intends here to besiege you in your castle. And leave not one alive, I live in hell. She is hard by with twenty thousand men, ThereforeAnd therefore fortify your hold, my lord. Rut. O! let me pray before I take my death.York. Ay, with my sword. What, think'st thou, To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me! that we fear them?- Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; Rut. I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? My brother Montague shall post to London. Clif. Thy father hath. Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Rut. But It was ere I was born. Whom we have left protectors of the king Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me, With powerful policy strengthen themselves Lest, in revenge thereof, sith God is just, And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. He be as miserably slain as I. Mont. Brother, I go;I'll win them) fear it not: Ah! let me live in prison all my days, And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Exit. And when I give occasion of offence, Enter Sir JOHN and Sir HUGH MORTIMER. Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles Clif. No cause? You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; Thy father slew my father: therefore, die. The army of the queen mean to besiege us. [CLIFFORD stabs him. Sir John. She shall not need, we'11 meet her in the Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tua!1 [Dies. field. Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! York. What) with five thousand men? And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood A woman's general; what should we fear? Congeal'd with this do make me wipe off both. [Exit. [A March afar off. 1 Ovid-Epist. Phyllis to Demophoon. SCENE IV. KING HENRY VI. 487 SCENE IV.-The Same. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [YORK is taken prisoner. Alarum. Enter YORK. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty; York. The army of the queen hath got the field: So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; North. What would your grace have done unto him And all my followers to the eager foe now? Turn back, and fly like ships before the wind, Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and NorthumberOr lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. land, My sons-God knows, what hath bechanced them, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, But this I know,-they have demeaned themselves That raught' at mountains with outstretched arms, Like men born to renown by life or death. Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.Three times did Richard make a lane to me, What! was it you, that would be England's king! And thrice cried,-" Courage, father! fight it out:" Was't you that revelld in our parliament, And full as oft came Edward to my side, And made a preachment of your high descent? With purple falchion, painted to the hilt Where are your mess of sons to back you now, In blood of those that had encountered him: The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And when the hardiest warriors did retire, And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Richard cried, -" Charge! and give no foot of Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice, ground!" Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? And cried,-' A crown. or else a glorious tomb! Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre! Look, York: I stained this napkin with the blood With this, we charged again; but, out alas! That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point We bodg'd again: as I have seen a swan Made issue from the bosom of the boy; With bootless labour swim against the tide, And, if thine eyes can water for his death, And spend her strength with over-matching waves. I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. [Throwing it.2 [A short Alarum within. Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue, I should lament thy miserable state. And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury; I pr'ythee, grieve to make me merry, York: And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury. What, hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails, The sands are number'd that make up my life; That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; Enter Queen MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. and Soldiers. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland,- Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: I dare your quenchless fury to more rage. York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.I am your butt, and I abide your shot. A crown for York!-and, lords, bow low to him. North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm [Putting a Paper Crown on his Head. With downright payment show'd unto my father. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king. Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair: And made an evening at the noon-tide prick. And this is he was his adopted heir.York. My ashes, as the phmenix, may bring forth But how is it, that great Plantagenet A bird that will revenge upon you all: Is crowned so soon, and broke his solemn oath? And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, As I bethink me, you should not be king, Scorning whate'er you can afflict we with. Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. Why come you not?-what! multitudes, and fear? And will you pale3 your head in Henry's glory, Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly no farther; And rob his temples of the diadem, So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; Now in his life, against your holy oath? So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 0!'t is a fault too, too unpardonable.Breathe out invectives 7gainst the officers. Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head! York. 0, Clifford! but bethink thee once again, And whilst we breathe take time to do him dead. And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; Clif. That is my office for my father's sake. And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, Q. Mar. Nay, stay: let Is hear the orisons he makes. And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice, York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. Fraince; Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex, Q. Aiar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.- Upon their woes whom fortune captivates? Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, North. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much Made impudent with use of evil deeds, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: I would essay, proud queen, to make thee blush: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, To tell thee whence thou earnest, of whom deriv'd, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not When he might spurn him with his foot away? shameless. It is war's prize to take all vantages, Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, And ten to one is no impeach of valour. Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem, [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles. Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Clif. Ay, ay; so strives the woodcock with the gin. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? I Reached. 2 Not in f. e. 3 Impale, encircle. 488 THIRD PART OF ACT II. It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; O! ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. Unless the adage must be verified, See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: That beggars mounted run their horse to death. This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, IT is beauty that doth oft make women proud; And I with tears do wash the blood away. Buti God he knows, thy share thereof is small. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this;'T.is2virtue that doth make them most admir'd; [Throwing it back to her. The contrary doth make thee wonider'd at. And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,'T is government that makes them seem divine; Upon my soul: the hearers will shed tears; The want thereof makes thee abominable. Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, Thou art as opposite to every good, And say,-" Alas! it was a piteous deed.'As the antipodes are unto us, There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; Or as the south to the septentrion. And in thy need such comfort come to thee, 0, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; I should not, for my life, but weep with him, Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Q. Mar. What! weeping-ripe, my lord NorthumberWouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will; land? For raging wind blows up incessant showers, Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies, Clif. Here's for my oath: here's for my father's And every drop cries vengeance for his death, death. [Stabbing him.'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French-woman. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, [Stabbing him. That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! York. That face of his My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. The hungry cannibals would not have touch'd, [Dies. Would not have stain'd the rose's hues' with blood: Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, So York may overlook the town of York. [Flourish. Exeunt. ACT II. ~~~.. } ~~Not separated with the racking clouds SCENE I.-A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Here- Nt se d i th the ra-shing sky. fordshire~ But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 1 ford'hileSee, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, A March. Enter EDWARD and PRCHARD, with their As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Power. Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun! Edw. I wonder, how our princely father'scaped; In this the heavens figure some event. Or whether he be 7scaped away, or no, Edw.'T is wondrous strange j the like yet never From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit. heard of. Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; I think, it cites us. brother, to the field, Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Or had he 2scaped, methinks, we should have heard Each one already blazing by our ineeds, The happy tidings of his good escape.- Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, How fares my brother? why is he so sad? And over-shine the earth, as this the world. Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Where our right valiant father is become. Upon my target three fair shining suns. I saw him in the battle range about, Rich. Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. speak it; Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, You love the breeder better than the male. As doth a lion in a herd of neat-: Enter a Messenger in haste.3 Or as a bear encompass'ed round with dogs, But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. Mess. Ah! one that was a woful looker on, So far'd our father with his enemies; When as the noble duke of York was slain, So fled his enemies my warlike father: Your princely father, and my loving lord. Methinks,'t is prize' enough to be his son. Ediw. 0! speak no more, for I have heard too much. See how the morning opes her golden gates, Rich. Say, how he died, for I will hear it all. And takes her farewell of the glorious sun: Mess. Environed he was with many foes; How well resembles it the prime of youth, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Trimmi'd like a younker, prancing to his love! Against the Greeks, that would have entered Troy. Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns! But Hercules himself must yield to odds; Rich. Tjhree glorious suns, each one a perfect sun, And many strokes, though with a little axe)'Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with: in f. e. 2; True Tragedy": pride. 3 in, haste: not in f. e. C" Enter one blowiing": is the direction in the "True Tragedy." SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 489 Hew down, and fell the hardest-timbered oak. Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. By many hands your father was subdu[d; Short tale to make,-we at Saint Albars met: But only slaughtered by the ireful arm Our battles joined, and both sides fiercely fought; Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen, B.ut, whether It was the coldness of the king, Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite: Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen, The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, Or whether't was report of her success, A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: Who thunders to his captives blood and death, And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth, They took his head. and on the gates of York Their weapons like to lightning came and went: They set the same: and there it doth remain Our soldiers7, like the night-owl's lazy flight, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail, Edw. Sweet duke of York! our prop to lean upon, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause., O Clifford! boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain With promise of high pay, and great rewards, The flower of Europe for his chivalry; But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And treacherously hast thou'vanquish'd him, And we in them no hope to win the day; For hand to hand he would have vanquished thee. So that we fled: the king unto the queen. Now, my soul's palace is become a prison: Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, Ah! would she break from hence, that this my body In haste; poste-haste, are come to join with you; Might in the ground be closed up in rest For in the marches here, we heard, you were, For never henceforth shall I joy again; Making another head to fight again. Never, 0! never, shall I see more joy. Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle WarRich. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture wick? Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart; And when came George from Burgundy to England? Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden, War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; For self-same wind, that I should speak withal And for your brother, he was lately sent Is kindling coals that fire all my breast, From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, And burn me up with flames that tears would quench. With aid of soldiers to this needful war. To weep is to make less the depth of grief. Rich.'T was odds, belike, when valiant Warwicldfled: Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge, for me!- Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, Richard, I bear thy name; I'11 venge thy death, But ne'er, till now) his scandal of retire. Or die renowned by attempting it. War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine thee; Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, His.dukedom. and his chair with me are left. And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eaglets bird, Were he as famous, and as bold in war, Show thy descent by gazing'gainst the sun: As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Rich. I know it -well, lord Warwick j blame me not: Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.; T is love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, with their But in this troublous time what's to be done? Army. Shall we go throw away our coats of steel) War. How now, fair lords! What fare? what news And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, abroad? Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords. The words would add more anguish than the wounds. War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you 0, valiant lord! the duke of York is slain. out) Edw. 0, Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, And therefore comes my brother Montague. Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption, Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And of their feather many more proud birds. And now, to add more measure to your woes Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. I come to tell you things sith then befallen. He swore consent to your succession, After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, His oath enrolled in the parliament; Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, And now to London all the crew are gone, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, To frustrate both his oath, and what beside Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. May make against the house of Lancaster: I, then in London, keeper of the king, Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong. Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, Now. if the help of Norfolk. and myself, March'd towards Saint Albans to intercept the queen) With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, Bearing the king in my behalf along; Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, For by my scouts I was advertised. Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, That she was coming with a full intent Why, Via! to London will we march amain,2 To dash our late decree in parliament, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, 1 Some mod. eds. insert the line: And very well appointed, as I thought, from the " True Tragedy." 2 From the " True Tragedy." 490 THIRD PART OF ACT n. And once again cry-Charge! upon our foes; Offering their own lives in their young7s defence? But never once again turn back, and fly. For shame, my liege! make them your precedent. Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick Were it not pity, that this goodly boy speak. Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, Neler may he live to see a sunshine day, And long hereafter say unto his child,That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; My careless father fondly2 gave away.:) And when thou fail'st', (as God forbid the hour!) Ah! what a shame were this. Look on the boy; Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend! And let his manly face, which promiseth War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York: Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart The next degree is, England's royal throne; To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. For king of England shalt thou be proclaimed K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, In every borough as we pass along; Inferring arguments of mighty force. And he that throws not up his cap for joy, But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear, Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. That things ill got had ever bad success? King Edward,-valiant Richard,-Montague,- And happy always was it for that son, Stay we no longer dreaming of renown Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? But sound the trumpets, and about our task. I'11 leave my son my virtuous deeds behind, Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, And would my father had left me no more; As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, For all the rest is held at such a rate, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, Edw. Then strike up, drums! -God, and Saint Than in possession any jot of pleasure.George, for us! Ah. cousin York! would thy best friends did know, Enter a Messenger. How it dothgrieve me that thy head is here! War. How now: what news? Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, are nigh, The queen is coming with a puissant host, And this soft carriage3 makes your followers faint. And craves your company for speedy counsel. You promis'd knighthood to our forward son: War. Why then, it sorts: brave warriors, let Is away. Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.[Exeunt. Edward, kneel down. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson -Draw thy sword in right. Flourish. Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, the Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave Prince of WALES, CLIFFORD, and NORTHUMBERLAND, I'11 draw it as apparent to the crown, with Drums and Trumpets. And in that quarrel use it to the death. Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. York. Enter a Messenger. Yonder Is the head of that arch-enemy, Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: For. with a band of thirty thousand men. Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their And, in the towns, as they do march along, wreck: Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. To see this sight, it irks my very soul.- Darraigne your battle, for they are at hand. Withhold revenge, dear God! It is not my fault; Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field: Not wittingly have I infringed my vow. The queen hath best success when you are absent. Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity Q. Mar. Ay, my good lord, and leave us to our forAnd harmful pity, must be laid aside. tune. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'11 Not to the beast that would usurp their den. stay. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. Not his that spoils her young before her face. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords Who Iscapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? And hearten those that fight in your defence. Not he that sets his foot upon her back. Unsheath your sword, good father: cry, " Saint The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; George!" And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARVICK, Ambitious York did level at thy crown; NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and Soldiers. Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows; Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace, He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And set thy diadem upon my head, And raise his issue like a loving sire; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy: Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? Unreasonable creatures feed their young; Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee: And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, I was adopted heir by his consent; Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Which sometime they have us'd in fearful flight, Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament, Make war with him that climbed unto their nest, To blot out me, and put his own son in. 1 The old play: faint'st. Malone and most eds.: fall'st. 2 Foolishly. 3 courage: in f. e. 4 The old play: Prepare; the modern meaning of the word in the text. SCENE III. KING HENRY VI. 491 Clif. And reason too: But, when he took a beggar to his bed, Who should succeed the father, but the son? And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day, Rich. Are you there, butcher?-0! I cannot speak. Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, That washed his father's fortunes forth of France, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. Rich. IT was you that kill'd young Rutland, was it For what hath broached this tumult. but thy pride? not? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept, Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. And we, in pity of the gentle king, Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. Had slipped our claim until another age. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, crown? And that thy summer bred us no increase, Q. lMiar. Why, how now, long-tongund Warwick! We set the axe to thy usurping root: dare you speak? And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, Your legs did better service than your hands. We Ill never leave, till we have hewn thee down, War. Then:t was my turn to fly, and now't is thine. Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee; War. IT was not your valour, Clifford, drove me Not willing any longer conference, thence. Since thou deniedst the gentle king to speak.North. No, nor your manhood that durst make you Sound trumpets!-let our bloody colours wave, stay. And either victory, or a welcome grave.5 Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Q. Mlar. Stay, Edward. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain Edw. No, wrangling woman; we ll no longer stay: The execution of my big-swoln heart These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. [Exeunt. Clif. I slew thy father: call'st thou him a child? Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, SCENE III.A Feld of Battle near Towton. As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; Alarums: Excursions. Enter WARWICK. But ere sun-set I'll make thee curse the deed. War. Forspent with toil, as runners win a race, K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear I lay me down a little while to breathe; me speak. For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue: And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. I am a king, and privilege'd to speak. Enter EDWARD, running. Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting Edw. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; here, For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. Cannot be curld by words: therefore be still. War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword. good? By him that made us all, I am resolved, Enter GEORGE. That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair: Edzo. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? That ne'er shall dine. unless thou yield the crown. Edw. Bootless is flight; they follow us with wings. War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. For York in justice puts his armour on. Enter RICHARD. Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, Rich. Ah, Warwick! why hast thou withdrawn There is no wrong, but every thing is right. thyself? Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. Broached with the steely point of Clifford's lance; Q. Mlar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; And, in the very pangs of death he cried, But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic', Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, " Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!7 As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. So underneath the bellies of their steeds, Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood, Whose father bears the title of a king, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. (As if a channel2 should be call'd the sea) War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, I'11 kill my horse, because I will not fly. To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Edw. A wisp of straw3 were worth a thousand crowns, Wailing our losses, whiles' the foe doth rage, To make this shameless callat4 know herself.- And look upon, as if the tragedy Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors? Although thy husband may be Menelaus; Here on my knee I vow to God above, [Kneeling.' And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd I'11 never pause again, never stand still, By that false woman, as this king by thee. Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine, His father revell'd in the heart of France, Or fortune given me measure of revenge. And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop; Edw. 0 Warwick! I do bend my knee with thine; And, had he matche'd according to his state, [Kneeling.? He might have kept that glory to this day; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine. I One marked with a stigma. 2 Formerly synonymous, says Malone, with kennel. 3 Often applied to an abandoned woman. 4 A low, abandoned woman. 5 or else a grave: in f. e. G 7 Not in f. e. 492 THIRD PART OF ACT II. And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, How many make the hour full complete, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, How many hours bring about the day, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings; How many days will finish up the year, Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands How many years a mortal man may live. That to my foes this body must be prey,- When this is known, then to divide the times: Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, So many hours must I tend my flock; And give sweet passage to my sinful soul.- [Rising.' So many hours must I take my rest; Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, So many hours must I contemplate; Where'er it be, in heaven, or in earth. So many hours must I sport myself; Rich. Brother, give me thy hand;-and, gentle So many days my ewes have been with young; Warwick, So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. So many months ere I shall shear the fleece: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe, So minutes; hours, days, months and years, That winter should cut off our spring-time so. Pass'd over to the end they were created, War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, fare- Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. well. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade And give them leave to fly that will not stay, To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, And call them pillars that will stand to us; Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy And if we thrive promise them such rewards To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? As victors wore at the Olympian games. O! yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth. This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; And to conclude,-the shepherd's homely curds, For yet is hope of life, and victory.- His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, Foreslow2 no longer; make we hence amain. [Exeunt. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, SCENE'IV. —The Same. Another Part of the Field. Is far beyond a prince's delicates, Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD. His viands sparkling in a golden cup, Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone. His body couched in a curious bed, Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Alarum. Enter a Son that hath killed his Father, with Wert thou environed with a brazen wall. the dead Body. Clif. Now, Richard, I am'with thee here alone. Son. Ill blows the wind that profits no body. This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York, This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight, And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; May be possessed with some store of crowns; And here Is the heart that triumphs in their death, And I, that haply take them from him now, And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To execute the like upon thyself: To some man else, as this dead man to me.And so, have at thee. Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face. [They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies. Whom in this conflict I unwares have killed. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; O0 heavy times, begetting such events! For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. From London by the king was I press'd forth; SCENE V.-Another Part of the Field. My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, pressed by his master; Alarum. Enter King HENRY. And I, who at his hands received my life, K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, Have by my hands of life bereaved him.When dying clouds contend with growing light; Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did - What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails And pardon, father, for I knew not thee.Can neither call it perfect day nor night. My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks, Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. Fore'd by the tide to combat with the wind: K. lIen. 0 piteous spectacle! 0 bloody times! Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind: Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Sometime, the flood prevails j and then, the wind; Weep, wretched man, I'11 aid thee, tear for tear; Now, one the better, then, another best; And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief. Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered: Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, bearing the So is the equal poise of this fell war. Body. Here, on this molehill, will I sit me down. Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, To whom God will, there be the victory; Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold, For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,' For I have bought it with an hundred blows.Have chid me from the battle, swearing both, But let me see:-is this a foeman's face? They prosper best of all when I am thence.Ah, no, no, no! it is mine only son!Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; Ah, boy! if any life be left in thee, For what is in this world but grief and woe? Throw up thine eye: ssee see, what showers arise, 0 God! methinks, it were a happy life, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart To be no better than a homely swain; Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 0, pity, God, this miserable age! To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, 1 Not in f. e. 2 Delay. 3 T-wo similar lines are found in the Second part of Henry VI.. Act iv., So. ii. SCENE VI. KING HENRY VI. 493 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! The common people swarm like summer-flies:2 0 boy! thy father gave thee life too soon) And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun? And hath bereft thee of thy life too late. And who shines now but Henry's enemies? K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common 0 Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent grief! That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, 0, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!- Thy burning car never had scorche'd the earth; 0, pity, pity! gentle heaven, pity!- And, Hetr~y,_h ad.st thou sway'd as kings should do, The red rose and the white are on his face, Or as thy father, and his father, did, The fatal colours of our striving houses: Giving no ground unto the house of York. The one his purple blood right well resembles, They never, then, had sprung like summer flies; The other his pale cheeks. methinks, presenteth; I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, Wither one rose and let the other flourish! TIad left no mourning widows for our death, If you contend. a thousand lives must wither. Aid thou this day hadst kept thy chair'in peace. Son.. How will my mother. for a father's death, For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? Take on with me, and never be satisfied? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds. Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied? No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: K. Hien. How will the country, for these woful The foe is merciless, and will not pity; chances, For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity. Misthink the king, and not be satisfied? The air hath got into my deadly wounds, Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death? And much effuse of blood doth make me faint.Fath/. Was ever father so bemoaned a son? Come, York, and Richard; Warwick, and the rest; K. Hen. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe? I stabbed your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. [He faints. Son. I'11 bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Alarum and Retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARDn [Exit with the Body. MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers. Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding- Edw. Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us sheet; pause, My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; That led calm Henry, though he were a king, And so obsequious will thy father be, As doth a sail, filled with a fretting gust, E'en' for the loss of thee, having no more, Command an argosy to stem the waves. As Priam was for all his valiant sons. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? I'11 bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, War. No, t is impossible he should escape; For I have murder'd where I should not kill. For, though before his face I speak the words, [Exit with the Body. Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave, K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care. And wheresoever he is) he's surely dead. Here sits a king more woful than you are. [CLIFFORD groans.3 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen MARGARET; Prince Rich. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy of WALES, and EXETER. leave? Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, A deadly groan, like life and death's departing: And Warwick rages like a chafed bull. See who it is. Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. Edw. And, now the battle's ended, Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord: towards Berwick post If friend, or foe, let him be gently used. amain. [CLIFFORD dies. Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds, Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for It is Clifford: Having the fearful flying hare in sight, Who not contented that he lopped the branch With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath. In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, But set his murdering knife unto the root Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring; Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them. I mean, our princely father, duke of York. Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed, War. From off the gates of York fetch down the Or else come after: I'11 away before. head, K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Instead whereof, let this supply the room: Whither the queen intends. Forward! away! Measure for measure must be answered. [Exeunt. Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: SCNE VI.-The Same. Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD) wounded. And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. Clif. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, [Soldiers4 bring the Body forward Which, while it lasted, gave King Henry light. War. I think his understanding is bereft.0, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? More than my body's parting with my soul. Dark cloudy death oershades his beams of life, My love, and fear, glued many friends to thee; And he nor sees, nor hears us; what we say. And now I fall thy tough commixtures melt, Rich. 0, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth: Impairing Henry, strengthening mis-proud York.'T is but his policy to counterfeit, I sad: in f. e.; changed by Rowe, from' men," in the folio. 2 This line was inserted by Theobald, from the " True Tragedy." 3 f. e. add: and dies; and omit the stage direction a few lines below. 4 Attendants: in f. e. 494 THIRD PART OF ACT m. Because he would avoid such bitter taunts And now to London with triumphant march, Which in the time of death he gave our father. There to be crowned England's royal king: Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eagerl words. From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, Rich. Clifford! ask mercy, and obtain no grace. And ask the lady Bona for thy queen. [They pell him to and fro.2 So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; Edw. Clifford! repent in bootless penitence. And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread War. Clifford! devise excuses for thy faults. The scattered foe that hopes to rise again: Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. Yet look to have them buz, tI offend thine ears. Edw. Thou pitiedst Rutland; I will pity thee. First, will I see the coronation, Geo. Where's captain Margaret to fence you now? And then to Brittany I Ill cross the sea, War. They mock thee Clifford: swear as thou wast To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. wont. Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; Rich. What! not an oath? nay then, the world goes For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, hard, And never will I undertake the thing, When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath.- Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.I know by that, he Is dead; and, by my soul, Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster; If this right hand would buy two hours' life, AndX Gorge, of Clarence:-Warwick, as ourself, That I in all despite might rail at him, [blood Shafl do, aniid undo, as him pleaseth best. This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence, George of Gloster, Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. York and young Rutland could not satisfy. War. Tut! that Is a foolish observation: War. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head, Richard, be duke of Gloster. Now to London, And rear it in the place your fathers stands.- To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE.-A Chace in the North of Enland. And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. SCENE I.-A Chace in the North of England. By t account, then, Margaret may Wil him, Enter two Keepers, with Cross-bows in their Hands. For she Is a woman to be pitied much: 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'11 shroud Her sighs will make a battery in his breast, ourselves; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; For through this lawn anon the deer will come, The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn, And in this covert will we make our stand, And Nero will be tainted with remorse, Culling the principal of all the deer. To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 2 Keep. I'11 stay above the hill, so both may shoot. Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give: 1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow She on his left side craving aid for Henry, Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. He on his right asking a wife for Edward. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: She weeps, and says-her Henry is depos'd: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, He smiles, and says-his Edward is install'd; I 11 tell thee what befel me on a day, That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more, In this self-place, where now we mean to stand. Whiles Warwick tells his title. smooths the wrong, 2 Keep. Here comes a man: let's stay till he be past. Inferreth arguments of mighty strength; Enter King HENRY, disguised as a churchman,3 with a And. in conclusion, wins the king from her, Prayer-book. With promise of his sister, and aught else, K. Hen. From Scotland. amJI stoln, even of pure love, To strengthen and support king Edward's place. To greet minie o'wn land with my wishful sight. 0 Margaret! thus It will be; and thou, poor soul, No, Harry, Harry, It is no land of thine; Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. Thy place is filld, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 2 Keep. Say, what art thou talkest of kings and Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: queens? [Coming forward.5 No bending knee will call thee Csesar now, K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was No humble suitors press to speak for right, born to: No, not a man comes for redress of thee, A man at least, for less I should not be; For how can I help them, and not myself? And men may talk of kings, and why not I? 1 Keep. Ay, here Is a deer whose skin Is a keeper's fee. 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. This is the quondam king: let's seize upon him. K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that Is enough. K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities-; 2' Keep. But, if thou be a, king, where is thy crown? For wise men say, it is the wisest course. K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; 2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, 1 Keep. Forbear a while: we 11 hear a little more. Nor to be seen: my crown is called, content: K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to France for aid: A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crowned with content, Is thither gone, to crave the French king-s sister Your crown, content, and you, must be contented To wife for Edward. If this news be true, To go along with us; for, as we think, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; You are the king, king Edward hath deposed; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, I Sour, sharp. 2 Not in f. e. 3 The words, as a churchman: not in f. e. 4 adversaries: in folio. Pope changed the word. 5 Not in f. e. SCENE n. KING HENRY VI. 495 Will apprehend you as his enemy. Glo. Nay then,' whip me; he'11 rather give her two. K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an oath? [Aside. 2 Keep. No, never such an oath; nor will not now. L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. K. Hen. Where did you dwell when I was king of Glo. You shall have four, if you'11 be rul'd by him. England? [Aside. 2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now remain. K. Edw. T were pity, they should lose their father's K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old, lands. My father and my grandfather, were kings, L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. And you were sworn true subjects unto me; K. Edw. Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? wit. 1 Keep. No; Glo. Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave, For we were subjects, but while you were king. Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. K. Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? [GLOSTER and CLARENCE stand back. Ah, simple men! you know not what you swear. K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your Look, as I blow this feather from my face, children? And as the air blows it to me again, L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. Obeying with my wind when I do blow, K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them And yielding to another when it blows good? Commanded always by the greater gust L. Grey. To do them good I would sustain some Such is the lightness of you common men. harm. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin K. Edw. Then, get your husband's lands to do them - My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. good. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. And be you kings; command, and I'11 obey. K. Edw. I 11 tell you how these lands are to be got. 1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king Ed- L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' w ard. service. K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give If he were seated as king Edward is. them? 1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in the L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do. king's, K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. To go with us unto the officers. L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. K. Hen. In God's name, lead: your king's name be K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. obeyed: L. Grey. Why then, I will do what your grace comAnd what God will, that let your king perform; mands. And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. [Aside. SCENE II.-London. A Room in the Palace. Clar, As red as fire! nay then, her wax must melt. Enter King EDWARD, in state, crowned,' GLOSTER, CLA- [Aside. RENCE, and Lady GREY., L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint AlbanA' field task? This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain, K. Edw. An easy task: It is but to love a king. His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror: L. Grey. That's soon performed, because I am a Her suit is now to repossess those lands, subject. Which we in justice cannot well deny, K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely Because in quarrel of the house of York give thee. The worthy gentleman did lose his life. L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. Glo. Your highness shall do well. to grant her suit: Glo. The match is made: she seals it with a curt'sy. It were dishonour to deny it her. [Aside. K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I 11 make a pause. K. Edw. But stay thee; It is the fruits of love I mean. Glo. Yea; is it so? [Aside. L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. I see, the lady hath a thing to grant, K. Edw. Ay, but I fear me, in another sense. Before the king will grant her humble suit. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? Clar. He knows the game: how true he keeps the L. Grey. My love till death; my humble thanks, my wind! [Aside. prayers: Glo. Silence! [Aside. That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants. K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. And come some other time to know our mind. L. Grey. Why then, you mean not as I thought you L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: did. May it please your highness to resolve me now, K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind. And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive Glo. Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you all your Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. lands, K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. An if what pleases him shall pleasure you, L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll11 catch a blow. [Aside. K. Edw. Why then, thou shalt not have thy husClar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. [Aside. band's lands. Glo. God forbid that, for he'11 take vantages. [Aside. L. Grey. Why then, mine honesty shall be my K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow? tell dower; me. For by that loss I will not purchase them. Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. [Aside. K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. The words, in state, crowned: not in f. e. 496 THIRD PART OF ACT II. L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them The lustful Edward's title buried, and me. Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, But, mighty lord, this merry inclination And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, Accords not with the sadness' of my suit; To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no. A cold premeditation for my purpose. K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ay, to my request; Why then, I do but dream on sovereignty; No. if thou dost say no, to my demand. Like one that stands upon a promontory, L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; [Aside. And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. Saying-he'11 lade it dry to have his way: [Aside. So do I wish the crown, being so far off, K. Edw. Her looks do argue her replete with mo —'Aidt'o I ciide the means that keep me from it; desty; [Aside. And so I say I'11 cut the causes off, Her words do show her wit incomparable; Flattering me with impossibilities.All her perfections challenge sovereignty: My eye's too quick. my heart o'erweens too much, One way, or other, she is for a king. Unless my hand and strength could equal them. And she shall be my love, or else my queen.- Well, say there is no kingdom, then, for Richard, Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen? What other pleasure can the world afford? L. Grey. IT is better said than done, my gracious lord: I'11 make my heaven in a lady's lap, I am a subject fit to jest withal, And deck my body in gay ornaments, But far unfit to be a sovereign. And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee, 0 miserable thought! and more unlikely, I speak no more than what my soul intends; Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns. And that, is to enjoy thee for my love. Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb; L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto. And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, I know, I am too mean to be your queen, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe And yet too good to be your concubine. To shrink mine arm up like a withered shrub; K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean, my queen. To make an envious mountain on my back, L. Grey. IT will grieve your grace, my sons should Where sits deformity to mock my body; call you father. To shape my legs of an unequal size; K. Edw. No more, than. when my daughters call To disproportion me in every part, thee mother. Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; That carries no impression like the dam. And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, And am I, then, a man to be belov'd? Have other some: why, It is a happy thing 0, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! To be the father unto many sons. Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. But to command, to check, to overbear such Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. As are of better person than myself, [Aside. I I11 make my heaven to dream upon the crown: Clar. When he was made a shriver, It was for shift. And, whiles I live, t' account this world but hell, [Aside. Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head, K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have Be round impaled with a glorious crown. had. [GLOSTER and CLARENCE come forward.2 And yet I know not how to get the crown, Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. For many lives stand between me and home: K. Edw. You Id think it strange if I should marry her. And I, like one lost in a thorny wood, Clar. To whom, my lord? That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, K. Ediv. Why, Clarence, to myself? Seeking a way, and straying from the way, Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. Not knowing how to find the open air, Clar. That Is a day longer than a wonder lasts. But toiling desperately to find it out, Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. Torment myself to catch the English crown: K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both, And from that torment I will free myself, Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Enter a Nobleman. Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile, Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, K. Edw. See, that he be conveyed unto the Tower:- And frame my face to all occasions. And go we, brothers, to the man that took him) I Ill drown more sailors than the mermaid shall, To question of his apprehension.- I ll slay more gazers than the basilisk; Widow, go you along.-Lords, use her honourably. I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, [Exeunt King EDWARD, Lady GREY, CLA- Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, RENCE, and Lord. And like a Sinon take another Troy. Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. I can add colours to the cameleon,'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, CMhiige shapes, with Proteus, for advantages, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring And send the murderpus Machiavel to school. To cross me from the golden time I look for! Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? And yet- betweenfiimy soul's desire, and me, Tut! were it further off, I'd pluck it down. [Exit. i Seriousness. 2 Not in f. e. SCENE II. KING HENRY VI. 497 First, to do greetings to thy royal person, SCENE III.- France. A Room ill the Palace. And, then, to crave a league of amity; Flourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, and Lady And, lastly, to confirm that amity BONA, attended; the King takes his State. Then, With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant enter Queen MARGARET, Prince EDWARD, and the That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, Earl of OXFORD. To England's king in lawful marriage. K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret, Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state, War. And, gracious madam, [To BONA.] in our And birth, that thou shouldst stand, while Lewis doth king's behalf, sit. I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Q. 31ar. No, mighty king of France; now Margaret Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve, To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart; Where kings command. I was, I must confess, Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, Great Albion's queen in former golden days; Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. But now mischance hath trod my title down, Q. Mar. King Lewis, and lady Bona, hear me speak, And with dishonour laid me on the ground, Before you answer Warwick. His demand Where I must take like seat unto my fortune Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, And to my humble seat conform myself. But from deceit, bred by necessity; K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this For how can tyrants safely govern home, deep despair? Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice,tears, That Henry liveth still: but were he dead, And stops my tongue, while heart is drowned in cares. Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son. K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage And sit thee by our side: yield not thy neck Thou draw not on thee1 danger and dishonour; [Seats her by him. For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. Still ride in triumph over all mischance. War. Injurious Margaret! Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; Prince. And why not queen? It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. War. Because thy father Henry did usurp, Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my drooping And thou no more art prince than she is queen. thoughts, Oxf. Then, Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the fourth, That Henry, sole possessor of my love, Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; Is of a king become a banished man, And after that wise prince, Henry the fifth, And fore'd to live in Scotland all forlorn; Who by his prowess conquered all France: While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York, From these our Henry lineally descends. Usurps the regal title, and the seat War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse, Of England's true-anointed lawful king. You told not, how Henry the sixth hath lost This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, All that which Henry the fifth had gotten? With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir, Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that. Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; But for the rest,-you tell a pedigree And if thou fail us all our hope is done. Of threescore and two years; a silly time Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. Our people and our peers are both misled, Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, liege, And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years, K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the And not bewray thy treason with a blush? storm, War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, While we bethink a means to break it off. Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? Q. M1ar. The more we stay, the stronger grows our For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king. foe. Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I 11 succour thee. My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, Q. Mfar. 0! but impatience waiteth on true sorrow: Was done to death? and more than so, my father, And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow. Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, Enter WARWICK, attended. When nature brought him to the door of death? K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our pre- No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, sence? This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. Q. ]Mar. The earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest War. And I the house of York. friend. K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and OxK. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick. What brings ford, thee to France? Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside, [He descends. Queen MARGARET rises. While I use farther conference with Warwick. Q. LMar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; Q. M1ar Heaven grant, that Warwick's words beFor this is he that moves both wind and tide. witch him not! [They stand apart. War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conMy lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, science, I come in kindness, and unfeigned love, Is Edward your true king? for I were loath, thy: in f. e. 32 498 THIRD PART OF ACT III. To link with him that were not lawful chosen. Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France? War. Thereon I pawn my credit, and mine honour. Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye? Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before: War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty. K. Lew. Then farther, all dissembling set aside, (War.) King Lewis, I here protest: in sight of heaven, Tell me for truth the measure of his love And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, Unto our sister Bona. That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's; War. Such it seems, No more my king, for he dishonours me As may beseem a monarch like himself. But most himself, if he could see his shame. Myself have often heard him say, and swear, Did I forget, that by the house of York That this his love was an eternal plant; My father came untimely to his death? Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece? The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun, Did I impale him with the regal crown? Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, Did I put Henry from his native right, Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. Shame on himself, for my desert is honour: Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine.- And to repair my honour lost for him, Yet I confess, [To WAR.] that often ere this day, I here renounce him, and return to Henry. When I have heard your king's desert recounted, My noble queen, let former grudges pass, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. And henceforth I am thy true servitor. K. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus:-our sister shall be I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona, Edward's; And replant Henry in his former state. And now forthwith shall articles be drawn Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate Touching the jointure that your king must make, to love; Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised.- And I forgive and quite forget old faults, Draw near, queen Margaret, and be a witness, And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend. That Bona shall be wife to the English king. War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, Priice. To Edward, buit ndt to the English king. That if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device With some few bands of chosen soldiers, By this alliance to make void my suit: I'11 undertake to land them on our coast, Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. And force the tyrant from his seat by war. K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret:'T is not his new-made bride shall succour him: But if your title to the crown be weak, And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, As may appear by Edward's good success, He's very likely now to fall from him, Then't is but reason, that I be releas'd For matching more for wanton lust than honour, From giving aid which late I promised. Or than for strength and safety of our country. Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand,' Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged, rhat your estate requires. and mine can yield. But by thy help to this distressed queen? War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease, Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live, Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. You have a father able to maintain you, War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. And better't were you troubled him than France. K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and MarQ. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick! garet's Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings, Therefore, at last I firmly am resolved [ will not hence, till with my talk and tears, You shall have aid. Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. Thy sly conveyance,1 and thy lord's false love; K. Lew. Then, England's messenger, return in post; For both of you are birds of self-same feather. And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, [A horn sounded within. That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. To revel it with him and his new bride: Enter the Post. Thou seest what's past; go, fear2 thy king withal. Post. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you, Bona. Tell him, in hope he'11 prove a widower shortly, Sent from your brother, marquess Montague.- I'11 wear the willow garland for his sake. These from our king unto your majesty.- Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside, And, madam, these for you j from whom I know not. And I am ready to put armour on. [They all read their letters. War. Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress And therefore I'11 uncrown him ere it be long. Smiles at her news while Warwick frowns at his. There's thy reward: be gone. [Exit Post. Prince. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou nettled: And Oxford, with five thousand warlike3 men, I hope all's for the best. Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle: K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, And, as occasion serves, this noble queen fair queen? [ joys. And prince shall follow with a fresh supply, Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt: War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? K. Lew. What.;lhas your king married the lady Grey, War. This shall assure my constant loyalty:And now, to soothe your forgery ahd his, That if our queen and this young prince agree, Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? I'11 join mine eldest daughter, and my joy, 1 Artifice. 2 Frighten. 3 This word is not in f. e. SCENE I. KING HENRY VI. 499 To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance Q.:Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your mo- For mocking marriage with a dame of France. tion.- [Exeunt all but WARWICK. Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, War. j came from Edward as ambassador, Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick; But I return his sworn and mortal foe: And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable, Matter: of marriage was the charge he gave me, That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. But dreadful war shall answer his demand. Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; Had he none else to make a stale' but me? And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. [He gives his hand to WARWICK. I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown, K. Lew. Why stay we now? These soldiers shall And I 11 be chief to bring him down again: be levied. Not that I pity Henry's misery. And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit. Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.ACT IV. Hast.'T is better using France, than trusting France. SCENE I.-London. A oom in the Palace. Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, Enter GLOSTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, MONTAGUE. Which he hath given for fence impregnable, Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you And with their helps only defend ourselves: Of this new marriage with the lady Grey? In them and in ourselves our safety lies. Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? Clar. For this one speech lord Hastings well deserves Clar. Alas! you know. it is far from hence to France: To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. How could he stay till Warwick made return? K. Edw. Ay, what of that? it was my will, and Som. My lords, forbear this talk: here comes the king. grant; Flourish. Enter King EDWARD, attended; Lady GREY, And for this once my will shall stand for law. as Queen; PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, and HASTINGS. Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done Glo. And his well-chosen bride. well, Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you Unto the brother of your loving bride: our choice, She better would have fitted me, or Clarence; That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? But in your bride you bury brotherhood. Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of Clar. Or else you would not have bestowed the heir Warwick; Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son, Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment, And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. That they'11 take no offence at our abuse. K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife, K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause, That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward, Clar. In choosing for yourself you showed your judgYour king and Warwick's. and must have my will. ment; Glo. And you2 shall have your will, because our king; Which being shallow, you shall give me leave Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. To play the broker in mine own behalf; K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. Glo. Not I. K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, No; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd And not be tied unto his brother's will. Whom God hath joined together: ay, and It were pity, Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleased his majesty To sunder them that yoke so well together. To raise my state to title of a queen, K. Eclw. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, Do me but right, and you must all confess Tell me some reason why the lady Grey That I was not ignoble of descent; Should not become my wife, and England's queen.- And meaner than myself have had like fortune. And you too, Somerset, and Montague, But as this title honours me and mine, Speak freely what you think. So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, Clar. Then this is mine opinion-that king Lewis Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. Becomes your enemy, for mocking him K. Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns. About the marriage of the lady Bona. What danger, or what sorrow can befal thee, Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, So long as Edward is thy constant friend, Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. And their true sovereign whom they must obey? K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be ap- Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, peas'd Unless they seek for hatred at my hands; By such invention as I can devise? Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. Would more have strengthened this our commonwealth Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the more.'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage. [Aside. Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself Enter a Messenger. England is safe, if true within itself? K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what news, Mont. But the safer, when It is backed with France. From France? 1 Stalting-horse. 2 Added by Rowe. 500 THIRD PART OF ACT Iv. Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words- Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. But such as I, without your special pardon, K Edw. Why so; then, am I sure of victory. Dare not relate. Now, therefore, let us hence; and lose no hour, K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief, Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. [Exeunt. What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters? Mess. At my depart these were his very words: SCENE -A Plan n Warwkshire. " /-' Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, Enter WARWICK and OXFORD with French and English' That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, Forces. To revel it with him and his new bride." War. Trust me. my lord, all hitherto goes well: K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave? belike, he thinks me The common people by numbers swarm to us. Henry. Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET. But what said lady Bona to my marriage? But see, where Somerset and Clarence come! Mess. These were her words, uttered with mild dis- Speak suddenly, my lords; are we all friends? dain:- Clar. Fear not that, my lord. " Tell him. in hope he'11 prove a widower shortly, War. Then gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick: [ I11 wear the willow garland for his sake." And welcome Somerset.-I hold it cowardice, K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less; To rest mistrustful where a noble heart She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; For I have heard, that she was there in place. Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother, Mess. " Tell him, quoth she, " my mourning weeds Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings: are done, But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be And I am ready to put armour on." thine. K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. And now what rests, but in night's coverture, But what said Warwick to these injuries? Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, AMbess. He, more incens'd against your majesty His soldiers lurking in the towns about, Than all the rest, discharge'd me with these words:- And but attended by a simple guard,' Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? And therefore I ll uncrown him ere It be long." Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: K. Edw. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, words? With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarned And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds; They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption. So we, well cove'd with the night's black mantle, But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? At unawares may beat down Edward's guard, Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign: they are so link'd in And seize himself; I say not slaughter him, friendship, For I intend but only to surprise him.That young prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. You, that will follow me to this attempt, Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. younger. [Aside.' [They all cry, HENRY! Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort: For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter; For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage [Exeunt. I may not prove inferior to yourself- SCENE III.-EDWARDS Camp near Warwick. You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. [Exit CLARENCE, and SOMERSET follows. Enter certain Watc7hen, to guard the King's tent. Glo. Not I. [Aside. 1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take his My thoughts aim at a farther matter: I stand: Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown. The king by this is set him down to sleep. K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to War- 2 Watch. What, will he not to bed? wick! 1 Watch. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen, Never to lie and take his natural rest, And haste is needful in this desperate case.- Till Warwick or himself be quite suppressed. Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf 2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, Go levy men, and make prepare foi- war; If Warwick be so near as men report. They are already, or quickly will be landed: 3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that, Myself in person will straight follow you. That with the king here resteth in his tent? [Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD. 1 Watch. IT is the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest But, ere I go, Hastings, and Montague, friend. Resolve my doubt: you twain, of all the rest, 3 Watch. 0! is it so? But why commands the king, Are near to Warwick by blood, and by alliance: That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, Tell me if you love Warwick more than me? While he himself keeps in the cold field? If it be so, then both depart to him: 2 Watch. IT is the more honour, because more danI rather wish you foes, than hollow friends; gerous. But, if you mind to hold your true obedience, 3 Watch. Ay, but give me worship and quietness; Give me assurance with some friendly vow, I like it better than a dangerous honour. That I may never have you in suspect. If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 3M5ont. So God hplp Montague as he proves true!'T is to be doubted, he would waken him. Hast. And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause! 1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up his pasK. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? sage. 1Not in f. e. 2 other: in f. e. SCENE V. KING HENRY VI. 501 2 1Watch. Ay; wherefore else guard we his royal tent, Riv. What! loss of some pitch'd battle against WarBut to defend his person from night-foes? wick? Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, and Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. Forces. Riv. Then, is my sovereign slain? TWar. This is his tent; and see, where stand his Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner; guard. Either betrayed by falsehood of his guard, Courage, my masters! honour now, or never! Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares: But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. And, as I farther have to understand, 1 Watch. Who goes there? Is new committed to the bishop of York, 2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. [WARWICK, and the rest, cry all-WARWICK! Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief; WARWICK! and set upon the Guard; who fly, Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may: crying-AArm! Arm! WARWICK, and the Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. rest, following them.1 Shouts and confusion. Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay; Drums beating, and Trumpets sounding, re-enter WAR And I the rather wean me from despair, w ringing t he ing t in his Go n For love of Edward's offspring in my womb: and* the res {t b OflT a~ This is it that makes me bridle passion, sitting in a Chair: GLOSTER and HASTINGS fly over And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross: th7. And bear with mildness my misfortune s cross: the stage. Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear, Som. What are they that fly there? And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, War. Richard, and Hastings: let them go; here Is Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown the duke.. King Edward's fruit. true heir to th' English crown. K. Edw. The duke! why, Warwick, when we parted v. B t, madam, where is Warwick then become? -, last, ^^ -Q. Eliz. I am informed that he comes towards LonThou call dst me king? don War. Ay, but the case is alter'd: To set the crown once more on Henry's head. When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, Guess thou the rest; king Edward's friends must do-wn: Then I degraded you from being king, But to prevent the tyrant's violence, And come now to create you duke of York. (For trust not him that hath once broken faith) Alas! how should you govern any kingdom I'11 hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, That know not how to use ambassadors, To save at least the heir of Edward's right: Nor how to be contented with one wife, There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, Come therefore; let us fly while we may fly: Nor how to study for the people's welfare, If Warwick take us we are sure to die. [Exeunt. Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too? SCENE V.-A Park near Middleham Castle in Nay then, I see that Edward needs must down.- Yorkshire. Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, Sir WILLIAM STANLEY, and Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, others. Edward will always bear himself as king: Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stanley, Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. Into this chiefest thicket of the park. War. Then, for his mind be Edward England's king: Thus stands the case. Yo.u know, our king. my brother, [Takes off his Crown. Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands But Henry now shall wear the English crown, hath good usage and great liberty, And be true king indeed; thou but the shadow.- And often but attended with weak guard, My lord of Somerset, at my request, Comes hunting this way to disport himself. See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd I have advertisd him by secret means Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. That if about this hour he make this way, When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, Under the colour of his usual game, T'11 follow you. and tell what answer He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him:- To set him free from his captivity. Now. for a while farewell, good duke of York. Enter ing EDWARD, and a Huntsman. K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs Hunt. This way, my lord, for this way lies the game. abide: a. d. K. Edw. Nay, this way, man: see, where the huntsIt boots not to resist both wind and tide. men stand.[Exit King EDWARD, led out forcibly; SOMERSET NO brother ofGloster, Hastings, and the rest, with hirm.Stand you thus close to steal the bishop's deer? Oxf. What now remains, my lords s, us to do Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste: But march to London with our soldiers? War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; You r horse stands ready at the park corner. K. Edw. But whither shall we then? To free king Henry from imprisonment, AndTo free him seated ifrothe regal throne Hst. To Lynn, my lord; and ship from thence to And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. Flanders Flanders. SCENE IV.-London. A Room in the Palace. Glo. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning. Enter Queen ELIZABETH and RIVERS. K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. Riv. Madam, what makes in you this sudden change? Glo. But wherefore stay we?'t is no time to talk. Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn, K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go What late misfortune is befallen king Edward? along? 1 The rest of this direction is not in f. e. 502 THIRD PART OF ACT IV. Runt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. Clar. What else? and that succession be deterGlo. Come then; away! let Is have no more ado. min'd. K. Edw. Bishop, farewell: shield thee from War- War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. wickes frown, K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. Let me entreat, (for I command no more) SCENE YI.-A Room in the Tower. That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, Be sent for to return from France with speed Enter King HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, SOMERSET) For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear young Henry of RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. Lieutenant of the Tower, and Attendants. Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and friends speed. Have shaken Edward from the regal seat K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is that, And turn'd my captive state to liberty, Of whom you seem to have so tender care? My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond. At our enlargement what are thy due fees? K. IHen. Come hither, England's hope: if secret Lieu. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sove- powers [Lays his Hand on his Head. reigns; Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, But if an humble prayer may prevail, This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. I then crave pardon of your majesty. His looks are full of peaceful majesty; K. Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well using me? His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown, Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness, His hand to wield a sceptre: and himself For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure: Likely in time to bless a regal throne. Ay, such a pleasure as ineaged birds Make much of him, my lords; for this is he, Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, Must help you more than you are hurt by me. At last by notes of household harmony Enter a Messenger. They quite forget their loss of liberty.- War. What news, my friend? But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother, And chiefly therefore I thank God, and thee; And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. He was the author, thipu, the instrument. War. Unsavoury news! but how made he escape? Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite, Mess. He was conveyed by Richard duke of Gloster, By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me And the lord Hastings, who attended him And that the people of this blessed land In secret ambush on the forest side, May not be punished with my thwarting stars, And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him, Warwick, although my head still wear the crown For hunting was his daily exercise. I here resign my government to thee, War. My brother was too careless of his charge.For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous, A salve for any sore that may betide. And now may seem as wise as virtuous, [Exeunt King HENRY, WARWICK, CLARENCE, By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice; Lieutenant, and Attendants. For few men rightly temper with the stars: Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's, Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, For, doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help, For choosing me when Clarence is in place. And we shall have more wars, before't be long. Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, As Henry's late presaging prophecy To whom the heavens in thy nativity Did glad my heart with hope of this young RichAdjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown, mond, As likely to be blest in peace, and war; So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts And, therefore, I yield thee my free consent. What may befal him, to his harm and ours: War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. Therefore. lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both your Forthwith we I11 send him hence to Brittany, hands. Till storms be past of civil enmity. Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts, Oxf. Ay; for if Edward repossess the crown, That no dissension hinder government: T is like that Richmond with the rest shall down. I make you both protectors of this land, Som. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. While I myself will lead a private life Come therefore: let's about it speedily. [Exeunt. And in devotion spend my latter days, To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. SCENE VIIGBefore York. War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's Enter King EDWARD, GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and foreign2 will? D Forces. Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent; K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and For on thy fortune I repose myself. the rest, War. Why then, though loath, yet must I be con- Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, tent. And says that once more I shall interchange We'll yoke together, like a double shadow My waned state for Henry's regal crown. To Henry's body, and supply his place jWell have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas, I mean, in bearing weight of government, And brought desired help from Burgundy: While he enjoys the honour, and his ease. What then remains, we being thus arriv'd And, Clarence, now then, it is more than needful, From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, But that we enter as into our dukedom? And all his lands and goods confiscated.' Glo. The gates made fast.-Brother, I like not this; 1 Malone reads: be confiscate. 2 This word is not in f. e. SCENE III. KING HENRY VI. 503 For many men, that stumble at the threshold, Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand: Are well foretold that danger lurks within. The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. K. Edw. Tush, man! abodements must not now K. Edw. Then be it as you will; for't is my right, affright us: And Henry but usurps the diadem. By fair or foul means we must enter in, Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself, For hither will our friends repair to us. And now will I be Edward's champion. Hast. My liege, I'11 knock once more to summon Hast. Sound, trumpet! Edward shall be here prothem. [Knocks.' claim'd.Enter, on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and his Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. Brethren. [Gives him a Paper. Flourish. Mllay. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming, Sold. [Reads.] " Edward the fourth, by the grace And shut the gates for safety of ourselves; of God, king of England and France, and lord of IreFor now we owe allegiance unto Henry. land, &c." K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, Mont. And whosoever gainsays king Edward's right, Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. By this I challenge him to single fight. May. True, my good lord; I know you for no less. [Throws down his Gauntlet. K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my duke- All. Long live Edward the fourth! As being well content with that alone. [dom, K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks Glo. But when the fox hath once got in his nose, unto you all: Hell soon find means to make the body follow. [Aside. If fortune serve me, I'11 requite this kindness. Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a Now, for this night, let Is harbour here in York, doubt? And when the morning sun shall raise his car Open the gates: we are king Henry's friends. Above tlie border of this horizon, May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be opened. We 11 forward towards Warwick, and his mates: [Exeunt from above. For, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier.Glo. A wise stout captain he2, and soon persuaded. Ah, froward Clarence! how evil it beseems thee, Hast. The good old man would fain that all were To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother! well, Yet, as we may. we Ill meet both thee and Warwick.So It were not'long of him; but, being enter'd, Come on, brave soldiers: doubt not of the day; I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. [Exeunt. Both him and all his brothers unto reason. Re-enter the Mayor, and Two Aldermen, below. K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must not be Flourish. Enter King HENRY, WARWICK, CLARENCE, shut, MONTAGUE, EXETER, and OXFORD. But in the night, or in the time of war. War. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys, With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, [Takes his Keys. Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, For Edward will defend the town, and thee, And with his troops doth march amain to London; And all those friends that deign to follow me. And many giddy people flock to him. March. Enter MONTGOMERY, and Forces. K. Hen.3 Let Is levy men, and beat him back again. Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out, Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived. Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench. K. Edw. Welcome, sir John; but why come you in War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, arms? Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm, Those will I muster up:-and thou, son Clarence, As every loyal subject ought to do. Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:forget Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Our title to the crown, and only claim Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. Men well inclined to hear what thou commandst:Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again: And thou. brave Oxford. wondrous well belov'd I came to serve a king, and not a duke.- In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. My sovereign, with the loving citizens, [A March begun. Like to his island girt in with the ocean, K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while; and we i11 Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, debate, Shall rest in London, till we come to him.By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply.]Mont. What talk you of debating? in few words, Farewell, my sovereign. If you ll not here proclaim yourself our king, K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true I'11 leave you to your fortune, and be gone hope. To keep them back that come to succour you. Clar. In sign of truth I kiss your highness' hand. Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title? K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate. Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice Mont. Comfort, my lord;-and so I take my leave. points? Oxf. And thus [Kissing Henry's hand ] I seal my K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'11 make truth, and bid adieu. our claim: K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, Till then, It is wisdom to conceal our meaning. And all at once, once more a happy farewell. Hast. Away with scrupulous wit, now arms must rule. War. Farewell, sweet lords: let Is meet at Coventry. Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. [Exeunt WAR. CLAR. OXF. and MONT. 1 Not in f. e. 2 This word is not in f. e. s Some mod. eds. have needlessly transferred this speech to OXFORD. 504 THIRD PART OF ACT V. K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. Exe. Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these? Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? Enter King EDWARD, GLOSTER; and Soldiers. Methiliks, the power, that Edwara hath in field, K. Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry! bear him Should not be able to encounter mine. hence Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest. And once again proclaim us king of England.K. IHen. That Is not my fear j; my mind' hath got me You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow: I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, [fame. Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; And swell so much the higher by their ebb.My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, Hence with him to the Tower! let him not speak. My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, [Exeunt some with King HENRY. My mercy dry'd their bitter-flowing2 tears: And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, I have not been desirous of their wealth, Where peremptory Warwick now remains. Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. Then, why should they love Edward more than me? Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join, No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace; And take the great-grown traitor unawares. And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. The lamb will never cease to follow him. [Exeunt. [Shout within. XA Lancaster! A Lancaster! ACT V. And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. Enter upon the Walls, WARWICK, the Mayor of Coventry, K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edwas prisoner: Two Messengers, and others. And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this; War.Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? What is the body, when the head is off? How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? Glo. Alas! that Warwick had no more forecast, 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward'. But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, War. How far off is our brother Montague?- The king was slily fingerld from the deck!3 Where is the post that came from Montague? You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. And. ten to one. you Ill meet him in the Tower. Enter Sir JOHN SOMERVILLE. K. Edw. IT is even so: yet you are Warwick still. War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? kneel down. Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. And do expect him here some two hours hence. War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, [Drum heard. And with the other fling it at thy face, War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee. Som. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies: K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick. thy friend, War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, friends. Shall, whiles thy head is warm, and new cut off, Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,Mlarch. Flourish. Enter King EDWARD, GLOSTER, "Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more." and Forces. [parle. Enter OXFORD, with Drum and Colours. K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a War. 0 cheerful colours! see, where Oxford comes. Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! War. 0, unbid spite! is sportful Edward come? [OXFORD and his Forces enter the City. Where slept our scouts, or how are they seducd, Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. That we could hear no news of his repair? [gates? K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs. K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt, Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee, Will issue out again, and bid us battle: Call Edward king, and at his hands beg mercy, If not, the city being but of small defence, And he shall pardon thee these outrages. We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, War. 0! welcome Oxford, for we want thy help. Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down? Enter MONTAGUE, with Drum and Colours. Call Warwick patron, and be penitent, Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! And thou shalt still remain-the duke of York. [He and his Forces enter the City. Glo. I thought; at least, he would have said the king; Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treaOr did he make the jest against his will? son War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give: K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory: I'11 do thee service for so good a gift. My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. War.'T was I, that gave the kingdom to thy brother. Enter SOMERSET, with Drum and Colours. K. Edw. Why then,'t is minieifPbtitby Warwick's gift. Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! War, Thou art no Atlas -for so great a weight: [He and his Forces enter the City. 1 meed: in f. e. 2 -water-X;' -'ng iln f. e. 3 Pack of cards. SCENE III. KING HENRY VI. 505 Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, Have sold their lives unto the house of York; To search the secret treasons of the world: And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, Enter CLARENCE, with Drum. and Colours. Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; War. And lo! where George of Clarence sweeps For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? along, And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? Of force enough to bid his brother battle; Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! With whom an upright zeal to right prevails, My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, More than the nature of a brother's love.- Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands, [GLOSTER and CLARENCE whisper. Is nothing left me, but my body's length. Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. Why, what is pomp, rule, reign. but earth and dust? Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this And, live we how we can, yet die we must. means? [Taking the red Rose out of his Hat. Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET. Look here, I throw my infamy at thee: Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, I will not ruinate my father's house, We might recover all our loss again. Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, The queen from France hath brought a puissant power; And set up Lancaster.' Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly! That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, ear. Why, then I would not fly.-Ah, Montague! To bend the fatal instruments of war If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, Against his brother, and his lawful king? And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile. Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath: Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, To keep that oath, were more impiety Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, Than Jephtha's, when he sacrificed his daughter. That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. I am so sorry for my trespass made, Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. That to deserve well at my brother's hands, Som. Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breath'd his I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe; last: With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, (As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad) And said-"' Commend me to my valiant brother." To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. And more he would have said; and more he spoke, And so, proud-hearted Warwick. I defy thee, Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.- That might not be distinguished: but, at last, Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; I well might hear, delivered with a groan,And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,'Oh, farewell Warwick!" For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. Tar. Sweet rest his soul!-Fly, lords, and save K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more yourselves; belov'd For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven. Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. [Dies. Glo. Welcome, good Clarence: this is brother-like. Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! War. 0 passing traitor, perjured, and unjust! [Exeunt, bearing off WARWICK's Body. K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town SCENE ITI.-Another Part of the Field. and fi.tSCENE III.-Another Part of the Field. and fight, Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? Flourish. Enter King EDWARD in triumph; with War. Alas! I am not coop'd here for defence CLARENCE GLOSTER, and the rest. I will away towards Barnet presently, K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. course, K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads And we are grace'd with wreaths of victory. the way.- But in the midst of this bright shining day, Lords, to the field! Saint George, and victory! I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud, [March. Exeunt. That will encounter with our glorious sun, SCENE II.-A Field of Battle near Barnet. Ere he attain his easeful western bed: I mean, my lords, those powers, that the queen Alarums, and Excursions. Enter King EDWARn, Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arrived our coast, bringing in WARWICK wounded. And, as we hear. march on to fight with us. K. Ediv. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud, For Warwick was a bug,1 that feared2 us all.- And blow it to the source from whence it came: Now, Montague, sit fast: I seek for thee, Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit. For every cloud engenders not a storm. War. Ah! who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand strong, And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick? And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her: Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, If she have time to breathe. be well assured, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, Her faction will be full as strong as ours. That I must yield my body to the earth K. Edw. We are advertised by our loving friends, And by my fall the conquest to my foe. That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, We having now the best at Barnet field, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; And, as we march, our strength will be augmented Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, In every county as we go along.And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. Strike up the drum! cry-Courage! and away. These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, [Flourish. Exeunt. 1 Bugbear. 2 Made us afraid. 506 THIIRD PART OF ACT v. Oxf. I thought no less: it is his policy SCENE IV.-Plains near Tewkesbury. o haste thus fast to find us unprovided March. Enter Queen MARGARET, Prince EDWARD, Som. But he s deceived: w e are in readiness. SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers. Q. Mlar. This cheers my heart to see your forwardness. Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men neler sit and wail Oxf. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge. their loss, Flourish and March. Enter King EDWARD, CLARENCE, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. GLOSTER, and Forces. What though the mast be now blown over-board, K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny The cable broke, the holding anchor lost wood, And half our sailors swallowed in the flood, Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength, Yet lives our pilot still: is It meet that he Must by the roots be hewn up yet ore night. Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, I need not add more fuel to your fire, With tearful eyes add water to the sea, For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out. And give more strength to that which hath too much; Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock, Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I Which industry and courage might have saved? should say, Ah! what a shame, ah! what a fault were this. My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, Say, Warwick was our anchor; what of that? Ye see, I drink the water of my eye. And Montague our top-mast; what of him? Therefore, no more but this:-Henry, your sovereign, Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these? Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, Why, is not Oxford here another anchor, His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain, And Somerset another goodly mast? His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent; The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. And, though unskilful. why not Ned and I You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords, For once allowed the skilful pilot's charge? Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. We will not from the helm to sit and weep, [Exeunt both Armies. But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, SCENE v Another Part of the Same. From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair. Alarums: Excursions: and afterwards a Retreat. And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? Then enter King EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? and Forces; with Queen MARGARET, OXFORD, and And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? SOMERSET, Prisoners. All these the enemies to our poor bark. K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. Say, you can swim; alas! It is but a while: Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle straight: Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink: For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,Go, bear them hence: I will not hear them speak. Or else you famish; that Is a threefold death. Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, Som. Nor I; but stoop with patience to my fortune. If case some one of you would fly from us, [Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET. giarded. That there Is no hoped-for mercy with the brothers, Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided, K. Edw. Is proclamation made, that who finds IT were childish weakness to lament, or fear. Edward Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit Shall have a high reward, and he his life? Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Glo. It is: and, lo! where youthful Edward comes. Infuse his breast with magnanimity, Enter Soldiers, with Prince EDWARD. And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant: let us hear him I speak not this, as doubting any here; speak. [K. EDWARD sits.' For, did I but suspect a fearful man, What! can so young a thorn begin to prick? He should have leave to go away betimes, Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make, Lest in our need he might infect another, For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And make him of like spirit to himself. And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? If any such be here, as God forbid! Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York. Let him depart before we need his help. Suppose that I am now my fathers mouth: Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage, Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, And warriors faint! why, It were perpetual shame.- Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, 0, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. Doth live again in thee: long may'st thou live, Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolved! To bear his image, and renew his glories! Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat, Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope, And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day, Prince. Let JEsop fable in a winter's night; If he arise, be mock'd and wondered at. His currish riddles sort not with this place. Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset:-sweet Oxford, Glo. By heaven, bratI'll plague you for that word. thanks. Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. else. Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back, Enter a Messenger. rather. Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, K. Edw. Peace! wilful boy, or I will charm your Ready to fight: therefore, be resolute. tongue. 1 Not in f. e. I~i/iiliiii;II111lil~i \\11k\! _______jl i i \''i I K1 fij 4A